‘So, it’s invisible to me.’ Corbett warmed to his theme. He enjoyed such debate. He recalled the hurlyburly days in the schools of Oxford, of argument and disputation, the clash of mind and wit. ‘The point I am making, Ranulf, is that there is evil in our own experience, both visible and invisible. Indeed, following the great Plato, I would argue that that which is visible only comes into being from that which is invisible!’
Ranulf glared at Chanson who giggled softly.
‘A tree’s visible,’ he countered.
‘But a tree came from that which is hardly visible and, if you push the argument through, I would say a tree is the work of the mind of God. Man is the same: he is conceived in a woman’s womb but born of a love, an idea, which existed before he did.’
‘Or lust?’ Ranulf added.
‘Or lust,’ Corbett conceded. ‘However, my hypothesis could apply to anything.’ He pointed to a coloured tapestry on the wall depicting St Antony preaching to the birds. ‘Before that picture existed, someone must have conceived it, had an idea. He, or she, worked out what colours would be used, how the scene would be depicted.’
‘What’s this got to do with demons?’ Chanson broke in.
‘Everything,’ Corbett declared. ‘My learned Clerk of the Green Wax challenged my belief in the invisible. In a word, I believe two worlds exist at the same time, the visible and the invisible. In both worlds, beings exist who possess intelligence and will. Whether that intelligence and will are inclined for good or evil is a matter for individual choice. More importantly. .’
Corbett was about to continue when they heard footsteps on the stairs. Brother Perditus came in carrying a tray with a jug, three cups and a small breadboard. The white manchet loaf had been cut, and each piece smeared with butter and honey.
‘Father Prior asks for more time,’ he stuttered. ‘Nones have just finished. He has to summon the others.’ He placed the tray on the table and stepped back. ‘I have other duties. Father Prior does not believe that I should attend the meeting in the Abbot’s chamber.’
‘I thank you for the refreshments,’ Corbett replied kindly. ‘And never mind what Prior Cuthbert says. Please be there.’
The lay brother fled. Chanson went to serve them but Ranulf pulled at his sleeve and pointed to the groom’s dirty hands.
‘I know enough about physic,’ he said.
Chanson, scowling, stepped back. Ranulf filled three tankards and served them. Each took a piece of bread and ate hungrily.
‘There’s no meat,’ Chanson declared mournfully. ‘They’ve forgotten the meat.’
‘We’ll dine soon enough,’ Corbett declared.
Ranulf drained his tankard and smacked his lips, the ale was tangy sweet. He took the jug and refilled it.
‘One thing about monks,’ he muttered. ‘They make good ale. Master, you were saying?’
‘Ah yes, I believe two worlds exist and the beings I described can cross from one to the other.’
‘Rubbish!’ Ranulf declared, his mouth full of bread.
‘I believe it,’ Corbett declared. ‘Every time you pray you enter the invisible world. Every time you love and, more dangerously, hate or curse. When you call out into the dark, Ranulf, and if you call long and hard enough, someone always answers.’
‘Like murder?’ Chanson asked.
‘Like murder,’ Corbett agreed. ‘A man or a woman can decide on evil. The idea takes root first. Only afterwards comes their bloody work.’
‘You don’t need a demon to be an assassin,’ Ranulf countered.
‘No, but when you kill, you’re allying your will with the powers of darkness. Read the gospels, Ranulf, especially St John’s. Christ describes Satan as a “killer from the start”. Adam’s sin was disobeying God but the first real sin was that of Cain slaying his brother, hiding his corpse and refusing to answer God’s summons. We all have some of Cain in us,’ Corbett murmured.
‘Not you, Master, surely?’
Corbett closed his eyes. He recalled the bloody hand-to-hand fighting in Wales when the wild tribesmen broke into the royal camp: the painted faces, glaring eyes, the clash of sword, the sheer desperation to kill and survive.
‘Oh yes, I have.’ He opened his eyes. ‘But I pray God that I never be put into that position.’
Ranulf was about to continue when they heard fresh sounds outside: someone slowly climbing the stairs.
‘Our Perditus has returned,’ Ranulf observed.
But the man who entered was a stranger. He was small, thickset, and youngish-looking, with closely cropped black hair, a smiling rubicund face, snub nose and the bright eyes of a sparrow. He was dressed in a long, dark-green gown, soft brown leather boots, with a cloak of dark murrey fastened round the neck with a gold clasp. Beneath it was a white collar band, with a small and elegant crucifix on a gold chain round his neck, and rings sparkling on his plump fingers. He stood in the doorway and smiled round.
‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘It depends on who you are,’ Corbett declared.
He could tell from the man’s dress that he was a priest and vaguely recalled Edward telling him what had been planned at St Martin’s Abbey.
‘Archdeacon Adrian Wallasby.’
The man’s face broke into a gap-toothed smile. He stretched out his hand and walked towards Corbett.
‘Like you, I am a visitor to this holy place. I heard about your arrival and thought I should meet you.’
Corbett shook his hand and introductions were made.
‘I am Archdeacon of St Paul’s,’ Wallasby declared, ‘sent here by the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Dominican Order.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘Oh, to confront the devil and all his demons!’ Wallasby threw his head back and gave a deep belly laugh. ‘A wasted journey, mind you. I am well entertained in the guesthouse across the courtyard but my journey was fruitless. And you, Sir Hugh, you must be here because of Abbot Stephen’s mysterious death?’
‘Murder,’ Corbett replied. ‘I believe the abbot was murdered. Anyway, what has the devil and all his demons to do with the Abbey of St Martin’s? I know Abbot Stephen was an exorcist. .?’
‘And a famous one,’ the Archdeacon countered. ‘That’s why I was here. Abbot Stephen wrote extensively on demonic possession. He performed exorcism both in Lincolnshire and in London, very celebrated cases. He was supposed to carry one out here: a man named Taverner has asked for the abbot’s help.’
‘And you came to witness this?’
‘No, Sir Hugh, I came to disprove it. I agree with the Dominican school of thought. What many people regard as possession is, I believe, some sickness of the mind, a malady of the humours, lunacy, madness and, in many cases, simply suggestion or even downright trickery.’
Ranulf clapped his hands quietly.
‘Ah!’ The Archdeacon smiled at him. ‘I believe I have a kindred spirit here?’
‘And when was this exorcism to take place?’ Corbett asked.
‘Tomorrow.’
‘And have you met this Taverner?’
‘I have interrogated him.’
‘And?’
The Archdeacon shrugged, took a piece of bread from the platter and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.
‘He’s one of the strangest cases I’ve encountered. I half believed I’d chosen the wrong ground to fight Abbot Stephen.’
‘You mean to say the man is truly possessed?’
‘Perhaps?’
The Archdeacon paused as footsteps were heard on the stairs. Brother Perditus almost stumbled into the room.
‘Prior Cuthbert and the Concilium are ready,’ he gasped.
Sir Hugh picked up his boots.
‘Then we’d best join them and, as we are going to deal with the workings of the devil,’ he smiled at the Archdeacon, ‘perhaps you would be so kind as to join us?’
NAM FORTUNA SUA
TEMPORA LEGE REGIT
FORTUNE RULES OUR DESTINY
JUST AS SHE PLEASES
Chapter 2