‘So what happened next?’ asked Sandewic.
Corbett held his hands up. ‘Again this is conjecture. Boniface must have been truly desperate. The evidence against him could appear truly damning.’ He emphasised each point on his fingers. ‘He could provide no acceptable explanation for his presence with Chauntoys in the Liber Albus. He had escaped and sought sanctuary. Eventually he would have to leave the protection of Holy Mother Church and face the hideous risk of capture or being killed. I suspect that once again he was offered the chance to flee. There was a risk, but it was one that I, and I suspect all of you, would have taken. He had done all he could by voicing his suspicions on the page of that Book of the Gospels.’ ‘But his suspicions were about Evesham,’ Ranulf insisted. ‘Why should Boniface trust him?’
‘Perhaps Evesham assured him that all he wanted was for Boniface to flee, disappear. Or,’ Corbett paused, ‘did Evesham use Engleat? Whatever, Evesham, or maybe just Engleat by himself, revealed a plan for Boniface to escape by night. Now imagine it. Darkness falls. Engleat enters the church, bringing with him Evesham’s cloak, and tells Boniface a farrago of lies about wanting to help. The solution is so simple. They will walk out through a different door from the one Engleat entered by. Let us say Engleat entered by the north door. He collects Ippegrave, gives him Evesham’s cloak and they leave by the corpse door. Who cares? It is dark. All the guards would see is Engleat, and someone they think is Evesham, all cloaked and cowled, leaving the church. Why should they challenge them? Master Evesham had been hot in his detention of Boniface, the last thing those guards expected would be for the very men who’d organised Ippegrave’s arrest and then so stringently blockaded the church to be helping their prisoner to escape. Such duplicity, surely, Master Constable, would be beyond your guards’ comprehension?’
‘True, true,’ Sandewic agreed, ‘and like this morning we simply had to watch for a fugitive dressed in a Lincoln-green cloak trying to escape. Two men, muffled and cowled, leaving in the dead of night would pass unnoticed. Moreover, the guards were accustomed to seeing Evesham and Engleat together, as we were you and Master Ranulf. We would never dream that such duplicity was being played out.’ The constable shook his head. ‘So simple,’ he murmured, ‘so very, very simple, yet so clever.’ He cradled his blackjack of ale and whistled under his breath. ‘Of course,’ he half smiled, ‘the guards would be tired, sprawling by their fire. Darkness had fallen. The door opens, unlocked by Engleat, and two men walk out. Engleat assures the guards that all is well and the two figures stride into the night.’ Sandewic snapped his fingers. ‘All over in a few heartbeats, no longer than it would take to gabble an Ave.’ He pointed at Corbett. ‘You did the same with Chanson this morning, didn’t you? We were all looking for a man dressed in a Lincoln-green cloak.’
‘Of course,’ Corbett agreed. ‘Ranulf and I entered St Botulph’s. Ranulf gave Chanson a black cloak to cover his own. Chanson and I left by one door, Ranulf by another. Who’d notice? Who really cared if Ranulf was no longer wearing a cloak? The guards recognised him as my faithful lieutenant, so why challenge him? Such a ploy would be even easier in the dead of night, with cloaks pulled tight, deep cowls shrouding heads and faces.’ He paused. ‘I know Boniface must have been suspicious, but he was already trapped. Why shouldn’t he seize an opportunity to escape? I don’t really understand how it actually happened. Perhaps Engleat depicted himself as an angel of light. Chanson here left for a warm tavern, but Boniface was hurried to his death. You can imagine Engleat and Boniface passing quietly and quickly through that cemetery. The assassins, probably Waldene and Hubert, springing up from the ground, knives glittering. It would be over so quickly. St Botulph’s cemetery is a sprawling place. Boniface is knocked to the ground by a blow to the back of his head, then his throat is cut. Remember, it was summer. Cuthbert has told us how graves had been dug before the sun baked the ground too hard. Boniface’s corpse was tumbled into one of these, then dirt was thrown over it. One corpse amongst many. Who would even think? Somewhere in God’s acre, poor Boniface’s remains have turned to dust. Our Lady be my witness, I wouldn’t even know where to begin my search for them.’
‘Yet if Evesham was still alive,’ Sandewic declared, ‘what you allege would not be enough to convict him before King’s Bench.’
‘True,’ Corbett conceded, ‘it’s all conjecture, surmise, but it’s the only logical conclusion I can reach. Evesham of course was a sinner to the bone, a killer to his very heart. He never changed. He let the dust settle after Ippegrave’s disappearance. After all, he was now very wealthy. He’d won the personal attention of the King and was promoted. A great future lay before him. Naturally the Mysterium couldn’t return, but Evesham did, like a dog to its vomit. He was caught in the toils of sin. He liked to live the noble judge in the light of day and the thief, the rogue, the outlaw once darkness fell.’
‘But if you are correct,’ Ranulf interviewed, ‘and Boniface Ippegrave was murdered at St Botulph’s, then who visited his sister? The ring he produced? How do you explain that, Sir Hugh? How do you account for the murders of Evesham’s wife Clarice, Richard Fink, Waldene, Hubert the Monk and Fleschner the coroner?’
‘I don’t know,’ Corbett sighed, ‘not yet. Waldene and Hubert were killed possibly because of their involvement in Lady Emma’s murder, and the same is true of Fleschner. He was coroner at the time she was slain.’ He chewed his lip. ‘All I can say is that the killer seems absolutely determined to annihilate Evesham and all his coven. I believe Engleat, Waldene, the Monk and Fleschner were all caught up in Evesham’s web of wickedness. I still can’t understand why Clarice and Richard Fink were so barbarously murdered and their heads left in the baptismal bowl at St Botulph’s.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t think I will ever secure hard evidence. We are going to have to trap this killer another way. Now look,’ he turned to Chanson, ‘you are to take writs, sworn out by Ranulf and sealed with green wax, to Brother Cuthbert, Adelicia and Parson John at Syon Abbey. They are to present themselves at the third hour, early tomorrow morning, in St Botulph’s church. Once you have delivered the summons, the same applies to Staunton and Blandeford. They too must be brought in. Sir Ralph,’ he pointed at the constable, ‘in the early hours you are to visit the clerk Lapwing. You are to take both him and his mother from their house in Mitre Street and bring them to St Botulph’s under close guard. Ranulf, once you have the writs sworn out, I want that church cleaned, a judgment table and chairs set up, benches, stools and wheeled braziers. Bring some warmth to that benighted place, for tomorrow I shall hold court there.’
‘At St Botulph’s?’ Ranulf exclaimed.
‘Why not?’ Corbett declared. ‘Is it not customary for judges to sit where the actual crime has been committed? Why go to Westminster? Now,’ he gestured to a tap boy, ‘your presence this morning saved me. I just regret it didn’t save poor Griffyths. So before we part, one further blackjack of ale to warm our stomachs and gladden our hearts. Gentlemen,’ he raised his almost empty tankard, ‘to tomorrow’s hunt. .’
Later on, Corbett lay on the bed in the chamber he had hired at the Golden Thistle. A comfortable room, warmed by the kitchen and scullery below, it was sparse but clean and tidy. Corbett, having removed his boots, sword-belt and cloak, sprawled staring up at the brightly covered tester. He was still puzzled and confused.