Hugh Corbett 13 - Corpse Candle Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ranulf and Chanson entered the room. They, too, had taken off their belts, cloaks and boots. Ranulf had splashed water on his hair, forcing it back from his brow, and this gave him a lean and hungry look. Corbett studied this Clerk of the Green Wax: Ranulf was changing. Tall and muscular, his interests in the ladies hadn’t waned but he now had a greater hunger, a burning ambition to rise high in the King’s service. Ranulf had hired an Oxford clerk, one of his own subordinates, to teach him Latin and Norman French as well as perfect his handwriting, both the cursive script and the elegant copperplate used on charters and official proclamations. Now he stood on the balls of his feet, eager to press on with the task in hand.
    ‘A serene place, Sir Hugh, though not what it appears . . .?’
    ‘No abbey or monastery is,’ Corbett replied, leaning against the window sill and folding his arms. ‘Or any community! That even goes for my own family, Ranulf. Look at the tension which can surface at Leighton. The sea of troubles which,’ he grinned, ‘sends us both scurrying to our private chambers.’
    Ranulf coloured slightly with embarrassment. Leighton Manor was ruled by Corbett’s wife, the Lady Maeve. A small, beautiful, blonde-haired, Welsh woman, Maeve had the face of an angel and a tongue like a sharpened razor. When she lost her temper, Ranulf particularly would always find something interesting to do at the other side of the manor. Everyone – Uncle Morgan who was their permanent guest, Corbett, Ranulf and even Chanson, who rarely reflected on anything – feared the dimunitive Lady Maeve more than they did the King.
    ‘I thought we were going back home,’ Chanson moaned.
    The groom had two gifts. He could manage any horse and he loved Corbett’s children, Eleanor and Baby Edward. Although not the cleanest or best looking of men, Chanson was always a source of delightful curiosity to them as well as the other children on the manor.
    ‘Aye.’ Corbett sighed. ‘We were supposed to go home.’
    He half closed his eyes. He had joined the King at Norwich after that business in Suffolk. Edward had promised him leave from his service but then the dusty, mud-spattered courier had arrived from St Martin’s. The King had begged him to take on this task and what could Corbett do?
    ‘It was murder, wasn’t it?’ Ranulf asked sitting down on a stool.
    ‘Murder and a cunning one,’ Corbett agreed. ‘But proving it and discovering the assassin will be difficult. We are going to have to poke with a long, sharp stick. In many ways Abbot Stephen was a strange man. Oh, he was holy enough and learned but self-contained and mysterious; a knight-banneret who decided to become a priest. A soldier who decided to hunt demons.’
    ‘Demons!’ Ranulf exclaimed.
    Corbett smiled thinly. ‘Yes, Ranulf, our late Abbot was an officially appointed exorcist. Abbot Stephen would be called to assist with people who claimed to be possessed, and houses that were reputedly haunted.’
    ‘Sprites and goblins!’ Ranulf scoffed. ‘A legion of devils wander Whitefriars and Southwark, but they are all flesh and blood. The wickedness they perpetrate would shame any self-respecting demon. You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you?’
    Corbett pursed his lips. Ranulf stared in disbelief. Chanson, delighted, stood rooted to the spot. He loved nothing better, as he’d often whispered to Ranulf, than sombre tales about witches, warlocks and sorcerers.
    ‘Surely, Sir Hugh, it’s arrant nonsense!’
    ‘Yes and no,’ Corbett replied slowly. ‘Ranulf, I am a true son of Holy Mother Church, as you should be.’
    ‘But you are also an Oxford clerk skilled in logic. You deal in evidence, in that which can be proved.’
    ‘But I can give you proof,’ Corbett teased back. ‘Ranulf, think of something.’
    The Clerk of the Green Wax closed his eyes.
    ‘Well, of what are you thinking?’
    ‘Sweet Amasia.’ Ranulf grinned. ‘Her father owns