âAnd then we arrived,' Ranulf interrupted, âbut our presence did not deter you.'
âIn a way, Master Benedict,' Corbett declared, âyou were pleased at our arrival. The corpses of your comrades were rotting; we ended all that. Nevertheless, you used the occasion to remind Scrope's men that the Sagittarius was not far. However, the burning of your dead truly disturbed you. You became ill with fury; I witnessed that. You carried out immediate retribution. You discovered that Scrope's henchman Robert de Scott was wallowing in the Honeycomb. Once again you disappeared into that warren of garrets and chambers above Mistleham marketplace to unleash death before turning on Scrope himself.'
Master Benedict bowed his head and smiled softly. Corbett suspected he was simply hiding his confusion.
âDame Marguerite then came into her own. By now she truly hated her brother, as she did his shadow Claypole. She was determined to harm the mayor. She'd always hated his pretensions; I suspect even before your revelations to her. Whilst her brother was away in Acre, Dame Marguerite was the one who removed the blood registers from St Alphege's â so that if her brother died childless, Master Claypole could make no claim. True?'
âIt's possible.' The chaplain kept his head down. âDame Marguerite truly hated Claypole, and if she'd lived, she would have dealt with him.'
âBut first her brother,' Corbett declared. âOn the day we burnt the dead at Mordern, you returned to the manor to take Gaston's ring, which, God forgive his hypocrisy, Scrope had placed on the head of the crucified Saviour. You did this before slipping out into Mistleham to wreak bloody havoc in the marketplace. You strode into that chapel only to be surprised by Lady Hawisa. She came in after you full of rage at her husband and, in the silence of that place, confessed how she had often plotted to kill him with nightshade. She left and so did you, taking the ring to Dame Marguerite as well as the information Lady Hawisa had unwittingly provided.'
Corbett paused and listened to the faint sounds from outside. He thought of the list of murderous deeds this man was responsible for and wondered how Master Benedict could be brought to full justice. First, though, the indictment had to be presented.
âLord Scrope was now truly frightened,' Corbett continued. âDame Marguerite was still acting the role of the loving, loyal sister. Secretly, and I admit this is conjecture, she went to see him. She would act all concerned and anxious, bemoaning how no one could be trusted, how the very walls had ears.' Corbett shrugged. âIt would not be too difficult with Scrope haunted and hunted by the past as well as the present. Dame Marguerite would argue that no one could be trusted, not even his wife, who, she told him, also desired to end his life. She offered to bring proof, revelations about the mysterious threats, either herself or through her faithful chaplain. One of you would cross the secret ford and visit him that night in the reclusorium; that
was the best place for such a confession to be made, where no one could see or hear.'
âAnd Lord Scrope would agree to that?'
âWhy not? What did he fear from his faithful sister or her creature, the whey-faced chaplain? God knows what Dame Marguerite offered, what she said, but Scrope certainly accepted.'
âBut that ford at night?'
âNonsense, Master Benedict, you know Mistleham Manor well. You've been there for over a year, Dame Marguerite had shown you the place. You may have even practised crossing it. I did once, quite safely. You could do it easily armed with a staff, a rope and a shuttered lantern horn.'
Master Benedict glanced up in surprise. Corbett noted the fear in his eyes, the realisation of how hard the case pressed against him.
âWhat had you to fear, cold water? The guards were sheltering well away under some trees. Robert de Scott had been dispatched to hell, the guard dogs slain. Dame Marguerite was ready to swear that you were ill all night. No, no â you safely crossed to the rear of the reclusorium and, as agreed, tapped on a shutter. Lord Scrope, lying on his bed, gets up, pulls aside the drapes, opens the shutters and lets you in. What can he, a warrior, fear from a pious, unarmed chaplain carrying a small pannier bag? Scrope sits down in his chair and you, all nervous, stand over him. You fumble with the bag but swiftly grasp the dagger and plunge it into Scrope's heart. In the blink of an eye Scrope was killed because he had been faced with the totally unexpected and had no time to resist, to struggle. You plunged that dagger deep. Scrope tried to grasp the hilt and bloodied his hands. You just stood and watched the life light fade in your enemy's eyes. You then took the keys from
round his neck and ransacked his treasury. You later returned the keys, pulled out your dagger and thrust in the one taken from the crypt at Westminster.'
âAnd the poison?'
âOh, you may have disturbed the herb plant at the manor, or the nightshade may have been given to you by Dame Marguerite from her stock of powders in the convent infirmary. Anyway, you poured the phial of poison into the jug, then filled that yew cup. A mysterious, mischievous twist that would suggest Lady Hawisa's guilt. You later departed as you came, through the window, pulling over the drapes, closing the shutter and going back across the ford.'
âI could have been noticed.'
âI doubt it. A dark shadow on a black, freezing night? You were no longer the timid chaplain, but a soldier skilled and ruthless.'
âBut those shutters remained unbarred.'
âDame Marguerite took care of that. She'd arranged to see her brother the following morning in the reclusorium with Father Thomas, a gesture that would reassure her brother about his midnight visitor. She'd promised to go over to discuss certain concerns, but also to secretly consult with him on what to do next. Scrope would see that as logical reassurance that you were what you pretended to be, his loyal, loving sister's emissary. Father Thomas was a cat's paw: the abbess and the parish priest paying a visit to their manor lord. Of course this is mere conjecture, because Dame Marguerite's real intention was to conceal the mystery of her brother's brutal murder. On that morning she crossed by boat. The door was locked, so she directed Pennywort to break the nearest shutter, which he did. He climbs in and sees
the horror. He hastily unlocks the door and Dame Marguerite sweeps in. Father Thomas immediately acts the priest, tending to the corpse. Dame Marguerite, pretending to be all flustered, hastens around the reclusorium. She quickly pulls aside the drapes of that window, lowers the bar, and lifts the pegs against the shutters. Remember, the reclusorium was cloaked in darkness; most of the candles had guttered out. Father Thomas is busy. Pennywort is standing outside by the door. Dame Marguerite can do what she likes and the mystery is complete. The alarm is then noisily raised. People hasten across, trampling any sign, if any remained, of Scrope's secret assassin.'
âAnd your vengeance has been carried out,' Ranulf declared.
Master Benedict threw the Clerk of the Green Wax a venomous glance. Proof, Corbett quietly concluded, that if Ranulf was not here, this murderous soul would try and seize any opportunity.
âYou are not yet finished,' Corbett remarked. âDame Marguerite was infatuated with you â yes? Did she have plans, nurse plots? Oh no, not to elope, but to settle down at St Frideswide with her lover chaplain who'd secure preferment in the royal service. Some madcap scheme that certainly did not match your plans? She might prove to be a burden in the future. Why did you need to stay? Yet you couldn't flee and leave her to bear witness. You continued to be
faux et semblant
â false and dissembling. You encouraged her to act all frightened, as if she too was being threatened by the Sagittarius. That was all your work, the arrow, the message. Again you were trying to divert attention.'
âAnd in St Alphege's?' Master Benedict broke in, all impetuous, like a master wondering if his scholar had really learnt his lesson.
Corbett bit back his anger. âIf Dame Marguerite was truly
frightened,' he murmured, âshe would never have left St Frideswide. Yet you could not kill her there; that would be highly suspicious.'
âSo?'
âMaster Claypole,' Corbett replied. âDame Marguerite was venomously hot against him. You persuaded the lady abbess to send that letter to Physician Ormesby. Why? I truly don't know, except to use him against Claypole.'
âBut why meet in St Alphege's.' The question was more of a taunt.
âOh.' Corbett smiled. âI suspect you and Dame Marguerite were going to entrap Claypole. Your assertion that the parish church held the solution to all the mysteries was a lie. The Sagittarius would launch an attack against both her and you, only to fail. Physician Ormesby would arrive shortly afterwards to find the abbess and her chaplain all distraught and ready to swear that the secret bowman was no less a person than Master Claypole.'
âAnd Dame Marguerite was confident about this?'
âOf course! Dame Marguerite wasn't frightened of any Sagittarius; she knew who he really was. In fact she should have been most wary. You accompanied her. You took a short horn bow, along with two arrows pushed through your belt, all hidden beneath your cloak. Dame Marguerite never suspected what you really intended. She thought you adored her. Both of you arrived early in the church â the Jesus Mass was finished, Father Thomas had withdrawn, those parishioners who'd attended had left. If there had been any obstacle, you'd have simply changed your plans accordingly. Dame Marguerite would have to leave the church.
Perhaps you could encourage her to move amongst the stalls, or, of course, there was always the journey back to St Frideswide. However, the church was empty, the main door locked. You acted very swiftly. You melt into the shadows, notch one arrow, emerge and loose. In a few heartbeats Dame Marguerite is dead. Another shaft is loosed at the rood screen. You unstring the bow and hide the stave in that dark, cavernous church; only then do you blow the horn and hide behind the rood screen as if terrified out of your wits.'
âSo swift?' Le Sanglier jibed.
âRanulf,' Corbett spoke over his shoulder, âwhen I start counting, pick up your bow and two arrows from the quiver, and loose as quickly as you can down the church.' He watched Ranulf stand, bow at the ready. âOne, two, three, four â¦' He had only reached five when the second arrow whistled through the air. âYou see,' Corbett rose to his feet, âno more than a few heartbeats. Once again the Sagittarius had attacked Lord Scrope's family. After that you were eager to be gone. I was very wary of that. I had no reason in law to detain you, hence the mummery last night.' He stared at the prisoner. âI had to trap you.'
âSo you have.' Master Benedict lifted his bound hands. âNow take me to London and put me before King's Bench. I will plead benefit of clergy and demand to be returned to my ordinary, the bishop who ordained me. He will try me, and then what, Master Corbett? A few months in some lonely monastery fasting on bread and water?'
âPerhaps not.' Ranulf drew his sword and, ignoring Corbett's hiss of disapproval, squatted down in front of the prisoner. âScrope I understand, but those innocents, the others, why them?'
âWhy not?' Master Benedict taunted. âTheir kin attacked mine.'
âI tell you this.' Ranulf moved his sword so its tip rested on the ground, his fingers curled around the crosspiece, âI swearâ'
âRanulf!' Corbett intervened.
âI swear,' Ranulf shouted, âif you confirm the truth, we shall offer you a way out. I swear!' He turned, eyes pleading, to Corbett. âI rarely ask, let alone beg.'
âIt must be just and fair,' the chaplain murmured. âBy the way, how did you know it was a short horn bow?'
He gestured with his hand at the longbow lying on the ground.
âFather Thomas, at my request, searched his church,' Ranulf whispered. âHe found the bow hidden deep behind the lady altar.'
Master Benedict simply pulled a face.
âI have your word,' he glanced at Corbett, âas a guarantee. Untie my bonds.'
Before Corbett could object, Ranulf drew his dagger and slit the rope binding the chaplain's wrists. The prisoner did not move; he simply curled the severed rope off, threw it away, rubbed his wrists and squinted up at Corbett.
âIt is as you say, or nearly so, a few small changes here or there. Jackanapes was not as stupid as he pretended. He was greatly mischievous. I patronised him and he was easy to use. I told him to blow the horn then leave it hidden in a secret place and be in the market square at dawn the next morning. I had approached him secretly but he may have known it was me. He could chatter like a squirrel on a branch; he had to die. As for the rest,' Le Sanglier shrugged, âmore or less true. I knew about the ford. I practised crossing many times. Those willows at the rear of the
reclusorium cannot be seen. Lord Scrope, of course, was lax; he rightly thought if he was attacked it would be at night. He never realised people would plan during the day. As for Dame Marguerite, I was tiring of her.' He smiled. âWhat really enticed her into St Alphege's was my plot to loose my arrows. Of course they were supposed to miss, then we'd blame Claypole. Physician Ormesby was to arrive after the attack, be a witness to our terror. I would swear that the mysterious bowman I'd glimpsed was Master Claypole. Our good mayor is constantly in the guildhall or the marketplace outside St Alphege's. It wouldn't be hard and,' he spread his hands, âwho'd dare contradict a lady abbess and her chaplain?'