"Prince of Darkness" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doherty Paul)

Chapter 6

The next morning Corbett roused Ranulf, who awoke bleary-eyed.

'For the love of God, Master!'

'You've been too long in the service of the Devil,' Corbett joked. 'You drink too late and rise too late.'

'I have been too long in your service,' Ranulf grumbled. He rose, scrubbed his teeth by dipping his finger in some salt, washed his face in a bowl of rosewater, put on his boots and, led by a still joking Corbett, went downstairs to break his fast in the small buttery.

'What's the business of the day, Master?'

Corbett chewed thoughtfully on a small manchet loaf from a basket covered by a white linen cloth.

'Do you believe in Hell, Ranulf?' he asked suddenly.

'Of course, Master. Why?'

Corbett pointed to the one stained glass window in the room where the artist had painted a graphic vision of demons, their eyes glaring fiercely, their mouths and nostrils poured forth fetid breath as they tore the flesh of sinners with red hot pincers and pierced their bodies with glowing iron nails, whilst others beat the unfortunates with spikes and scourges. Ranulf studied the painting curiously and felt a shiver of apprehension as he saw how the sinners were thrust into hot ovens, cauldrons of boiling oil, or broken on huge revolving cartwheels. At the bottom of the picture serpents, dragons, adders, ferrets, loathsome toads and horrible worms, gathered to prey upon the damned.

'If you looked at that picture long enough! Master, you'd believe you were in Hell itself,' Ranulf murmured. 'Why do you ask?'

Corbett sipped thoughtfully from his goblet. 'A quiet place, Godstowe,' he replied. 'Just listen, Ranulf.'

His manservant turned, stared out of the doorway and caught the sounds of the priory community as it went about its daily tasks; the clang of milk pails, the rumble of cartwheels, and beneath the liquid song of the birds, the gentle chanting of the nuns from the priory church.

'Peaceful,' Corbett continued shortly. 'Yet I believe that Satan himself, the Prince of Darkness, has risen from his cauldron in Hell and now stalks this sun-dappled place.'

The servant shivered.

'Do you know, Ranulf,' Corbett continued, wiping his mouth on a napkin, 'when I was a boy, my mother took me to hear a famous preacher. He talked about Hell being a boiling hot lake full of venomous serpents. In it backbiters stood up to their knees. Fornicators,' Corbett threw a sly glance at Ranulf, 'up to their necks, adulterers and traitors up to their eyes.' Corbett smiled. I remember this sermon because my father, who never laughed but always kept a straight face when he joked, leaned over and murmured that this preacher spoke so eloquently of Hell, he must have been there himself.'

Ranulf grinned and relaxed.

'However,' Corbett continued, clasping his sword belt around his waist, 'one thing I do remember is that the preacher was really a gentle man; he told my mother that Holy Mother Church merely wished to frighten its children except -' Corbett narrowed his eyes and looked through the doorway '- for murderers, those who slay, especially the sons of Cain who plot with ice-cold malice the destruction of someone they hate.' Corbett paused. 'This is what happened at Godstowe, Ranulf. First,' he ticked the points off on his finger, 'Lady Eleanor Belmont was murdered. Believe me, it was no accident but coolly planned and carefully calculated. Secondly, the aged nun, Dame Martha, was also murdered for what she knew. And somehow or other, I believe these murders are linked to the two corpses found in the forest nearby.' He stared seriously at Ranulf. 'I think it's time we had further words with our porter friend.'

'Master!'

'Yes?'

I haven't finished my wine.' Ranulf glared balefully.

Corbett smiled and leaned against the doorpost. 'I'll wait, Ranulf. But that's not your real problem, is it?'

Ranulf gulped from the goblet. 'No, Master Corbett, it isn't Who is the murderer?'

'God knows, Ranulf. The King? The Prince? Gaveston? That royal catamite would do anything.' Corbett sighed. 'Or the assassin could be one of the nuns, or even our good parish priest' He paused. 'You are ready?'

'As always, Master.'

Corbett smiled and they went across to the porter's lodge near the main gate. Surprisingly, the fellow was already up, squatting on a bench outside the door, sunning himself, a jack of ale cradled in his hands.

'Good morrow, Master Clerk.' The fellow squinted up and grinned conspiratorially at Ranulf. 'You wish to leave?'

'Good morrow to you too.' Corbett tapped the fellow's boot with his own. 'Yes, I wish to leave, and I want you to come and show us the place where those two corpses were found.'

'Which corpses?' The fellow glared at Ranulf.

Corbett leaned over and gripped the porter tightly by the shoulder. 'Don't play games with me,' he whispered 'About eighteen months ago, a young man and woman were found naked with their throats cut, in the forest. You later found the corpse of a small lap dog nearby. You took the collar, sold the jewels from it and buried the remains at the foot of a scaffold.' Corbett watched the man become frightened. 'Now,' he continued, 'you may not be a murderer but you are a thief. You stole from the dead, and failed to deliver certain information to the King's Justices or to the Sheriff. I am prepared to forget all that if you agree to join us for a stroll on this fine summer's day.'

The porter threw one venomous look at Ranulf, slammed the jack of ale down on the bench, grumblingly unlocked the postern door and led them out on to the white, dusty forest track which snaked between the trees down to Godstowe village. The porter walked ahead, Corbett and Ranulf strolled behind. The clerk stretched and sucked in the clear morning air.

'Why do we need to visit the place?' Ranulf moaned.

'Curiosity,' Corbett replied. As they turned a comer on the path, the clerk suddenly stopped and grasped Ranulf by the arm. 'Listen,' he hissed as the porter walked on oblivious to what was happening behind him. Ranulf strained his ears, trying to ignore the sounds of the forest, the chatter of the birds and the rustle of the wood creatures under the thick green bracken. Then he, too, heard it: the sound of footsteps slithering across the loose shale of the track. The porter stopped and turned. Corbett indicated with his hand for him to stand still and be silent. The footsteps drew nearer.

'I think I know who it is,' Corbett whispered.

They heard heavy breathing and a figure appeared round the corner, clothed in the grey garb of Godstowe Priory. Corbett glimpsed red cheeks and sparkling eyes behind the wimple.

'Dame Catherine!' he exclaimed.

The nun stopped, jumped, and gave a small cry, her fingers fluttering to her mouth.

'Dame Catherine, good morning.'

'Good morrow, Master Clerk,' the flustered nun replied. 'I am going…'

Corbett stepped out from beneath the trees. 'Don't lie, Sister. The Lady Amelia would never allow you to go wandering off by yourself. I am sure you have no business at the village.'

The nun's face blushed a deeper crimson. Ranulf appreciatively watched the woman's plump breasts rise and fall beneath her grey, woollen gown.

'You are following us,' Corbett declared. 'I glimpsed you out of the corner of my eye when I was talking to the porter.'

'I…' The nun looked away. 'Yes, I was following you,' she confessed. 'I saw you talking to the porter, then suddenly leave. I was curious.'

'Why?' Corbett asked.

Dame Catherine's face hardened. 'You have come into our priory to insinuate that evil deeds have been committed,' she snapped.

'That's because they have, Sister.' Corbett turned and angrily waved at the porter to stay where he was. 'I do not believe that Lady Eleanor fell downstairs. I am suspicious about old Martha drowning in her bath, and you may tell the Lady Amelia that I am now curious about the two corpses found in the forest nearby.' 'Oh!'

Corbett stepped closer.

'You heard about that?' Ranulf interrupted.

'Yes, we all did. I believe the Lady Amelia has told you everything we know.'

Corbett ran his fingers through his hair. 'What actually did the Lady Amelia tell us, Sister?' The clerk stared up at the clear blue sky. 'Come on,' he urged gendy. 'You left the priory this morning on her orders, so tell me what you and Sister Amelia know about the corpses in the forest. It will save further questioning.'

The nun shrugged. 'About eighteen months ago,' she answered, 'the two corpses were found. They were put in canvas sacks and taken to the church in Godstowe for burial. The Sheriff and coroner came to the village and held the Inquisicio Post Mortem but they found nothing except that two travellers fitting the dead persons' descriptions had passed through the village earlier in the day.' Dame Catherine made a face. 'As I said, they were found naked, murdered, and no one came to claim their bodies.'

'Where were they travelling to?'

'We don't know.'

'Were two such visitors expected at Godstowe?'

'No. We have many visitors but most of them have the Prioress' permission to come and visit relatives. No such guests were expected. I…' Dame Catherine stopped and straightened her wimple. I am responsible for the preparations for such visitors. The Sheriff asked me the same question and I gave him the same answer as I have you.'

'What then?'

Dame Catherine licked her dry lips. 'The Sheriff concluded as we did, that the two unfortunates were travellers on the road and were ambushed by outlaws.' She stared into the green darkness of the forest.' We have such wolfshead round here.' She smiled falsely at Corbett. 'You are going to the place where their bodies were found?'

'Yes, the porter agreed to take us there,' Corbett lied.

'I'd better…' Dame Catherine stammered. 'I'd better return.'

'Dame Catherine?'

'Yes, Master Clerk?'

'Did you like the Lady Eleanor?'

'She was a royal whore!' The nun spat the words out 'Make of it what you want Clerk, she should not have been sent to Godstowe!'

'Yet the Lady Prioress agreed?'

'The Lady Prioress is a law unto herself,' Dame Catherine spitefully added. 'She has her own rules. She owes her position to her father's services to the Prince many years ago.'

'You dislike the Lady Prioress?' Ranulf asked curiously.

'The Lady Amelia can be strict,' Dame Catherine answered carefully. 'She banished pets and festivities from the priory. She is most strict on where we go and limits the number of our visitors. She has forbidden hunting or hawking, and then -'

'And then,' Corbett interrupted smoothly, 'she allowed the royal whore to come and stay in your midst?'

'Yes.'

'But did you like her?' Ranulf persisted. 'I mean, the Lady Eleanor?'

Dame Catherine pursed her lips. 'We left her alone. She was haughty, distant The only people she spoke to were the Lady Prioress and Dame Agatha.

Corbett nodded and clapped Ranulf on the shoulders. 'In which case, Sister, there is no further need for you to accompany us. You may tell Lady Amelia where we are going for our walk and that we will return shortly.'

They stood and watched the nun spin on her heel and waddle off with as much dignity as she could muster.

'Strange,' Corbett mused. 'I really do wonder where the Lady Prioress thought we were going.'

They continued their walk, rousing the surly porter from where he crouched at the edge of the track, chewing a piece of fresh grass.

'What did Dame Catherine want?' he demanded. 'You didn't tell her about the collar?'

'She came to wish us a safe journey,' Ranulf replied sarcastically. 'And, no, we did not tell her about the dog collar. Or,' he added mischievously, 'the gems you stole from it!'

They must have walked for about another ten minutes and could glimpse the blue wood-smoke rising above the trees from Godstowe village when suddenly the porter stopped, turned left, and led them along a narrow beaten trackway into the forest. Ranulf shivered. He always felt uncomfortable amongst this dark silent wood, the strange shadows, the bursts of sudden sunlight and constant chatter and rustle of unseen birds and animals.

'I'd prefer a darkened alleyway in Southwark,' he muttered

'Each to his own,' Corbett replied.

They followed the porter along the serpentine path, then suddenly they were through the trees and into a glade ringed by clumps of trees, silent except for the gurgle of a small brook as it splashed down some rocks which thrust up out of the ground like the finger of a buried giant.

'Be careful,' the porter murmured. He pointed to the near side of the small brook where the grass seemed darker, longer, and lush. 'Watch!' he insisted, and picking up a fallen bough, threw it into the midst of this dark greenness. Ranulf swallowed nervously as the bough hit the ground. There was a sucking noise, a small pool of water formed, and the branch sank without trace. 'A marsh,' the porter explained. 'There are a number in the forest.' He grinned with a display of broken teeth. 'Only fools would wander in here.'

'Where were the bodies found?'

'Well,' the fellow scratched his head, 'from what I gather, they had been rolled into the marsh but hadn't sunk. Two lovers from the village, looking for a quiet spot, found them and sent for help. We pulled them out.'

'How were they?'

'Well, that's the mystery,' the porter replied. I heard about their discovery and hurried down from the priory. I was there when the bailiffs arrived. The bodies were naked as they were born, not a scrap of clothing, jewellery or any possessions. Yet their faces…' The man shook his head. 'A mottled black and white, their throats cut from ear to ear.'

'And no one claimed the bodies?' 'No.'

'And you expected no such visitors to the priory?' 'No.'

'Then how did you find the dog?'

The porter moved restlessly from one foot to another. 'Well, I was truly puzzled, so two days later I came back. I know the forest well. I thought there might be something worth finding.' He pointed over to the ring of trees. 'There, under the bracken, I glimpsed the dog. At first I thought it was a dead rabbit. I went over to look and knew it was a lap dog.'

'You didn't kill it?' Ranulf snapped.

'God be my witness, sir, I didn't!' The porter licked his lips nervously. 'The corpses must have been in the marsh for days, even weeks. The dog must have run away and, being such a pampered animal, crawled back and pined to death for its mistress. I took the collar off, removed the stones, put the rest in the sack and took it to the gibbet The rest you know.' He glared again at Ranulf and looked down at his boots.

'Are there outlaws here?' Corbett asked.

The porter made a face. 'No, Master Clerk. That's what puzzled me and the other villagers. Oh, there's a few wild lads who do some poaching. But tell me,' he asked, defiantly repeating taproom gossip, 'what outlaw worth his brain would hide in a forest with a royal palace at one end and a priory full of powerful ladies at the other? Not to mention the village and the other farms. There are deeper woods than this for a wolfshead to hide in.'

Corbett stared round the eerie, silent glade. 'If only the leaves of these trees,' he murmured, 'could turn to tongues, what story would they tell?'

Ranulf just shivered.

'A place to rest,' Corbett muttered. 'But perhaps not a place to die.'

I don't know,' Ranulf replied, his face growing paler. 'I once knew a sailor, an old man from Gravesend. He said that on one of his voyages, he passed a floating island thronged with demonic blacksmiths who forged and hammered the evil souls of assassins!' Ranulf shook his head. 'I think this place is more suited for that than any island.' He stared at Corbett. I don't like it, Master. It stinks of death!'

'Then, Master Porter,' Corbett announced, 'it's best we leave.'

They walked back to the forest track where Corbett dismissed the porter. Then he and a calmer Ranulf sat on a log at the edge of the trees.

'What do we have here?' Corbett murmured as soon as the porter was out of earshot. 'Two travellers, ambushed and murdered in a forest glade – was it by outlaws?' He shook his head. 'The porter is right and Dame Catherine's explanation feckless. No outlaw would lurk so near a royal palace or so close to a powerful priory.'

Ranulf belched noisily. 'I'd agree with that,' he added apologetically. 'Nor would any outlaw strip the corpses so carefully: jewellery and silver maybe, perhaps the horses and their harnesses, but not to the extent the porter described. Nor,' he concluded, 'would any outlaw try to hide the bodies. He would take his ill-gotten gains and flee.'

Corbett nibbed his chin. 'And so the mystery deepens. Why kill them, Ranulf? Why not just demand their valuables and scamper off? It's almost as if,' he paused, 'the murderer wanted to disguise who his victims were. He takes their belongings, their horses, then tips their naked corpses into a marsh, except they don't sink properly.' He chewed his lip. 'There are other riddles. These two travellers were apparently strangers in the area, yet how did they know about this forest path leading to a glade with the water to refresh themselves? And who would be strong enough to overcome a young man as well as a, presumably, fairly robust young damsel?'

'What are you saying, Master?'

'Well, the only conclusion is that they were lured to their deaths. They were taken to that glade to be murdered. And yet,' Corbett laughed abruptly, 'did they just offer their throats to the murderer?' He turned. 'Do you make any sense of it, Ranulf?'

'No, Master, I don't. I have the same questions. Who were they? Where were they going? Not to the priory, they weren't expected there.' Ranulf blew out noisily. 'And, as you say, Master, how were they lured to their deaths and why so meekly give up their lives?'

Corbett rose and brushed the moss from his clothes. 'A riddle within a riddle,' he murmured. 'But I can tell you this, Ranulf, even though I haven't a shred of evidence, I believe the deaths of those two young people have something to do with the murder of Lady Eleanor Belmont.'

Ranulf sat staring down at the ground.

'Master?'

'Yes, Ranulf?'

'Both Dame Catherine and the porter mentioned these two corpses being found in the wood which ties between the priory and the palace. Could the murderer have been from either of these?'

Corbett shook his head. 'It would be hard to prove, Ranulf. As the porter said, the corpses might have been lying there for days, even weeks. If it was the priory, why should a nun murder two travellers? And our noble lords at the palace would certainly have done a more professional job.' Corbett narrowed his eyes and squinted up at the sky. I suggest we are talking about a murderer rather than murderers. One person acting hastily who dragged the bodies to the marsh and hurried away.' He made a face and tapped his man on the shoulder. 'But, my dear Ranulf, that too causes a problem. Could one person overcome two able-bodied people?'

Ranulf rose and stretched. 'There're tensions at the priory, Master.'

Corbett grimaced. 'Of course there are. The Lady Amelia is unpopular. She put an end to the nuns' little treats and tricks, whilst at the same time allowing a whore to take up residence there. Moreover, we know our master the King, Ranulf. One day, I am sure, he will ask Lady Amelia to account for her stewardship.'

'And where to now, Master?'

'Well, I think we have finished at the priory for the moment, and the good villagers of Godstowe know very tittle. Perhaps it's time we visited our noble Prince of Wales and the Lord Gaveston at Woodstock.'

Ranulf groaned and closed his eyes.

'Look on the bright side,' Corbett sang out, walking briskly away. 'Where there's a palace there are pretty girls!'

Ranulf glared at his master's retreating back.

'Aye,' he muttered. 'And where there's Gaveston, there's the Devil!'