‘Are we all here?’
‘Brother Gildas is absent,’ Prior Cuthbert declared.
‘I delivered the summons, Father Prior,’ Perditus declared. ‘Gildas was the first I told but you know how busy he is: you can’t distract him from his work.’
‘Then we’ll begin.’ Corbett picked up his warrant, tapping the black and red seal at the bottom. ‘This is the King’s own seal,’ he declared. ‘It gives me the power to act as Commissioner over the death of Abbot Stephen or any other matter of concern. I do not wish to be challenged. The King’s writ runs here, as it does in Wales or the Marches of Scotland.’
Prior Cuthbert opened his mouth to protest. Corbett held his gaze. The other members of the Concilium stirred restlessly.
‘We have a requiem Mass starting soon,’ Brother Aelfric wailed. ‘For Abbot Stephen.’
‘If the Mass is delayed,’ Corbett declared, ‘then so be it.’
He got to his feet, turning his back on the Concilium, and walked to the great bay window and stared down into the courtyard.
‘Correct me if I am wrong but as I understand it, four days ago, on Tuesday the eve of the feast of St Leo the Great, Abbot Stephen did not go down to the abbey church to sing Matins?’
Prior Cuthbert agreed.
‘You, Brother Perditus, were the Abbot’s manservant. Was it customary for the Abbot to miss the hours of Divine Office occasionally?’
‘He was often busy, sometimes distracted,’ Perditus replied. ‘As the morning went on and Abbot Stephen hadn’t appeared, I became alarmed. I knocked on the door and tried the handle of the latch, but it held fast. I went and informed Prior Cuthbert.’
Corbett came back and rested his hands on the back of the chair.
‘Then what happened?’
The Prior gestured over his shoulder at the door.
‘We forced the lock. When we broke in, Abbot Stephen was sitting in his chair, slightly slumped, with his head to one side. The dagger had been driven in,’ he pointed, ‘just above his stomach. The thrust was deep, almost up to the hilt.’
‘It was obvious,’ Brother Aelfric declared, ‘the Abbot was dead, and had been for some time.’
‘And the door was definitely locked?’ Corbett asked.
He went round and studied the door. He could see it had been re-hung on new leather hinges. The carpenter had also repaired the inside latch as well as the bolt and clasps at top and bottom.
‘Of course it was,’ Prior Cuthbert snapped, half turning in his chair.
He resented being questioned like a criminal, as this soft-footed clerk walked round the Abbot’s chamber, and Corbett’s red-haired henchman sat carefully taking down everything said. Now and again Ranulf would lift his head. Prior Cuthbert didn’t like the faint smile, or those heavy-lidded eyes which seemed to be mocking him, as if Ranulf didn’t believe anything he saw or heard.
‘Continue!’ Corbett demanded.
‘The Abbot’s body was removed.’
‘And the chamber itself?’
‘There were papers on the desk, the fire had burnt low. Abbot Stephen had drunk some wine but, apart from the pool of blood on the floor. .’
‘There was also this.’ Corbett held up a scrap of parchment.
‘Ah yes.’ Prior Cuthbert smiled bleakly.
‘Look.’ Corbett turned it round. ‘What does this wheel mean? I have glimpsed it on a number of the abbot’s papers.’
‘It was just a favourite sketch of his.’
Corbett turned the paper round. ‘And these quotations? Both are rather garbled. One from St Paul’s about seeing through a glass darkly and the corpse candles beckoning. The other,’ Corbett narrowed his eyes, ‘is quite famous, often quoted by the spiritual writers: a saying of the Roman writer Seneca. “Anyone can take away a man’s life but no one his death”.’ He gazed round, they all stared blankly back. ‘These were the last words Abbot Stephen wrote. He was apparently fearful of something.’ Corbett paused. ‘What did he mean about “Seeing through a glass, darkly”? Whilst the quotation from Seneca seems to indicate that he was expecting death?’
‘I don’t know,’ Prior Cuthbert retorted tartly. ‘Sir Hugh, I can’t say what was in our abbot’s mind that night.’
‘Can anyone?’ Corbett asked expectantly but no one answered. ‘Ah well!’ Corbett threw the piece of parchment down. ‘We were talking of the Abbot’s blood. Was it fresh or congealed?’
‘It was congealed.’ Aelfric spoke up.
The rest of the brothers agreed.
‘So, Abbot Stephen had been dead for some time?’
‘Naturally,’ Hamo snapped. ‘As the blood had congealed.’
‘What’s your name?’ Ranulf interrupted.
‘Hamo.’
‘And you are sub-prior?’ Ranulf smiled at his master.
‘You know both my name and my office.’
‘Yes I do, Brother, just as you know my Lord Corbett’s name and office. You will keep your tone respectful.’
Corbett, standing behind the brothers, crossed his arms and stared at the floor. He and Ranulf had held so many investigations. He felt like an actor in a play. They assumed their roles without even thinking. Ranulf, who regarded it as his own private privilege to tease and mock his solemn master, was very keen not to allow anyone else to do likewise. Hamo muttered an apology.
‘So, there was nothing wrong?’ Corbett came back and sat down, beating his hands on top of the desk. ‘This room has no other door, the windows were locked, no secret passageways exist yet someone came here and thrust a dagger deep into your Abbot’s chest.’ Corbett didn’t wait for the chorus of agreement. ‘The Abbot was sitting slumped, yes?’
‘I’ve told you that,’ Prior Cuthbert declared.
‘And his hands?’
‘They were down by his side.’
‘And there was no disturbance? Nothing else appeared wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But the dagger was Abbot Stephen’s?’
‘Ah, that’s right,’ Hamo said. ‘Only one thing I noticed. Abbot Stephen had taken his old war belt out of the coffer. It lay on the floor. His dagger sheath was empty.’
‘Fetch me this dagger!’ Corbett insisted.
Prior Cuthbert snapped his fingers at Perditus who left and came back holding a folded cloth. Corbett undid the cloth and took the dagger out. It had been cleaned and polished. The hilt was of steel, the handle specially wrought so as not to slip in the hand, its blade was long, ugly and sharp. Corbett wore something similar: close up, a thrust from such a weapon was deadly. He sat for a while balancing the dagger in his hand before putting it down on the table.
‘Had the doors really to be forced?’ he asked.
‘I was there!’ the Prior exclaimed. ‘So were Hamo, Aelfric and Brother Dunstan. We went straight to the Abbot’s corpse.’
‘No one wandered off?’ Corbett insisted.
‘Of course not! We were shocked at what we saw.’
Corbett stared down at the dagger and hid his unease. Before this meeting had begun, he had carefully inspected this chamber as well as the outside. The door was locked and the window closed. How could anyone get in?
‘And none of you?’ he asked, voicing his concern, ‘know how the assassin entered this chamber or how he left?’
The row of monks shook their heads. Corbett caught a gleam of triumph in Prior Cuthbert’s eyes. You know I am trapped, Corbett reflected, and can make no sense of this. He stared towards the door. It was heavy oak, its outside was reinforced with metal studs and hung on thick leather hinges. It would take hours for someone to prise it free.
‘What if someone had come through a window?’ Chanson had queried. ‘And, when the door was forced, the assassin used the ensuing chaos to seal this?’
Ranulf, who in a former life had been a night-walker in London, declared it virtually impossible to climb the sheer outside wall. And, of course, there was one further problem. .
‘Abbot Stephen was in good health?’ Corbett asked.
‘Oh yes, a vigorous man in good health.’
Corbett smiled. ‘So, you know what I am going to say? Your Abbot was also a former knight-banneret, a warrior, a soldier. He was used to the cut and thrust of battle. Such a man would not give up his life lightly, would he?’