Devil's Wolf

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Of course.’ Prior Richard replied.

  ‘Finally,’ Corbett concluded, ‘the Black Chesters were not soldiers but mummers. They thought they could frighten and terrify others as they did innocent farmers, cottagers, tinkers and traders trapped on the lonely roads of Northumberland. They were Satan’s servants and shared his sin: they were arrogant. They made a dreadful mistake and became locked in a trap of their own making.’

  ‘And Lady Kathryn Thurston?’

  ‘As I said, Ranulf, when I confronted her in the priory church, fifteen years ago I knelt beside a young maiden who was muttering constant prayers to St Oswine and nursing nasty burns to her wrist. I met her in the Guildhall at Berwick. The old king was there, taking a respite from the dreadful slaughter he had ordered. Ap Ythel and I brought messages from Westminster. We journeyed to that town and witnessed the house of slaughter Berwick had become. Murder and mayhem walked hand in hand. The young maiden, Kathryn Thurston, also witnessed it. I did my best to comfort and assist her.

  ‘Time passed and I forgot her, but she had not forgotten either me or Ap Ythel. Somehow in her confused mind she believed that the two of us were responsible for that slaughter. I suspect the shock of meeting us again turned her wits. I certainly recall her glaring at me as we journeyed north. Anyway, little by little the drops of the past betrayed her. Lady Kathryn’s constant recourse to St Oswine, the way she hid her wrists. Once we reached Alnwick, she decided to act. First the fire in my chamber and the caltrops left hidden in Ap Ythel’s. She also tried to kill me with a crossbow bolt on two occasions: in St Chad’s chapel and in that tunnel under the Abbot’s Tower. On both occasions she had to flee, leaving the weapon behind: one of those small arbalests that a lady, particularly one with a weak wrist, could manage. I realised the weapons weren’t chosen randomly. I doubt if she was skilled, yet she could have killed me.’ Corbett paused. ‘Prior Richard you will also see to her burial and that of her brother?’

  ‘Yes, let them be buried here.’ Lord Henry spoke up. ‘I have no desire to take the corpses back to Alnwick.’

  ‘What did they intend?’ Prior Richard asked. ‘The Black Chesters?’

  ‘At another time, in a different place,’ Corbett replied slowly, ‘I can give a more accurate account. In brief, I believe their dark design covered a number of matters. First, they would have sacked a royal priory in the shire of Northumberland, so the chaos grows and the darkness deepens whilst the Black Chesters demonstrate their power to all and sundry. Second, they wanted to destroy this holy place, particularly the tomb of St Oswine. Again, a demonstration of their power. Third, they were hoping to find the Lily Crown hidden away in the sanctuary, something they could use to bargain with when they moved into Scotland. Little wonder there are rumours of a Scottish raiding party moving south, possibly dispatched to assist the Black Chesters. Fourth, they would have plundered the treasures of this priory, more gold and silver to finance their filthy practices. Finally, they could boast that they had slaughtered a prior, a king’s envoy and everyone who stood with us, including Rachaela the Recluse, whom they regarded as a traitor. Would you agree, Father?’

  ‘Sir Hugh, I certainly do.’

  ‘In which case, my lord prior, I would like some of your finest Bordeaux and a goblet. I would also like to meet one of our prisoners. The youngest, be it male or female, who could still repent and save his or her soul as well as their neck.’

  ‘And the trial?’ Lord Henry asked.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we shall meet tomorrow after the Jesus Mass.’

  The meeting ended. Ranulf waited for the chamber to empty before approaching Corbett.

  ‘Sir Hugh,’ he whispered. ‘Lord Henry, why did he come so valiantly to our aid?’

  He paused as the bells of the priory began to toll; not the tocsin, but a joyous peal of welcome. Corbett plucked him by the sleeve and they joined the rest hastening out across the priory grounds to the eastern rim of the great crag, which provided a breathtaking view of Tynemouth Cove. An early-morning mist was gathering, but this suddenly shifted and Corbett smiled at the shouts of welcome as The Golden Dove, standards flapping, entered the calm waters of the bay. The great sail on its mainmast was already being reefed and Corbett could glimpse figures hurrying about climbing the rigging or busy in the prow ready to toss the anchor-stone over. Abruptly a fire arrow was loosed from the deck, followed by another, arcs of fluttering flame that scored the sky before dropping into the incoming tide.

  ‘The agreed signal.’ One of the brothers answered Ranulf’s exclamation of surprise. ‘Two fire arrows to indicate all is well.’ The monk smiled. ‘And it certainly is!’

  Corbett beckoned to Ranulf and led him back into the great court. ‘Seek out our one-eyed friend now. Tell him to prepare. Wodeforde will soon lower the ship’s boat. Our hidden one can go aboard and stay there until we sail.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, this may be our best opportunity to leave the north swiftly and safely. Master Wodeforde can dock at Scarborough or Hull. And as for your earlier question about Lord Henry? Well, Ranulf, one of my secret tasks was to see what was happening in the north along the Scottish march. I remember a dictum of the old king: ‘every ship needs a captain, every pack a leader’. The north is slipping into chaos. Men like Darel are taking the law into their own hands and he is not the only one. Further south, the Middletons disregard the royal writ; they mock the king’s messengers and ignore royal officials. Lord Henry may be the best cure for the sickness. You have seen him, Ranulf.’ Corbett grinned. ‘Not the sort of man to dance around the maypole with, but he has some idea of justice, and above all, he will enforce the king’s peace. Anyway, before I left Alnwick, I took him into my confidence. I told him that he could no longer hunt with the hounds and run with the hare. He had to make a decision. I told him that I carried a warrant in my chancery coffer, issued under the secret seal, promising him an earldom.’

  ‘Earl of Northumberland?’

  ‘Precisely, Ranulf. Cock of the North, Lord God Almighty along the Scottish march. Percy is like Howard of Norfolk. He wants to carve out his own family estates. He dreams of the Percy writ running from the Scottish border across to Carlisle, down through Durham and Yorkshire and into Westmoreland and the other north-western shires.’

  ‘A king in his own right?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Corbett whispered, staring up at the sky. ‘We will let the Percy lion roar for a while, let him prowl and shake his mane and make his presence felt. And then, in due course, we will offer similar encouragement to his rivals, the Nevilles and the Beaumonts. Percy couldn’t resist, particularly when I offered a second charter authorising him, when the time is right, to move resolutely against Edmund Darel and all his kin. Let’s be honest, Ranulf, whatever his protestations, we know that Darel supported, provisioned and armed the Black Chesters, and provided the dwelling at Clairbaux for his evil aunt.

  ‘But that’s for the future. Before we left Alnwick, Lord Henry and I reached an understanding. Once we’d departed for Tynemouth, he would follow shortly afterwards, and thank God he did. He reported that he had heard rumours of a Scottish war party making its way south down the eastern coast. I strongly suspect they were coming to the aid of the Black Chesters here at Tynemouth. Lord Henry sent out scouts. The war party has disappeared, retreated back into Scotland, at least for the time being. I sent Chanson with some of Ap Ythel’s archers to ask Lord Henry to hasten as swiftly as possible, and he did. Once we are safely back at Westminster, the king will elevate Lord Henry on the strict understanding that he holds the north for the Crown against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

  ‘However, Ranulf,’ Corbett clapped his henchman on the shoulder, ‘we have business to complete. As I said, I need a goblet and a jug of this priory’s finest Bordeaux. We shall then visit certain individuals. And yes, I want that prisoner, the youngest amongst them. Bring him or her to me when I ask.’

  The justices in eyre, as Corbett described hi
mself, Lord Henry and Prior Richard, held their assize court in the bleak, stark priory chapter house. The main chamber had a heavy oaken high table, which dominated the dais. There were benches either side of this long, barn-like room and a leather-backed chair placed just beneath the dais facing the table. Corbett pronounced himself satisfied. The chamber’s whitewashed walls, black-beamed ceiling and hard-tiled floor were devoid of any ornamentation, whilst the room was overshadowed by a large, age-worn crucifix hanging from the beams above the dais. Corbett believed this was the most suitable setting for a court with powers of oyer and terminer – ‘to hear and to finish’, although the outcome was never really in doubt.

  The Black Chesters had been roped and pushed down to the dungeons. They had been shown little mercy or consideration. Two of Ap Ythel’s archers lay grievously ill in the infirmary and the priory leech believed they would not recover from their wounds. Four members of the community had also been killed and others were housed in the infirmary until their wounds healed. The prisoners had been beaten and ill used until Corbett and Ranulf, swords drawn, went down into the dungeons and imposed order. Corbett assured everyone that the Black Chesters would be punished, but that would happen according to the law. Prior Richard had been with them and he had repeated Corbett’s order. However, he also pointed out that another thirty execution posts were being erected along the beach next to the original ten. ‘That will take their number to forty,’ he explained. ‘The number of years Israel wandered in the desert after the exodus from Egypt. Just punishment for their disobedience to God. Trust me,’ he concluded, ‘those forty posts will be used for the wolfsheads who tried to tear our flock apart.’

  The assize was now about to begin, just after the Jesus mass. This had been held in the priory refectory because the church, now cleared and cleaned of all signs of the violent struggle that had raged there, would remain locked and barred till it was purified and reconsecrated. Master Wodeforde and his crew, who had disembarked the previous day, also attended, the ship’s captain promising Corbett that they would leave Tynemouth as soon as the royal clerk gave the word. Ranulf, who would act as clerk, together with Brother John the librarian and Brother Julian the sub-cellarer, had prepared the judgement table with its Book of the Gospels, Corbett’s war sword and his letters patent, which gave him the authority to act as the king’s justice on whatever matter pleased him.

  All was ready. Brother John rang the large handbell and Corbett, with Prior Richard on his right and Lord Henry on his left, took his seat on the throne-like chair provided. Ap Ythel with six of his archers acted as guard inside the chamber; the rest were in the dungeons below, supervising the prisoners, clasping on manacles and chains. Corbett, for his own secret reasons, had insisted that once people entered the chapter house, they would not be allowed to absent themselves for any reason. The chamber had its own lavarium and a garderobe in the corner; food and drink had also been supplied. The assize chamber would remain sealed until he directed otherwise.

  Chanson was the court usher, and when Corbett directed, he brought up the prisoners one by one. Each of these, heavy with chains, was pushed to sit in the chair facing the dais and respond when directed. Justice was summary and bleak. Some of the prisoners just glared moodily either at their judges or the floor. Others snarled how they did not recognise the court’s authority. A few begged for mercy. Most of the prisoners were bruised or wounded, bearing the scars of the ferocious affray in which dozens of their comrades had been killed. Ten more had died the previous day from their wounds, most of these inflicted by Ap Ythel’s bowmen.

  Each prisoner was ordered to plead or offer something in mitigation; none of them could give a robust response. The indictment against them was compelling. They had attacked a royal envoy in a sacred place, they had waged war on the king’s subjects, the sons and daughters of Holy Mother Church, as well as perpetrating the most obscene blasphemy and sacrilege. All were sentenced to death immediately, without hope of pardon or amnesty. Prior Richard added that if they wished, Brother Adrian, who had been down in the dungeons offering spiritual consolation and who now sat on a wall bench as a principal witness, would shrive them. No one accepted his offer. Once sentence of death was announced, the prisoner was dragged away and another hustled in.

  Corbett was surprised at the youth of some of the prisoners, the youngest being a girl of fifteen summers, the eldest no more than forty. They came from different trades and professions: servants, traders, tinkers, merchants and a few former soldiers. All betrayed a deep cynicism for religion and authority of any kind. They saw themselves not so much as above the law but free of it, totally alienated from the communities they came from. They could, however, even when offered a bribe, say little about Paracelsus. The few who begged for mercy, only to be refused, believed that Lady Hilda might know more about their mysterious leader.

  The majority of the prisoners were members of the coven at Clairbaux, provisioned and sustained by Sir Edmund Darel. According to them, Darel was a leading henchman of Paracelsus, the two slain sisters, Leonora and Richolda, being his lovers and close helpmates. Most of those from Clairbaux were men. Some had served as mercenaries; these were hard-bitten, ruthless men. They used religion as a cloak for the dagger beneath and showed little fear of either God or man. One of them cheerfully confessed to being the leader of the party who had ambushed and killed Bavasour. He admitted to taking the dead man’s horse because of the number of mounts they had lost when they first attacked Corbett’s encampment. He and others freely acknowledged Lady Hilda as Darel’s close accomplice. Listening closely, Corbett concluded that the Black Chesters were recruited carefully; once trusted and accepted, they were invited into the inner circle of Clairbaux’s coven or those secret, sinister chambers in the inner bailey at Blanchlands.

  Corbett had decided to indict Lady Hilda last of all. If she was not fully compliant, he was quite prepared to submit her to brutal interrogation and torture. It was late afternoon before she was led into the chamber to sit before the assize. She had been stripped of her sandals, smock, gown, veil and cloak and was dressed only in a linen shift that covered her from neck to toe. Nevertheless, the witch-queen, as Corbett thought of her, seemed to exude a smug self-satisfaction, an arrogance that was almost palpable; her brazen face, framed by iron-grey hair, was twisted into a supercilious smirk, as if mocking everything and everyone.

  No sooner was she seated than she dismissed Corbett and his fellow judges with a baleful look of contemptuous condescension. Laden with chains, she sat with her hands in her lap, staring coolly at a point above Corbett’s head, before shifting her gaze to him and baring her lips in a forced grin. When asked how she would plead, she just stretched out her arms, chains rattling. Ranulf asked her again, warning her that if she did not reply, she would be pressed until she did. Lady Hilda simply shrugged, turned and spat on the floor. One of Ap Ythel’s archers struck her on the back of the head. She turned, quick as a lunging adder, and spat at him. Corbett shouted at the archer not to hit her again, even as he glimpsed Lady Hilda’s swift movement. She’d used the chaos to pull something from beneath the thick cuff of her shift and pop it into her mouth. Corbett rose, shouting at the guard, but Lady Hilda’s jaws were moving swiftly, chewing vigorously whatever she had slid so quickly through her lips. All the time she held Corbett’s gaze. Finally she opened her mouth to show that she had swallowed whatever she had eaten.

  ‘She’s poisoned herself!’ Corbett cried.

  A deep stillness descended. Everyone stared at Lady Hilda, eyes glaring, manacled hands now raised as if she was making one last fervent prayer to the demons gathering beyond the pale. Brother Adrian got to his feet, but Corbett shouted at him to stay away. Lady Hilda half rose, face twitching, neck straining as if she was about to retch. She coughed, her body jerking, then fell back against the chair, bare feet pattering on the ground. She was now choking, a blood-chilling sound that seemed to fill the entire chamber, her eyes still fixed on Corbett as she sp
luttered. She began to convulse violently, tipping off the chair to jerk and lash about on the floor. She gave one last horrid gasp, legs thrashing, and lay still. Brother Adrian hurried across.

  ‘Stop!’ Corbett shouted. ‘Brother Adrian, stop there.’

  Corbett came to stand over the now twisted corpse of Lady Hilda, her face all liverish, fixed in the gruesome agony of death.

  ‘She was waiting for that,’ he murmured. ‘She wanted to go when we confronted her. She wanted to give us her reply and publicly dismiss these proceedings. Ah well.’ He drew his breath in for the next confrontation. ‘Take her corpse away, then,’ he pointed at Brother Adrian, ‘strip him!’

  ‘In God’s name, Sir Hugh!’ Prior Richard sprang to his feet.

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ Lord Henry barked.

  ‘Master Ap Ythel, strip him,’ Corbett repeated.

  The Welshman grinned and called across two of his archers. They would take no resistance. They knocked away Brother Adrian’s hands and roughly pulled off his black robe and the linen tunic beneath, leaving the monk to stand in his loincloth. Corbett ignored the protests of Prior Richard and the other Benedictine witnesses, who had sprung to their feet and left the wall benches to advance threateningly on this royal clerk who seemed intent on the utter humiliation of their colleague. Ranulf shouted for order, and more of Ap Ythel’s archers stepped in front of the monks.

  Corbett, busying himself with Brother Adrian’s robe, seemed unaware of what was happening. He picked up the garment and shook its folds free, then called to Ranulf to bring the gloves he had left on a stool behind his judgement chair. Prior Richard, who now realised that something must be seriously amiss, demanded silence.