‘And the poison?’
‘Oh, you may have disturbed the herb plant at the manor, or the nightshade may have been given to you by Dame Marguerite from her stock of powders in the convent infirmary. Anyway, you poured the phial of poison into the jug, then filled that yew cup. A mysterious, mischievous twist that would suggest Lady Hawisa’s guilt. You later departed as you came, through the window, pulling over the drapes, closing the shutter and going back across the ford.’
‘I could have been noticed.’
‘I doubt it. A dark shadow on a black, freezing night? You were no longer the timid chaplain, but a soldier skilled and ruthless.’
‘But those shutters remained unbarred.’
‘Dame Marguerite took care of that. She’d arranged to see her brother the following morning in the reclusorium with Father Thomas, a gesture that would reassure her brother about his midnight visitor. She’d promised to go over to discuss certain concerns, but also to secretly consult with him on what to do next. Scrope would see that as logical reassurance that you were what you pretended to be, his loyal, loving sister’s emissary. Father Thomas was a cat’s paw: the abbess and the parish priest paying a visit to their manor lord. Of course this is mere conjecture, because Dame Marguerite’s real intention was to conceal the mystery of her brother’s brutal murder. On that morning she crossed by boat. The door was locked, so she directed Pennywort to break the nearest shutter, which he did. He climbs in and seesthe horror. He hastily unlocks the door and Dame Marguerite sweeps in. Father Thomas immediately acts the priest, tending to the corpse. Dame Marguerite, pretending to be all flustered, hastens around the reclusorium. She quickly pulls aside the drapes of that window, lowers the bar, and lifts the pegs against the shutters. Remember, the reclusorium was cloaked in darkness; most of the candles had guttered out. Father Thomas is busy. Pennywort is standing outside by the door. Dame Marguerite can do what she likes and the mystery is complete. The alarm is then noisily raised. People hasten across, trampling any sign, if any remained, of Scrope’s secret assassin.’
‘And your vengeance has been carried out,’ Ranulf declared.
Master Benedict threw the Clerk of the Green Wax a venomous glance. Proof, Corbett quietly concluded, that if Ranulf was not here, this murderous soul would try and seize any opportunity.
‘You are not yet finished,’ Corbett remarked. ‘Dame Marguerite was infatuated with you – yes? Did she have plans, nurse plots? Oh no, not to elope, but to settle down at St Frideswide with her lover chaplain who’d secure preferment in the royal service. Some madcap scheme that certainly did not match your plans? She might prove to be a burden in the future. Why did you need to stay? Yet you couldn’t flee and leave her to bear witness. You continued to be faux et semblant – false and dissembling. You encouraged her to act all frightened, as if she too was being threatened by the Sagittarius. That was all your work, the arrow, the message. Again you were trying to divert attention.’
‘And in St Alphege’s?’ Master Benedict broke in, all impetuous, like a master wondering if his scholar had really learnt his lesson.
Corbett bit back his anger. ‘If Dame Marguerite was trulyfrightened,’ he murmured, ‘she would never have left St Frideswide. Yet you could not kill her there; that would be highly suspicious.’
‘So?’
‘Master Claypole,’ Corbett replied. ‘Dame Marguerite was venomously hot against him. You persuaded the lady abbess to send that letter to Physician Ormesby. Why? I truly don’t know, except to use him against Claypole.’
‘But why meet in St Alphege’s.’ The question was more of a taunt.
‘Oh.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I suspect you and Dame Marguerite were going to entrap Claypole. Your assertion that the parish church held the solution to all the mysteries was a lie. The Sagittarius would launch an attack against both her and you, only to fail. Physician Ormesby would arrive shortly afterwards to find the abbess and her chaplain all distraught and ready to swear that the secret bowman was no less a person than Master Claypole.’
‘And Dame Marguerite was confident about this?’
‘Of course! Dame Marguerite wasn’t frightened of any Sagittarius; she knew who he really was. In fact she should have been most wary. You accompanied her. You took a short horn bow, along with two arrows pushed through your belt, all hidden beneath your cloak. Dame Marguerite never suspected what you really intended. She thought you adored her. Both of you arrived early in the church – the Jesus Mass was finished, Father Thomas had withdrawn, those parishioners who’d attended had left. If there had been any obstacle, you’d have simply changed your plans accordingly. Dame Marguerite would have to leave the church.Perhaps you could encourage her to move amongst the stalls, or, of course, there was always the journey back to St Frideswide. However, the church was empty, the main door locked. You acted very swiftly. You melt into the shadows, notch one arrow, emerge and loose. In a few heartbeats Dame Marguerite is dead. Another shaft is loosed at the rood screen. You unstring the bow and hide the stave in that dark, cavernous church; only then do you blow the horn and hide behind the rood screen as if terrified out of your wits.’
‘So swift?’ Le Sanglier jibed.
‘Ranulf,’ Corbett spoke over his shoulder, ‘when I start counting, pick up your bow and two arrows from the quiver, and loose as quickly as you can down the church.’ He watched Ranulf stand, bow at the ready. ‘One, two, three, four …’ He had only reached five when the second arrow whistled through the air. ‘You see,’ Corbett rose to his feet, ‘no more than a few heartbeats. Once again the Sagittarius had attacked Lord Scrope’s family. After that you were eager to be gone. I was very wary of that. I had no reason in law to detain you, hence the mummery last night.’ He stared at the prisoner. ‘I had to trap you.’
‘So you have.’ Master Benedict lifted his bound hands. ‘Now take me to London and put me before King’s Bench. I will plead benefit of clergy and demand to be returned to my ordinary, the bishop who ordained me. He will try me, and then what, Master Corbett? A few months in some lonely monastery fasting on bread and water?’
‘Perhaps not.’ Ranulf drew his sword and, ignoring Corbett’s hiss of disapproval, squatted down in front of the prisoner. ‘Scrope I understand, but those innocents, the others, why them?’
‘Why not?’ Master Benedict taunted. ‘Their kin attacked mine.’
‘I tell you this.’ Ranulf moved his sword so its tip rested on the ground, his fingers curled around the crosspiece, ‘I swear-’
‘Ranulf!’ Corbett intervened.
‘I swear,’ Ranulf shouted, ‘if you confirm the truth, we shall offer you a way out. I swear!’ He turned, eyes pleading, to Corbett. ‘I rarely ask, let alone beg.’
‘It must be just and fair,’ the chaplain murmured. ‘By the way, how did you know it was a short horn bow?’
He gestured with his hand at the longbow lying on the ground.
‘Father Thomas, at my request, searched his church,’ Ranulf whispered. ‘He found the bow hidden deep behind the lady altar.’