Hugh Corbett 13 - Corpse Candle by Paul Doherty Page B

young. My mother dabbled in the black arts. She sacrificed to Achitopel and Asrael, Beelzebub and the other Lords of the Wasteland. One afternoon I was out near a brook, fishing by myself. The sun went behind a cloud and I looked up. A man stood on the far side of the bank beneath the outstretched branches of an oak tree. He was tall, dressed in black from head to toe and his face was white and haggard.’ Taverner blinked. ‘He had eyes as cruel as a hawk’s. “Who are you, Sir?” I asked. “Why, Matthew, I am your old friend Geoffrey Mandeville.” I ran away and told my mother. She just laughed and said we all had demons. Mandeville kept returning. I met him in taverns and on lonely roads. “I’m hunting you, Matthew,” he’d taunt, “like a hound does a deer”.’
    ‘And he caught you?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘I hid in London,’ Taverner replied. ‘I took up with whores but Mandeville sought me out.’
    He undid the collar of his robe and pulled it down. Corbett flinched at the great cruel ‘V’ etched on the man’s left shoulder. He got up and peered at it. The wound had now healed but it looked as if a branding mark had been used. Corbett returned to his chair.
    ‘And so you came to Abbot Stephen?’
    ‘At first I went for help to the Dominicans at Blackfriars. Oh yes, and Archdeacon Adrian.’
    ‘So, you know him?’
    ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘And what did Abbot Stephen promise?’
    ‘That he would exorcise me. He treated me like a son. He was kind and gentle. He said that afterwards I might be able to stay here. I sometimes helped Brother Aelfric in the library.’
    ‘Do you know why Abbot Stephen died?’ Corbett asked.
    Taverner shook his head. ‘We never talked about anything except my possession and my earlier life. Sometimes he looked worried and distracted. I would often find him deep in conversation with his manservant, the lay brother Perditus.’
    Corbett heard a sound outside, probably Chanson returning. Somewhere a bell began to toll. Ranulf started to get up but then sat down again.
    ‘And Abbot Stephen discussed nothing about the abbey?’
    Taverner shook his head. ‘I feel sick.’ He murmured clutching his stomach. ‘I need . . .’
    He gestured feebly towards the tray containing the cup and platter of food on the table at the far side of the room. Ranulf sprang to his feet. He filled a cup and thrust it into the man’s hand. He then walked to the window behind the bed and pulled back the shutters. He seemed engrossed by something outside.
    ‘Did you ever talk to any of the other monks?’ Corbett demanded. ‘Prior Cuthbert?’
    Taverner’s head came up: he was once more possessed.
    ‘Narrow heart, narrow soul,’ came the harsh reply. ‘In love with their abbey more than God. Them and their guesthouse. They want to plunder Bloody Meadow, dig up old Sigbert’s rotting bones, build a mansion for the fat ones of the soil. Have more visitors. Increase their revenue.’
    ‘John Carrefour!’
    Corbett jumped at Ranulf’s harsh voice. Taverner whipped round.
    ‘John Carrefour!’ Ranulf repeated. He sauntered over to the bed and sat beside Taverner. ‘I’ll wager that on your right shoulder here,’ he punched Taverner’s shoulder, ‘is another brand mark in the shape of a diamond. An enpurpled birthmark.’
    Ranulf glanced across at his master and smiled in apology.
    ‘What is all this?’ Taverner’s voice rose to a screech.
    Ranulf, however, took out his dagger and pricked him under the chin.
    ‘Sir Hugh Corbett,’ he declared. ‘Keeper of the King’s Secret Seal, may I introduce the venerable and venomous John Carrefour, the mummer’s man, the cunning man, the faker and the counterfeit. Formerly a clerk in minor orders, taken up by the King’s Assizes, he’s spent some time abroad in exile. He was forced to serve in the King’s armies in both Flanders and Northern France.’
    Taverner gazed beseechingly at Corbett.
    ‘I don’t know what he’s saying.’
    Ranulf,