Master Benedict just stared back.
‘You had no intention,’ Corbett continued, ‘of going to Colchester. Oh no, you’d leave here and travel swiftly to one of the eastern ports and take ship to foreign parts. It would take weeks, if not months, to discover which harbour you used; even then you might have left under a false name. Rumours would abound. Poor Benedict Le Sanglier,’ Corbett made a face, ‘who disappeared, probably ambushed and killed on some lonely Essex trackway in the depth of winter. In truth you would be elsewhere, using the treasure you’d stolen to smooth the path before you. Naturally it was a risk. If you’d been alerted or alarmed unduly, you would have got rid of that secret satchel and continued the pretence of being the ever-so-diffident and rather weak chaplain.’ Corbett rose to his feet. ‘You’re certainly no gentle priest. You’re wicked, twice as fit for hell as the man you murdered on the Island of Swans.’
Corbett walked away as Chanson brought in dry bracken and kindling. He placed these near the prisoner and doused them with a little oil. The flames soon caught hold. Chanson then moved back to the door, sliding down with his back to the wall, the arbalest still primed on the floor beside him. Ranulf leaned against the crumbling pillar, staring at the killer. Ranulf shivered. He wasnot remembering Scrope’s murdered corpse but poor Jackanapes and those other innocents slain by this murderer. He wondered if Corbett’s musing on death and justice was having its effect on him. Were all the hapless victims of this assassin clustering here to seek vengeance, retribution?
Corbett picked up a wineskin and returned to the fire, which separated him from the prisoner. He offered Le Sanglier a drink, but the chaplain shook his head. Corbett didn’t like the cold arrogance in the prisoner’s eyes: a man who did not care, who still trusted in himself. What would be his last defence? Corbett glimpsed the cross on the chain around Le Sanglier’s neck. That was it! Was the prisoner, despite all his wicked deeds a genuine priest who would gabble the first line of Psalm 50, claim he was a cleric, plead benefit of clergy and so escape the rigour of the law? Would this killer, his hands drenched in blood, appear before some Church court only to receive mild punishment?
‘I am a priest.’ The chaplain seemed to read Corbett’s thoughts. Already, despite being in this bleak haunted nave, the freezing cold seeping everywhere, the bonds tight around his wrists and the weapons primed for his destruction, Master Benedict Le Sanglier was eager to assert himself. ‘Very well, Master Corbett,’ his deliberate insult was accompanied by a smile. ‘I made a mistake. For the time being you have trapped me. I was impetuous, eager to be gone. My task was finished, so-’
‘Your task,’ Corbett retorted, ‘was the death of Oliver Scrope.’ He stretched his hands out to the fire. ‘Now, Master Benedict, for the time being I am like a master in the schools. I am going to construct an argument based more on conjecture than evidence. Nonetheless, as I move towards my conclusion, theproof will emerge. So, to continue the similarity, you, Master Benedict, are like a master mason, the genius behind the house of murder you so carefully constructed. It began in Acre in 1291. We have all heard the accepted story, but I believe there is one important difference: Gaston de Bearn, Scrope’s cousin, did not die there. I truly believe this. Somehow he survived Scrope’s betrayal, his attempt to murder him and eventually escaped back to France.’
‘If he did,’ the chaplain sneered, ‘why didn’t he return to England?’
‘To confront Lord Scrope?’ Corbett shook his head. ‘A powerful manor lord, a hero, a Crusader much favoured by the King? To be accused by a foreigner, and with what proof? No,’ Corbett clicked his tongue, ‘that would be too dangerous, completely without profit.’ He paused. ‘Indeed, from the very little I know about Gaston de Bearn, I suspect he would not stoop to that. I think he was a noble soul, a man who inspired others, be it you and the Free Brethren, Dame Marguerite, who loved him, possibly even Lord Scrope, who was deeply haunted by what he’d done.’
Master Benedict’s face changed; just for a brief while the arrogance was replaced by honest recognition.
‘Gaston escaped,’ Corbett continued, ‘and some deep relationship developed between him, you and the Free Brethren. Eventually you and the Free Brethren came to England to wreak vengeance on Lord Scrope. Why? I suggest because of Gaston. First, the Free Brethren took great pains to remind Scrope of his evil deeds; hence the painting in St Alphege’s as well as their scrolled design of hell with Scrope at its heart. Oh yes,’ Corbettadded, ‘we have seen what was buried with Le Riche, the treasure and the drawings. Both drawings also contain strange symbols. I suggest they are Arabic. I found the same in the painting at St Alphege’s, those geometric designs much loved by Muslim artists. Whoever was responsible for those drawings and that painting had lived in Outremer and had some knowledge of Arabic design. Second, the Free Brethren were armed, they were planning to attack, kill or kidnap Lord Scrope. Third, you were party to that. You used Dame Marguerite’s wealth to buy them weapons. You also supplied them with information about the reclusorium on the Island of Swans and the secret ford across. No, no …’ Corbett raised a hand. ‘I will explain in a while. Fourth, the painting in St Alphege’s contains the design of herbs or plants, in truth nightshade, the potion Lord Scrope probably used in his attempt to poison Gaston in Acre infirmary so many years ago. You adopted that same name when you visited Father Thomas to threaten Scrope with death unless he publicly confessed his sins on the steps of the market cross in Mistleham. Fifth, in one of our conversations you made a hideous mistake.You talked of the survivors at Acre being slaughtered in the dragon courtyard. How did you know such a fact, the name of a Templar courtyard in a small donjon in Outremer? Does that also explain the dragon above the castle in the painting at the parish church?’
‘And Dame Marguerite was party to all this?’ Master Benedict scoffed. ‘Are you saying she was my accomplice? Scrope’s adoring sister?’
15
Ad audiendum et terminandum – to hear and finish the business.
‘Listen,’ Corbett made himself more comfortable, ‘and listen well. You and the Free Brethren of the Holy Spirit were close to Gaston de Bearn, how and why I still don’t know. You are undoubtedly a French priest whilst they were a wandering band of souls who lived for the day until Gaston told you and their leaders a hideous story. How he’d been a Crusader abandoned at Acre by his close friend and kinsman, and worse, nearly murdered by him. I suggest he told you the truth close to his death, in the vespers of his life. You and the Free Brethren swore vengeance. You, a priest, educated, with some patronage, secured letters of accreditation for yourself and them to travel to England. You came first to spy, to learn, to plan. Like all the malignant killers I’ve known, you can shape your face, your actions, your very soul better than any actor. You arrived at St Frideswide, the gentle priest looking for employment. Dame Marguerite of course entertained you. She read your letters, but you’d also brought something else: proof, be it letters or items, of what truly happened at Acre.’
‘And Dame Marguerite simply accepted that?’
‘At first there’d be protests, doubts, but I am sure that in that pannier you have a letter from Gaston, a ring perhaps, some keepsake? More importantly, you loved Gaston, you’d lived with him, he was significant in your life as he had been in Dame Marguerite’s. You described him closely, both body and soul. It would not take long to convince Dame Marguerite.’