Corbett glanced at Ranulf and winked.
‘But, to answer your question,’ Brother Luke pushed out his chin, ‘Abbot Stephen was a good man but very troubled by something in the past. In many ways he was a sinner, perhaps even a great sinner: that’s why I felt comfortable with him for so am I.’
‘Did he ever talk of Heloise Argenteuil?’
Brother Luke stared impassively back.
‘Did he ever talk about Reginald Harcourt?’
Again the hard-eyed stare.
‘Did he ever talk about a wheel?’ Corbett insisted.
‘Yes, but in confession.’ The vein-streaked, brown-spotted hand clasped Corbett’s. The old monk’s eyes grew gentle. ‘The Good Lord and his Holy Mother know you have a dreadful task here, yet I can only speak on those matters not heard in the confessional pew.’
‘Why was he an exorcist?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Now, Sharp Eyes, I can answer that! I asked the same. Stephen had doubts, grave doubts, about everything! Sometimes he thought there was nothing after death but extinction: no heaven, no hell, no purgatory, no God, no demons. So, he took the view that, if he could prove the existence of demons, then it might mean something.’
Corbett nodded. He had heard this before, not only about Abbot Stephen but about others who struggled with their faith. As one priest had confided in Corbett, ‘If there’s a hell, there must be a heaven.’
‘He was trying to prove to himself,’ Brother Luke continued. ‘As the Creed puts it, “I believe in things visible and invisible”. He wanted to shift the mist which blinded his soul. I suppose he was searching for the truth.’
‘And Bloody Meadow?’ Corbett asked.
Again the old priest’s head went down.
‘I can tell you something of that. Abbot Stephen swore that, as long as he lived, that burial mound would not be opened. On that point he was obdurate. I don’t. .’ His voice trailed off. ‘I have spoken enough.’ He sighed.
‘What of the days before he died?’ Corbett demanded.
The old priest licked his lips. ‘Yes, he came to me agitated, troubled. A great darkness clouded his mind, heart and soul. I can tell you this, clerk, and I’ve told no one else — if you had not come to me, I suppose I would have asked to see you.’
Corbett held his breath. He could see the old monk was torn by the fear of betraying a confidence.
‘So, in his last days Abbot Stephen did not come for confession?’
‘No, clerk.’
The old priest turned away, his lower jaw trembling. Corbett grasped his hand and squeezed it gently.
‘You must help me. Blood has been shed. The souls of your brothers sent brutally, unshriven, before God’s tribunal might not cry for vengeance but they do call out for justice. God’s justice must be done and the King’s law upheld.’
‘Very well.’ The old priest grasped his Ave beads and threaded them through his fingers. ‘Abbot Stephen knelt before me. He did not confess his sin but he claimed how one of his brothers, a man close to him, had accused him of a hideous offence, not against the Rule but against God.’
‘A hideous offence!’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘What wrong could a holy abbot do in such a hallowed place!’
‘Was he talking about the past?’ Corbett added.
‘No, no, of a recent event.’
‘And what was this sin?’
‘I will not tell you.’
‘But I can ask?’
The old priest nodded.
‘Was it murder?’
A shake of the head.
‘Was it fornication? Lying with a woman?’
Again the shake of the head.
‘Theft? Blasphemy?’
Brother Luke’s gaze held Corbett’s.
‘What sin?’ Corbett exclaimed.
‘Have you read the Book of Samuel? The story of David?’ Luke demanded.
Corbett closed his eyes. David of Israel had been accused of many crimes.
‘And Jonathan,’ Brother Luke added quietly.
Corbett opened his eyes.
‘Abbot Stephen was accused of unnatural practices with a fellow monk!’
‘Tu dixisti. You have said it, clerk.’
The Ancient One must have seen the consternation in Corbett’s face.
‘And this was recent?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Very much so.’ Brother Luke shook his head. ‘I would say about a month before his death.’
‘Did he say why? How?’
‘Abbot Stephen simply said that he had been accused of this.’
‘Did he deny it?’ Ranulf asked.
‘No. I told you, he just knelt here and sobbed like a child. He said the accusation had been made in a whispered conversation in his own chamber. I tried to reason with him, to soothe his soul but he got up abruptly and left. I sent a messenger after him but he never returned. My Abbot never came back.’ The old man’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Now he has gone. God forbid that he despaired, that he committed the sin against the Holy Ghost before that dreadful act was committed. May the angels take him to a place of peace and light. He was so different.’ Luke’s old face had a faraway look. ‘Do you know, clerk, when I was younger, I was the infirmarian here. Stephen Daubigny was a regular visitor, not so much to the Church, but to our library. He did love the world of books.’
‘But why come here?’ Corbett asked.
‘He came with his friend, Sir Reginald.’
‘And why would he visit St Martin’s?’
‘Do you know, clerk,’ the old man mused, ‘I never understood Sir Reginald, but if I had to choose between Harcourt and Daubigny becoming a monk, I would have chosen Sir Reginald.’
‘Why?’
‘He was very shy of women, embarrassed. I can tell you this because it is not a matter for the confessional.’ Brother Luke poked Ranulf in the shoulder. ‘You are a vigorous man, aren’t you?’
‘Thanks be to God!’ Ranulf teased back.
‘And you love the pleasures of the bed?’
Ranulf couldn’t stop himself blushing. Corbett laughed softly.
‘Well, come on!’ the old monk teased. ‘Are you sprightly or not? Once, I was a clerk, and served in the royal levies. I could resist anything but the temptations of the flesh and a deep bowl of claret. Sir Reginald was different: he came here for my help.’
‘He was impotent?’ Corbett asked.
‘He had problems. Sometimes such failings are a matter of the body: an injury, perhaps a growth. I have treated enough monks in my life to recognise the cause and recommend a possible cure. Other times the cause is not so clear.’
‘And Sir Reginald?’
‘Both, Sir Hugh.’ The old monk tapped his head. ‘Though more phantasms of the mind.’
‘But he married?’
‘I know, I know,’ Brother Luke sighed. ‘Sir Hugh, we have monks in this abbey who have problems — how can I put it — in relation to the ladies. Being repelled by women, they seek sanctuary and safety behind the walls of a monastery. Other men believe such problems can be resolved in holy wedlock. Sir Reginald was one of the latter. But,’ he held up a bony finger, ‘I could be wrong. Many men face such difficulties, and they are often of a temporary nature. The only people who can really know the truth in this case are Sir Reginald and Lady Margaret. You have met that redoubtable woman?’
Corbett nodded.
‘I doubt if she would say anything on a matter so intimate.’
‘And who was the monk that accused the Abbot of unnatural practices?’ Ranulf interrupted.
‘Not a hint, not a whisper, Red Hair. Do you play hazard?’ Brother Luke asked abruptly, not waiting for an answer. ‘If I was laying a wager, I would say such a heinous accusation was closely tied up with that damnable funeral barrow and, God forbid, the ambitions of some of my brothers.’
‘What did Harcourt ask for when he came to you?’