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
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
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