‘You blasphemer!’ he hissed.
‘There are courts,’ Corbett replied softly, ‘where I will answer for what I do as there are courts, Adam of Warfield, where you will answer for the terrible things that have happened here. I, Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the Secret Seal, do arrest you Adam of Warfield, Brother Richard of Westminster and William of Senche, Steward of the Palace for the terrible crimes of blasphemy, sacrilege, misprision of treason and corroboration with the King’s enemies.’
Adam of Warfield lost some of his pompous arrogance. His chin sagged, his eyes became more watchful.
‘What do you mean?’ he muttered and glared at Brother Richard, moaning softly, whilst Corbett noticed to his disgust, the small pool of urine between William of Senche’s feet.
‘Oh, yes,’ Corbett continued. ‘The charges I have listed are only the beginning. All three of you will sit on that bench. All three of you, on your allegiance to the King, will answer my questions. And, when I have finished, I shall produce the proof of the charges against you.’
‘I will answer nothing!’ Warfield screamed.
Corbett hit him again. ‘All three of you will answer,’ he repeated. ‘Or you will be taken to the Tower. If you offer further violence, either by word or action, or attempt to escape, Master Limmer has orders to kill you! Now, sit down!’
The three prisoners were hustled to the bench.
‘Sir Hugh, you will be safe?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Corbett took his seat opposite the three men. ‘I am sure I will, Master Limmer. Please stand back. I shall call you forward if I need you. Your men, their crossbows are loaded?’
Limmer nodded.
‘Good!’ Corbett turned to his three prisoners. ‘So, let us begin.’
He waited until the archers were out of earshot before leaning forward, his hand half raised.
‘I swear by all that is holy that I know what has gone on here. The midnight revelry, the eating and the drinking, the debauchery, consorting with prostitutes from the city.’ He looked at William of Senche who was now quivering with fright. ‘You, sir, will answer to the King and your best hope is to throw yourself on the King’s mercy.’
Adam of Warfield looked as if he was going to brazen it out but Brother Richard suddenly got to his feet.
‘It’s all true,’ he confessed. The monk glared at the sacristan. ‘For God’s sake, Adam, can’t you see he knows? Master William, the clerk speaks the truth. I am not going to lie. I will confess to breaking my monastic vows. I’ll confess to the abuse of royal property.’ He turned and smiled bleakly at Corbett. ‘So what, Master Clerk? I’ll take my punishment, bread and water for three years, the performance of the most menial tasks in the abbey. Perhaps a stay in a public pillory. But what’s so terrible about that?’
Corbett stared at this small fat monk, then back at Adam, who now sat head bowed.
‘Oh, you’re clever, Brother Richard,’ Corbett answered. ‘You think it’s a matter of vows. I accept your confession but I suspect your companions know there is more to my tale than monks who fornicate, become drunk and involve themselves in midnight debauchery.’
Brother Richard looked at his companions. ‘What is he saying?’ the monk stammered. He grabbed the sacristan by the shoulders and shook him. ‘In God’s name, Adam, what more is there?’
The sacristan refused to look up.
‘Sit down, Brother Richard!’ Corbett ordered. ‘Now, Warfield, the name of the Master of Revels, the seigneur who organised the activities? By what name was he called?’
‘I don’t know,’ the monk murmured without looking up.
‘He was called Richard,’ William bleated, his eyes almost popping out of his head with fright. ‘He only called himself Richard.’
‘Shut up!’ the sacristan snarled, his white face twisted in a mixture of fear and rage.
‘No, I won’t!’ the steward yelled.
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know.’ The steward rubbed his face between his hands. ‘I really don’t know,’ he bleated. ‘He always came in the evening and kept in the shadows. He thought it was best like that. He always dressed like a monk in robes and cowl with the hood pulled well over his head and at the revelries he wore a satyr’s mask.’
‘He had a beard?’
‘Yes, he had a beard. I think his hair was black.’
Corbett got up and stood over the three men. ‘I think Brother Adam of Warfield may know his true identity. Yes, Master William, your Master of Revels was called Richard. His full name is Richard Puddlicott, a well-known criminal. Didn’t you ever ask yourself why a man, a complete stranger, was so interested in providing revelry and ribaldry?’
‘He came to the palace one evening,’ the steward stammered. ‘I told him I was bored. He suggested some fun.’ The steward glanced sideways at the sacristan. ‘Then one day Adam of Warfield found out.’ The fellow shrugged. ‘You know the rest. Some of the monks joined us.’ He looked pitifully at Corbett. ‘We did no wrong,’ he wailed. ‘We meant no harm.’
‘Until someone decided the parties must end and the prostitutes you had invited be silenced.’
Both the steward and Brother Richard moaned in terror.
‘You are not saying,’ Brother Richard’s voice rose to a scream. ‘You are not saying we are involved in the terrible deaths of those girls in the city?’
‘I am, and not only those but perhaps the deaths of Father Benedict, who found out about your midnight feastings, and Lady Somerville who had her own suspicions.’
Adam of Warfield sprang to his feet and Corbett stepped back. The monk’s face was now pallid and tense, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His eyes glowed with the fury burning within him.
‘Never!’ he rasped. ‘I had. . we had no part in that!’
Corbett sat down in his chair and shook his head.
‘I have witnesses,’ he said. ‘A number of sightings of the killer. All of these point to a man dressed in the garb of a Benedictine monk, very similar to what you are wearing now!’ Corbett eased his dagger out of the sheath. ‘I suggest you sit down, Master Sacristan.’
The monk crouched between his two companions, his eyes never leaving Corbett.
‘You can’t prove that,’ he muttered.
‘Not now, but soon, perhaps.’
The monk stared and suddenly his face twisted in a malicious smile.
‘No, you can’t, clerk,’ he repeated. ‘All you can prove is that we broke our vows. Wrong? Yes, I admit we were wrong. But you did say in the presence of witnesses that we were charged with treason. I am no jurist, Master Corbett, but if fornication is now treasonable, then every man in this bloody city should be under arrest!’
Corbett got back to his feet. ‘I shall prove my charges. Master Limmer, Ranulf, Maltote! You will join us now! Outside the treasury door!’ The clerk smiled bleakly at Warfield. He was pleased to see all the bombast and pretence drain from the monk’s face. He looked weak like some broken old man.
‘What are you going to do?’ he whispered.
Corbett snapped his fingers and strode off, the three prisoners and their escort trailing behind. They entered the south transept and stopped before the great reinforced door. Corbett grasped his dagger and, despite the protests and worried exclamations of his companions, slashed through each of the seals.
‘What is the use?’ Ranulf murmured. ‘We do not have keys!’
‘Of course,’ Corbett cursed softly, in his excitement he had forgotten. ‘Master Limmer, I want four of your men. They are to bring one of the heavy benches. I want that door smashed down!’
The officer was about to protest but Corbett clapped his hands.