Roseblood Read Online Free PDF Page B

perfume of beeswax and incense. Immediately facing them was a table tomb surmounted by a carved life-size replica of the dead man in his guild robes. The Purbeck marble sepulchre was positioned just beneath a round rose window, which caught the light so that a vivid array of blues, reds, greens and golds bathed the square chapel in its own special glory. To the right of the entrance stood the altar, now covered in a silver-fringed purple mantle; above it hung a stark black crucifix, and two prie-dieux stood before the dais. On the far wall, a gorgeously painted fresco proclaimed the exploits of John Beaufort, first Duke of Somerset. In the corner, to the left of the altar, stood a replica of the statue of Our Lady of Walsingham, beneath its plinth a polished bronze stand for candles and tapers.
    ‘Truly exquisite. Truly exquisite,’ Sevigny breathed. He knelt beside the tomb, which bore statues of four carved mourners, cowled and cloaked, along its side. The shoulders of each statue bore the Beaufort arms, very similar to those of the King except for the black bar sinister, the sign of illegitimacy, which cut diagonally across. After a while, he rose and peered at the doves of the dawn carved on each corner of the tomb, whispering:
    My heart is ready, oh God.
    My heart is ready.
    To sing your praises, I will sing your praises.
    Awake my soul,
    Awake harp and lyre
    I will awake the dawn!
    He turned and smiled brilliantly at Roseblood. ‘Like you, Simon, I was educated by the Benedictines, though at Fountains Abbey on the beautiful moorlands of Yorkshire. You have been there?’ Roseblood shook his head. ‘No, no, of course not, you are from the West Country, yes? Glastonbury, beneath the soaring tor, a place of mystery.’
    ‘You slew Lazarus, one of my principal scavengers!’
    ‘I am the clerk of Richard, Duke of York. Lazarus drew against me, so I killed him.’
    ‘And Candlemas?’
    ‘In a short while, Master Simon. For the moment…’ Sevigny fished into his purse, drew out two coins and put these into the poor box, a small iron chest screwed to the wall beneath the statue of the Virgin. He then lit two tapers and smiled at Roseblood. ‘For your brother! Let us also say the requiem.’
    Roseblood joined him in the prayer. He now recognised the subtle soul of this adversary, a veritable smiler who kept a dagger close beneath his cloak. He also wondered why Ramler, the sheriff’s scribe, still stood waiting patiently in the nave. Sevigny crossed himself and studied the wall fresco depicting Beaufort’s exploits in France.
    ‘Very good, very accurate.’ He pointed to a part of the painting that showed the duke, holding a staff and dressed in pilgrim’s garb, being helped into a small boat by a sturdy shipman. ‘Just like Suffolk was,’ Sevigny whispered. ‘You know, Master Simon, when he was caught off Dover and beheaded.’ He turned abruptly. ‘What truly happened to your brother? He too was a great friend of Beaufort.’
    ‘He was murdered.’ Roseblood retorted, hand falling to his dagger. ‘My brother was seized and slain when Cade’s men invaded the city. I truly don’t know why or by whom. When we found his corpse and severed head, we also found a dead crow pinned to a pole.’ He paused. ‘The Norman French for crow is
corbeil
. A cohort of French mercenaries now in England, serving in your master’s retinue, enjoy the same name.’
    ‘There was also a town in Normandy called LeCorbeil where a hideous massacre took place. I just wonder sometimes whether this is all connected, like beads on a string.’
    ‘Perhaps you know more than I do,’ Simon said quietly, ‘about these hirelings.’
    ‘Many people,’ Sevigny glanced away, ‘pretend to act on behalf of my master Richard of York. The same could be said for Beaufort and his coven.’
    ‘I was born on Beaufort’s estates in the West Country,’ Simon replied. ‘I entered his household. I became his henchman by sealed indentures. I