‘Take him away,’ Beauchamp ordered. ‘Sir William, please tell the guild there will be no meeting here tonight.’
Stephen stared across the bleak bell chamber, its corners rich in cobwebs and drenched in dirt. He noticed the coils of rope, the pots of oil and grease, the empty buckets. Stephen left and walked into the nave. He stared down at the huge rood screen, above it the cross and on either side of that life-sized carvings of Our Lady and St John. The evening light pouring through the window was dappled and emphasized the darting shadows. Stephen peered closer. He glimpsed the red sanctuary light winking beside the pyx hanging on its chain. To the left tapers still glowed in the Lady chapel.
‘This truly is,’ he whispered, ‘the walking place for wraiths, the domain of demons and a hall of beseeching ghosts.’
Was Christ really present here? Stephen reflected. Or was this church the mouth of hell yawning for its prey, breathing out terrors while the demons gathered like millions of grunting hogs?
‘Stephen!’ Anselm stood outside the bell chamber, beckoning him over even as Sir William and Gascelyn escorted a sobbing Simon to the main door where Beauchamp, half-hidden by the shadows, stood waiting. ‘Stephen,’ Anselm urged, ‘come with me!’ The novice hurried over. Anselm plucked him by the sleeve and led him back into the deserted bell tower. They climbed the steep spiral staircase. Anselm explained how the tower had been built over successive generations with one storey raised upon another. Stephen, breathless by the climb, could only grunt a reply. Now and again they stopped so that Anselm could rest. Once again Stephen heard the rasping deep in his master’s chest.
At last they reached the first storey, prized open the wooden trapdoor and climbed into the deserted loft. The evening breeze pierced the window-shafts, whirling the dust and stirring the pungent odour from the bird droppings which coated the chamber. The air grew colder as they continued their climb. Stephen felt he was being followed. No candlelight or cresset flared in the winding stairwell. The blackness closed in, stifling and threatening. Now and again a bird, like some disembodied soul, flittered, a threatening blur across the lancet window. They reached other lofts, the stone staircase being replaced by wooden ladders leading up from one storey to the next. The breeze became more vigorous. Anselm was having trouble climbing. Stephen was wary. At any other time, Stephen, advised by Anselm, would have dismissed his feelings as wild imaginings, yet he was sure they were being closely watched. A brushing sensation against his cheek, a fluttering around his eyes and against his ears, a faint whispering as if people were gathered in the loft above chattering quietly amongst themselves. A voice abruptly called: ‘Another is here!’ followed by silence.
Anselm, despite his age and racking cough, clambered resolutely up the different ladders, the sweat drenching his face. At last they reached the belfry, a cavernous chamber. The windows in each wall were at least a yard high and the same across. The two great bells, Gabriel and Raphael, hung on a massive, oil-drenched beam separated by a huge half-wheel with cogs from which the ropes dangled through the gaps of the different storeys they’d entered. The belfry reeked of iron, cordage and a thick layer of bird droppings which covered everything, particularly the wooden parapet walk which ran around the belfry at least two feet beneath each of the oblong-shaped windows. Anselm, despite the rigours of the climb, the stench and the eerie call of the birds, ignored the sinister presence which had accompanied them. The exorcist asked Stephen to stand by the hatch through which they’d entered. Stephen was only too happy to obey. Staring through one of the windows, he realized how dizzingly high they had climbed. The darkened city stretching out below seemed a different world. Anselm, however, chattering to himself, impervious to everything else, walked hastily around the parapet, stopping at each of the windows to scrupulously study the stains on the floor beneath. ‘Nothing!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come, Stephen!’ He barely waited for the novice before grasping the rungs of the ladder reaching up to the trapdoor and on to the roof of the tower.
‘Magister, must we?’
‘I must, you must, we must.’ Anselm stared down at him. ‘We search for the root, young Stephen. I believe we are on the path leading to that; only then can we pull it up. Now, trust in God.’ He grinned. ‘He will send his angels lest we dash our foot against a stone.’
Breathing prayers to St Michael and all the heavenly host, Stephen hitched his robe, thanked God for the firm, tough sandals and followed Anselm up through the trapdoor to the wind-blown roof of the tower. The strong breeze buffeted him. Below spread a swathe of pinpricks of light; to his left Stephen could glimpse the lofty tower of St Paul’s in the gathering murk. He stared around. The roof of the tower was slightly concave so water would drain off through the gargoyle spouts. Near the trapdoor stood a huge brazier crammed with kindling which served as a beacon light. The floor of the tower was covered in tightly-packed shale which provided firm grip. The four sides of the tower, at least a yard high, were crennelated with iron bars between each of the jutting crennelations. Stephen stood near the brazier, grasping it firmly against the buffeting wind. He never did like heights and this was truly fearsome.
‘Stephen.’
He reluctantly joined Anselm, who was kneeling before one of the crennelations, examining the packed gravel. The exorcist picked up pieces of fresh mud and then plucked coarse fibres from the nearby brickwork.
‘Bardolph’s, I am sure of it. The mud is fresh and these fibres are from a fustian jerkin or hose. But what was Bardolph doing up here?’ Anselm got to his feet. ‘Come,’ he urged, ‘I can see you prefer not to be so near heaven.’
Anselm smiled at his own joke but this faded as his gaze caught something behind Stephen. The novice turned and stared in chilling horror at the shape on the other side of the tower, a pluming pillar of black smoke which did not move, even in the gusty wind.
‘Magister!’ Stephen warned.
‘Magister, Magister!’ came the hissing, mocking echo. ‘Magister this, Magister that! Anselm is no magister,’ the voice continued, ‘he is nothing more than a dirty little mud worm.’
Stephen shivered against the cold horror pressing in around him. Anselm staggered back towards the wall. The exorcist was whispering the Jesus prayer: ‘Jesus, son of the living God, have mercy on us.’ Abruptly the icy buffeting wind ceased but the pillar of blackness moved to hover over the closed trapdoor.
Anselm grabbed Stephen’s arm and pulled him towards it. The air reeked of corruption. Stephen knelt to pull open the trapdoor. The freezing wind returned, pummelling them hard. Stephen desperately tried to pull back the trapdoor but it held fast as if bolted from the inside. Anselm, still reciting his prayer, knelt down to help. The reeking stench made them gag. The wind beat against them. Stephen glanced up. The plume of blackness descended. Stephen could not breathe. He recoiled with horror at the stricken face which chased towards him. He felt himself being pulled back. A slap on his face made him open his eyes. Anselm, soaked in sweat, crouched by the now open trapdoor.
‘Stephen. .’ Anselm’s exclamation was cut off as Raphael and Gabriel began to toll. Stephen felt the force of the reverberation. The floor of the tower shook like the deck of a ship hit by a huge wave.
‘In God’s name!’ Anselm dragged Stephen towards the opening. The bells tolled fiercely as Anselm dragged Stephen on to the ladder. They hastened down. As they did the tolling ceased as abruptly as it had begun. They reached the bell chamber. The bells hung silently yet Stephen flinched at the oppressive atmosphere. He glimpsed a shifting shape. Some being, dark as night, fluttered around the bell chamber.
‘Magister!’
‘I know.’ Anselm grasped his arm and pulled him on. ‘Let us go down.’
They did so, carefully. Stephen noticed how Anselm would stop now and again to inspect the rungs on the ladder and the steps below.