âOn what matter?' Corbett asked.
âSir Hugh, I don't know, but,' he lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder to where Claypole stood with other town dignitaries, âsomething about the blood register, about Claypole's claims.'
âAnd what would that have to do with you, Master Ormesby?'
The physician closed his eyes, took a breath, then opened them again.
âWe all know,' he took Corbett by the arm, leading him away, well out of earshot of Claypole and the rest, âthat Lord Scrope was Claypole's natural father; whether he and Alice de Tuddenham were blessed in holy wedlock is a matter of debate. Alice later died in childbirth. Now, I only say this as a supposition, Sir Hugh, but rumour has it that my mother, a midwife in Mistleham, delivered the child. She may have heard or seen something, then told me before she died, or so people think. I don't know! Perhaps that's why Dame Marguerite wanted to see me.'
Corbett thanked him and returned to the chaplain, who, once again, in halting tones, described how he and Dame Marguerite had arrived just before Nones, the time stipulated in her letter to Physician Ormesby. Corbett asked the physician to produce this letter, which he did. Corbett read it quickly. The note was carefully written but it begged Ormesby, âfor the most important reason', to meet Dame Marguerite at the hour of Nones before the rood screen in St Alphege's. He glanced up at the chaplain.
âBut why here?' he asked. âWhy didn't she invite Physician Ormesby to St Frideswide in the safety and security of her convent?'
âBecause she said this church held a secret,' Master Benedict replied. âThat's what she told me when I begged her to stay. She said she wouldn't put it in the letter, but this church,' he gestured round, âheld the key to all the secrets of Mistleham: the death of her brother, the Sagittarius, and above all, Master Claypole's claims. More than that she wouldn't say. We came in here, we were talking in front of the rood screen, the church was empty. The Jesus Mass had been celebrated. I heard the corpse door open. I thought it was Father Thomas and I walked down, then came the three swift blasts of the hunting horn. I couldn't see clearly. I panicked, then a shadow emerged. I heard the whistle of the arrow as it cut the air, followed by Dame Marguerite's scream. I hurried back and glanced round. The archer had drawn nearer, hooded, cowled and cloaked, only a shadow, but the longbow he carried gleamed in the light. I just ran! I hid behind the rood screen. I heard the arrow strike the wood. I thought he would draw closer but I suppose it was Dame Marguerite he wished to kill. I heard no more until Physician Ormesby arrived.'
Corbett thanked him, walked past the corpse, under the rood
screen and up the steps leading to the high altar. He stared at the crucifix, closed his eyes and quoted verses from the Veni Creator Spiritus: âLight Immortal, Light Divine, visit thou these hearts of thine â¦' He opened his eyes. It was time he primed the trap. He was wasting his time here. He had to return to Mistleham, to explore one further possibility. He turned round and walked back to join the rest.
âTonight,' he declared, âI must ask you all to join me at Mistleham Manor. We will assemble in the hall not to feast but to decide on certain matters. I urge you all on your allegiance to the Crown to be there. Fail to do so and you will be put to the horn, proclaimed as an outlaw. Physician Ormesby, that includes you.' Corbett gestured at Dame Marguerite's corpse; the white cloth covering her face was now stained with blood. âFather Thomas, I would be grateful if you would see that the lady's body be honourably removed. Physician Ormesby, the arrow must be taken out, the body given some sort of semblance before it is taken to St Frideswide.' He thanked them, beckoned to Ranulf and left.
We, wishing to have a hasty remedy to this business, have assigned you to enquire on oath â¦
Letter of Edward I, 6 June 1303
The journey back to Mistleham was silent. Corbett refused to be drawn by Ranulf's questions.
âYou never asked them, master, where they all were.' Ranulf couldn't curb his curiosity. âFather Thomas, Claypole and the rest.'
âIt doesn't matter where they all were,' Corbett replied enigmatically. âWhat matters, Ranulf, is what we are going to do now.' He pulled at his reins and gently stroked his horse's neck. âPhysician Ormesby is keen-witted. Do you remember what he told us? How these mysteries can be solved by discovering what really happened at Acre thirteen years ago and on the Island of Swans the night Lord Scrope was killed. Well,' he urged his horse on, âwe've studied Acre and discovered all we can about what truly happened there; now it's time to return to the Island of Swans. Once back at Mistleham, get Pennywort. Tell him I need the services of his boat, and you, Ranulf, fetch a long pole. I am going to ask Pennywort to row you round the lake. Someone crossed the lake that night. They didn't use the boat, there's no bridge and, to quote Brother Gratian, outside the Gospels, no one walks
on water, but someone crossed and I intend to find how they did it!'
The brutal murder of Dame Marguerite had disturbed the manor. When Corbett and Ranulf returned, they found servants gathered in small groups whispering amongst each other. Lady Hawisa came down, face all shocked at the news. Corbett took her hands and kissed her fingers gently.
âMy lady, Dame Marguerite is gone to God. I must discover her killer and that of your husband, and the sooner the better. Think of time as sand running through an hour glass; only a few grains remain. I must act and do so swiftly.'
He told Ranulf to keep on his cloak, cowl and gloves and seek out Pennywort. The boatman arrived all agog, wondering what was expected of him. Corbett asked him to row them across to the Island of Swans, told him to secure the boat, and all three went up the steps. Corbett produced the key, broke the seals, unlocked the reclusorium and went inside. It was freezing cold and rather bleak, the air stale. Corbett told Pennywort and Ranulf to stay just within the doorway as he walked slowly around.
âThere are six windows here,' he said. âTwo look out towards the back of the reclusorium, the others provide a view on either side of the Island of Swans. Very well.' He went down the steps and, much to Ranulf and Pennywort's astonishment, began to walk around the reclusorium. It was now about noon, bitterly cold, the clouds beginning to break; rooks and crows floated above them, black-feathered wings displayed, their strident cries mocking Corbett as he slipped and slithered on the ice. He kept looking across at the lake, and when he reached the rear of the hermitage,
he pointed across to a group of willows on the far side and the narrow path that snaked between the trees.
âI wonder!' he exclaimed, but he didn't bother to explain to his companions. Instead he returned to the jetty and instructed Pennywort to row Ranulf into the centre of the lake and proceed slowly in the direction of those willows. Ranulf was to stand in the stern with the long pole he'd taken from the stables and test the depth of the water as they went. Pennywort immediately dismissed that as a waste of time.
âHave you ever tested the depth?' Corbett teased.
âYes, but not for the entire lake.'
âOf course not.' Corbett smiled.
âWhat are we looking for?' Ranulf asked.
âThe same as when I scrutinised the receipts and rents of this manor,' Corbett replied. âWe'll know the truth when we see it. Now, sirs â¦'
Pennywort, muttering under his breath, clambered into the boat. Ranulf, carrying his pole, climbed in behind; cloaked and cowled, he looked like the Angel of Death standing in the stern. Pennywort rowed out, then turned in the direction Corbett had instructed. At Corbett's shouted order, Ranulf let the pole down; eventually he had to sit, as most of it disappeared beneath the surface. Corbett walked with them along the bank. Sometimes vegetation and undergrowth sprouting on the edge hid the boat from view, so he called out and Ranulf shouted back that there had been no change. They rounded the island, approaching the rear of the reclusorium. Corbett glimpsed the tops of the willows on the far bank and tried to control his excitement. He was almost level with the trees when he heard Ranulf and Pennywort's
loud exclamation. He hurriedly pushed through the bushes to the edge of the lake. Pennywort was trying to keep the flatbottomed boat stationary as Ranulf jabbed his pole at something beneath the water.
âWhat is it?' Corbett called, even though he anticipated the answer.
âAbout a foot or more beneath the boat,' Ranulf exclaimed, âthere's a hard, ridged surface. It's broad, master, about two feet across, like a ledge or shelf.'
âThe remains of a bridge, perhaps?' Pennywort called out. âI never knew. Lord Scrope refused to allow any barge or boat to circle the lake.'
Corbett just stared across at the narrow path between the willows. He called Pennywort to bring his boat closer and row him across; Pennywort tried to, but though the lake grew shallower towards the edge, it was still too deep to wade through, Corbett decided he'd walk back to the jetty and meet them there. When he arrived, Pennywort was waiting, full of surprise at their find. After he'd taken Corbett back to the other side, he quickly moored his boat and followed the royal clerks round the edge of the lake to the clump of willows. Once amongst these, hacking at the trail of undergrowth with his sword, Corbett pointed back.
âIf someone entered the manor grounds stealthily at night,' he explained, âthey could lurk here unnoticed by the guards sheltering around their fire under the trees some distance away. Remember, there were no dogs. Both had been killed to prepare for that night of blood. Pennywort, would you have seen anything here?'
The boatman shrugged. âWe'd never even think to look,' he murmured.
âOf course not. Here in this clump of trees the killer prepared. He had a staff.' He pointed to the pole. âCut a third off.'
Ranulf, with Pennywort's help, did so. Corbett grasped the staff, then advanced to the edge of the lake.
âMaster â¦' Ranulf warned.
Corbett walked on, using the pole to test the water. He felt it hit rock and carefully walked on to the broad ledge beneath. The water rose to about a foot, almost touching the rim of his boots. He edged forward carefully in a straight line. Icy water splashed his legs, but the ledge was quite broad and gritty, whilst the flow of the lake, fed by some underground stream, was not strong.
âIt's very similar,' he called back, âto a ford: shallow water over sure footing!' He found the pole invaluable. Like a blind man with a stick, he would push it forward and then follow. He felt slightly nervous when he reached the centre, but the underwater ridge stretched before him, broad enough to take any slip to the left or right. Moreover, as he approached the far side, the ledge began to rise slightly. The water grew shallower, then he was across, boots crunching on the icy undergrowth along the island edge. He turned and smiled triumphantly, lifting his hands towards his companions, then began the journey back. On one occasion he nearly slipped as the staff wedged in a crack on the ledge, but he reached the far bank safely.
âNothing!' he exclaimed. âSome cold water on my legs, but it wasn't too dangerous.'
âBut at night?' Ranulf asked.
Corbett held up the staff. âShielded by the trees, the killer could have used a shuttered lantern. More importantly,' he pointed to one of the willows,' he may have brought a rope.'
âOf course,' Pennywort breathed, âA covered lantern to mark the place he left. He'd tie one end of the rope securely around a tree, the other end about his waist.'
âPrecisely!' Corbett clapped Pennywort on the shoulder. âThen he used the staff to find his foothold and move carefully across, as I did. The dark would make no difference; as long as the pole hit hard rock, he was safe. If he slipped or even fell, the rope would secure him. He could haul himself back on to the ledge and carry on. Once on the other side, he'd secure the rope to use on his return. That is how our killer crossed to the Island of Swans.'
âBut the reclusorium?' Pennywort stammered. âHow did the killer force an entry? Everything was secure. I had to smash the shutters.'
âHush.' Corbett opened his purse and pressed a silver piece into the man's hand. âFor now, silence, Pennywort! This is King's business.'
The boatman beamed down at the piece of silver. âI never knew,' he murmured, âabout the ford.'
âVery few did,' Corbett replied. âI suspect that many years ago masonry and cement were poured in to support a bridge that was eventually destroyed or fell down, but its rocky foundations are as sure as those of a cathedral, a mass of hardened concrete known only to a few, forgotten over the years. Lord Scrope didn't forget when he built his reclusorium. He insisted that the only way across the lake was by boat, a fact everybody accepted as the truth and that, strangely enough, proved to be his own undoing â¦'
Darkness had fallen when Corbett gathered his guests around the high table on the dais in Mistleham Manor. Lady Hawisa, despite
Corbett's request, insisted on serving a light collation for all those invited. The dais gleamed in the light of a long row of candelabra, the fire in the great hearth had been built up, and braziers glowed from the corners of the hall. Corbett's guests arrived together: Claypole, Master Benedict, Ormesby, Father Thomas and Brother Gratian, all graciously welcomed by Lady Hawisa. Corbett had prepared himself well. He'd spoken briefly to Ranulf and Chanson, then drawn up documents; the chancery bag resting against the leg of his chair contained all the letters and warrants he needed. Ranulf had also come prepared, his war belt lying on the floor beside a small arbalest, though Corbett predicted there would be little violence.
The meal began. Corbett allowed Father Thomas to say grace and the servants brought in the wine, bowls of hot broth and platters of cold meat and fresh bread. Lady Hawisa, still garbed in widow's weeds, tried to make conversation, but the atmosphere was tense; those who'd come knew that Corbett had reached his conclusions. They sat like men under sentence waiting for a judge to declare his verdict. Corbett decided to be swift. The first goblet of wine had been drunk when he abruptly rose and walked around behind Claypole's chair. The whisper of conversation died as Corbett put his hand on the mayor's tense shoulder.
âMaster Henry Claypole, Mayor of Mistleham, I, Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the King's Secret Seal and Royal Commissioner in these parts, do appeal you of treason, robbery and murder. Treason in that the outlaw John Le Riche deliberately came here to sell you the King's treasure looted from the crypt at Westminster. No â¦' Corbett forced the mayor to remain seated. Ranulf stood up and walked down the other side of the table, the
primed arbalest pointing directly at Claypole. The rest of the guests gazed in astonishment.
âI did notâ'
âYou did!' Corbett leaned down and whispered loudly, âSuch mummery, Master Claypole! Le Riche was experienced, but he was tricked and betrayed by you and Lord Scrope. Where is the rest of the treasure you bought, eh? In your house? I'll produce the necessary warrants and search it from garret to cellar. You are also accused of robbery, because you and Lord Scrope feloniously took the said treasure and hid it. Murder, because you are the Sagittarius. You are a skilled bowman, Master Claypole; both you and Lord Scrope were involved in that too. You rented tenements from your manor lord above the marketplace. You used these as a hiding place as well as your concealment to loose arrows at both the unsuspecting and those you and Lord Scrope wished to rid yourselves of. Murder also because you turned against your master; you wanted the Sanguis Christi as well as the other treasure, not to mention the blood registers. You, Lord Scrope's son, legitimate or not, were privy to many secrets, including that secret ford across the lake.' Corbett lifted his hand at the excited murmur around him. âNot now,' he declared. âPerhaps in a day or so, when Master Claypole goes on trial for his life.' He tightened his grip on Claypole's shoulder until the mayor winced. âYou used that ford the night you murdered Scrope.'
âThis is ridiculous!' Claypole screeched. âI can proveâ'
âWhat?' Corbett intervened. âThat you were busy in the guildhall this morning when Dame Marguerite arrived?'
âAs I was in the marketplace when Jackanapes was killed.'
âYour accomplice Lord Scrope was not,' Corbett taunted.
âI mean when Jackanapes was killed. There were two Sagittarius, two bowmen; I shall prove that. As for this morning, I shall also demonstrate, Master Claypole, that you have St Alphege's under constant scrutiny. After all, that is the place from where the blood registers were allegedly stolen. You also watched Dame Marguerite, who fiercely resented your claims. When she arrived unexpectedly at St Alphege's earlier today, you decided to finish the game once and for all. I shall explain the details later. After all, Master Claypole, you are the mayor, you can move around. It is easy to leave a bow with a quiver of arrows in the shadows, slip through one door, notch an arrow, loose and flee again. Ah yes, I have much to say about you and so much to judge. Chanson,' Corbett called down the hall, âarrest Master Claypole and take him to the cellars below. Ranulf will go with you. Lady Hawisa â¦'