Corbett looked back at the others trailing behind, all deep in conversation.
‘Come, Sir Hugh,’ said the abbess.
‘Into the maze?’
‘There was a time,’ she teased, ‘when you vowed you would follow me into hell itself and fight Satan and all his liveried retainers.’ She paused. ‘I see you blush. We won’t go deep into the maze, just-’
‘I was a mailed clerk,’ Corbett replied, ‘a rash youth when I swore such an oath.’
‘Full of passion,’ the abbess replied as she led him into the entrance of the labyrinth.
Corbett fell silent. This was a different world, eerie and strange, the close-packed hedges rising either side to tower over him. He stared at the pathways that broke off in different directions to wind even deeper into this mesh of greenery. A brooding, silent place. No birdsong, no sound, no movement. Nothing but a brooding stillness. He felt as though the maze was suffocating him, stifling, closing in on either side. He pressed against the hedge, and it bent to receive his weight.
‘Like a ship’s sail,’ he murmured, ‘billowing in the wind.’ He attempted to climb, but could find no secure hold for foot or hand. He turned at the abbess’s laugh.
‘Hugh, it’s impossible.’
‘Could ladders be used?’
‘It’s been tried, but as you say, it would be like resting a ladder against a billowing sail.’
Corbett walked further down the pathway.
‘Be careful,’ she called. ‘Do not turn to the right or left.’
Corbett paused. He could hear the murmured conversation of his companions and the strident calls of the peacocks. He turned and walked back to join the abbess, who was sitting on a turf seat just inside the entrance.
‘Why did you leave the court?’ he asked abruptly. He still didn’t have the measure of this woman who had, an eternity ago, dominated his every waking moment before disappearing so swiftly from his life.
‘The world of men,’ she whispered, ‘drove me away. Oh, there was the flirting and the coy glances. I’d give some young knight or mailed clerk my colours to wear at a tournament. Now chivalry is all well enough, but the real world, the harsh realities of life? Tied to some lord who might beat me and reduce me to no more than a brood mare?’ Face all severe, she watched Corbett, then, as the clerk made to protest, burst out laughing and clasped his wrist. ‘I tease and mock you. Hugh, you were always courteous and gentle. If I could have married any man, it would have been you. But forget the world of men. I found my vocation, I discovered I had a calling.’
She shrugged prettily and rose to her feet, tugging at Corbett’s hand so he would follow her. They left the maze and strolled back towards the others. Corbett stopped, turned and looked back at the labyrinth, a massy, ominous presence, like some monster frozen by a magician’s spell. He half expected it to erupt into life, spring forward and devour everything in its path. He’d felt threatened along that narrow path cutting between walls of greenery that seemed as hard as any castle bulwark yet, when pushed, billowed into nothingness.
‘Do not enter,’ the abbess commanded. ‘Do not enter the maze until Rosamund’s twine has been fully laid out. Hugh, heed my warning.’ She walked back to join him.
‘Oh, I do,’ Corbett retorted. ‘That truly is a place of murder.’
A short while later, Corbett convened a meeting in the small guest-house refectory. For a while he just sat listening to the sounds of the nunnery: the tolling of bells, the patter of sandalled feet, the occasional refrain of a psalm or hymn, the barking of dogs in their distant kennels, the neigh of horses, and above them all, the piercing shriek of the peacocks. He smiled even as he mentally beat his breast. In many ways he felt a hypocrite, a liar, a sinner. He had closeted himself at Leighton Manor, locked in his love for Maeve and their children, absorbed in studying bees, but now, as he quietly confessed to himself, he was back to what he enjoyed most: the hunting of a murderer, the unmasking of a killer.
‘Master? What are you thinking? What are your suspicions?’
‘Ranulf, my friend, as God made little apples, Elizabeth Buchan was murdered and so was Margaret Beaumont. I am sure of it. Now,’ Corbett clapped his hands softly, ‘let us begin. Vicomte, Chanson, perhaps you could stand on guard outside whilst I converse with my learned friend here.’ Both men left. ‘Ranulf, I haven’t seen you since Twelfth Night past. You are my brother, my comrade. You have a weakness for a pretty face, yet you possess a good heart and, if you could control your lust, a logical mind and sharp wits. So, my friend, shall we use those?’ Ranulf nodded his agreement. ‘Good.’ Corbett sat down at the table, indicating that Ranulf sit next to him. ‘First,’ he leaned closer, ‘did you have intercourse with Elizabeth Buchan?’
‘No. She protested when I tried to kiss her, claiming she was a virgin.’
‘Second, was she killed by a bolt from your crossbow?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you claim that was stolen from your chamber here at Godstow?’
‘Yes. I protested, but-’
‘But that was a lie, wasn’t it, Ranulf? You are very careful, most prudent about your weapons.’ Corbett sighed. ‘Well, except for the one hanging between your legs.’ Ranulf coloured. ‘The truth?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Your crossbow bolts can only be loosed by your arbalest. That wasn’t stolen. You gave it to her, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’ Ranulf rubbed his hands together. ‘I arrived here all important, I began my investigation. The lady abbess was neither friendly nor cooperative, Margaret Beaumont being dismissed as an empty-headed noddle-pate. The rest of the nunnery, her coven, her household,’ Ranulf sneered, ‘followed their abbess’s example, except for Elizabeth Buchan.’ His face softened. ‘Sir Hugh, she was truly beautiful, with the devil in her eyes, her wits honed sharp for mischief. She was friendly, very friendly. I admit I was flattered. I also used her to discover more about Margaret Beaumont.
‘Now, my arrival marked a significant change on this issue. I had been sent to Godstow because Beaumont’s kin had no knowledge of her whatsoever. The accepted story was that she hadn’t fled but disappeared. I was here for about a week before Elizabeth was murdered, and in that week she changed. She confided to me that she always thought her friend had eloped from Godstow to meet some secret admirer. Indeed, she informed me that Margaret might have been helped to escape by someone here.’
‘By someone in Godstow?’
‘So she claimed. However, after Margaret disappeared, she never once communicated with Elizabeth. The Beaumont faction were asking questions, and my arrival here simply precipitated matters.’
‘In what way?’
‘Elizabeth Buchan came to believe that Margaret Beaumont had not fled, eloped or escaped but had been murdered. I asked her why, and she said something about Margaret seeing or knowing something singular here at Godstow. I asked her what, but of course I was a relative stranger, and Elizabeth was reluctant to speak. She was fearful, apprehensive. On the one hand, I think she wanted to confide in me; perhaps she was preparing to do so when she was murdered.’
‘And the crossbow?’
‘I gave Elizabeth both the arbalest and a quiver of bolts; they certainly weren’t stolen.’
‘I thought as much. Why?’
‘She asked for protection. She said that if what she knew was true, it placed her in great danger. She also claimed that she was being watched. How one night the door to her bedchamber was opened and a figure stood there. She cried out and the apparition, or whatever it was, disappeared.’
‘Anything else?’
Ranulf shook his head. ‘I am sorry, master,’ he sighed. ‘Elizabeth Buchan was truly beautiful. I was attracted to her, but I was also trying to win her confidence …’