Hugh Corbett 17 - The Mysterium (29 page)

‘But you eventually told Evesham?’

‘Of course I did. You know why, Sir Hugh. Westminster is a small, narrow world, I was intrigued. I simply informed him about Ippegrave’s curiosity.’

‘And what was Evesham’s reply?’ Ranulf asked.

Staunton refused to acknowledge Ranulf, but stared hard at Corbett.

‘If I remember correctly, Sir Hugh, he dismissed it laughingly.’

‘And Burnell?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Chancellor Burnell, did he really appoint Evesham to hunt the Mysterium?’

Staunton, no fool, recognised that Corbett was trying to lead him.

‘You clear the fog of years, Sir Hugh. Burnell asked for help; Evesham responded.’ He flailed a hand. ‘Perhaps Ippegrave did as well. I’m not too sure, that’s all I can say.’

Staunton and Blandeford, now dismissed, flounced out eager to escape the rigour of Corbett’s questions. Brother Cuthbert and Adelicia came next, sitting on their stools like sinners waiting for absolution. Corbett decided not to question their relationship or what they may have been discussing but immediately took both of them back to events twenty years ago.

‘Mistress Adelicia,’ he began, ‘did your brother have a lover, a leman, a confidante?’

‘He may have.’

‘Did he?’ Corbett insisted.

‘Yes,’ Adelicia retorted. ‘Yes, I think he did. Sometimes I could smell perfume on him.’ She pulled a face. ‘He seemed like a man in love but he was so secretive.’

‘And his gold?’

‘I’ve told you, I don’t know. He may have gambled, he played hazard.’

‘Brother Cuthbert?’

The lay brother refused to meet Corbett’s gaze.

‘Brother Cuthbert, you were once a priest. You exercised the faculties of shriving and absolution.’

Cuthbert began to tremble.

‘Tell me, Brother. Boniface Ippegrave was
in periculo mortis
, in fear of death. He took sanctuary in your church. He was a good man but he recognised he might die soon. At such a time a man’s thoughts turn to his soul, to judgement, to life everlasting. In a word, Brother, did you hear Boniface Ippegrave’s confession?’

Brother Cuthbert, eyes brimming with tears, grasped Adelicia’s arm. Sandewic, slouched in the chair next to Corbett, pulled himself up. Ranulf forgot his transcribing. Even Chanson on guard further down the nave walked closer as he caught the tension of confrontation. The others, grouped around the braziers, although they could not hear what was being said, fell silent, looking over their shoulders expectantly.

‘Well, Brother Cuthbert, did you hear Ippegrave’s confession?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know canon law, Brother,’ Corbett continued. ‘You cannot, under pain of eternal damnation, reveal what was told to you in confession, but let me ask you questions. Do you believe Boniface Ippegrave was innocent?’ He tried to curb his excitement; the answer might provide evidence that the hypothesis he’d created was true. ‘Brother, do you believe he was innocent?’

‘Yes, yes, I do. Boniface Ippegrave had committed many sins, but not murder.’

‘And what do you think of Evesham?’ Corbett asked. ‘I mean generally, from what you know?’

‘Evesham was the devil incarnate, a man bound up in sin. His death was justly deserved.’

‘But not just because of the way he treated you or Adelicia afterwards. More because of what Boniface Ippegrave told you in confession. Yes?’

Brother Cuthbert blinked nervously and nodded.

‘Do you think, Brother, I mean outside of confession, that Boniface Ippegrave had a lover?’

Brother Cuthbert closed his eyes, opened his mouth and licked his lips.

‘Please, Brother,’ Corbett pleaded. ‘I asked you not what was said in confession but what you think.’

‘I believe he had a lover, a woman he truly cared for. I asked him if I could send her a message, but he replied no, that she would hear what had happened and act accordingly.’

‘Do you know what he meant by that?’

‘No, Sir Hugh, but I had the impression that she would flee.’

‘When was this confession made?’ Sandewic asked. ‘I mean, with Evesham watching you so closely?’

‘I took food and the jakes pot in.’ Cuthbert smiled thinly. ‘Evesham could not enter the sanctuary. Boniface hid at the far end, beyond the high altar. It does not take too long, in such circumstances, for a penitent to whisper a list of sins, protest his innocence over others and receive general absolution. He shrugged. ‘To be honest, the confession came piecemeal during Boniface’s second day in sanctuary, whenever I tended to him. A whisper here, a whisper there. I could recite the absolution later.’

‘And Brother, after listening to that confession, I simply ask your opinion, not what you heard. Coroner Fleschner, who wielded authority in Cripplegate, did you have a high regard for him?’

Again Brother Cuthbert grasped Adelicia’s arm and stared hard at her. Corbett realised that whatever this priest had heard in confession, he’d already hinted the same to this woman.

‘I heard things, Sir Hugh, things that were of public interest. Later on, I met Master Fleschner and told him how in my view he had no right to act as coroner, that he was Evesham’s creature. He was a weak man, Sir Hugh, but still good. I suspect he knew what I was hinting at.’

‘Which was?’

Brother Cuthbert shook his head. ‘You push me too far. You recognise the seal of confession. I cannot break that.’

‘Very well.’ Corbett paused. ‘Let me phrase the question another way. Emma Evesham was killed in a street assault. Coroner Fleschner investigated the murder. No real conclusion was drawn. What do you think of that, Brother?’

Cuthbert smiled weakly. He realised where Corbett was leading him.

‘I would say, Sir Hugh, that Coroner Fleschner should have investigated such an assault more stringently, searched for suspects, but he did not.’

‘Why do you think that was?’

‘Because of Evesham, that devil incarnate.’

‘When Evesham took refuge at Syon Abbey, did you ever discuss these matters with him?’

‘Sir Hugh, I have told you the truth about that. I could hardly look at him, let alone talk to him. I knew what he truly was and so do you. What was the use of lecturing him? He was an evil man who did evil things.’

‘And you, Adelicia, you brought your mother’s ring to St Botulph’s but Evesham took it off you?’

‘I have told you that.’

‘We know from Brother Cuthbert that Evesham handed that ring over to Boniface Ippegrave. What happened to it then?’

‘Boniface must have kept it,’ Adelicia retorted. ‘My midnight visitor handed it back to me. Perhaps my brother is still alive.’

‘Mistress,’ Corbett stared sadly at her, ‘your midnight visitor was definitely not your brother. It would be cruel to hold out any hope that you will see him this side of heaven.’ He rose, came around the table and, crouching beside Adelicia, clasped her hand as he told her about his conclusions. How Boniface had been lured to this church, taken out in the dark and murdered. Once he’d finished, Adelicia sat, head bowed, quietly sobbing.

‘God save you, mistress,’ Corbett whispered, ‘but I can’t even tell you where he is buried.’

‘Then who?’ Adelicia lifted her tear-stained face. ‘Who approached me in the dead of night? How did he get that ring?’

‘I am sure your brother’s corpse was stripped of any possessions or valuables. Evesham and his assassins would have seen to that. No mark of recognition would be found. One of them must have taken it, but who, or how your mysterious midnight visitor acquired it, I don’t know, not yet.’

‘Hell’s foul fiend!’ Brother Cuthbert grated. ‘Evesham was a midnight soul. Now that you have told us the truth, Sir Hugh, I can reveal a little more.’ He swallowed hard, one rheumatic hand going to his unshaven cheek. ‘Boniface truly believed the Mysterium was a chancery clerk, but he was not certain. At one time he even suspected Staunton,’ Cuthbert crossed himself. ‘What you say is correct, in parts. Boniface, however, found it difficult to accept that Evesham, who could be so very charming, was an assassin, a man who’d killed his wife and any rivals in the chancery.’

‘So?’

‘Engleat,’ whispered Cuthbert. ‘Boniface wondered if Engleat was the Mysterium.’

‘But what was the logic to that?’

‘Think, Sir Hugh. Engleat rose with Evesham. When Evesham fell, so did Engleat. Did he clear rivals out of Evesham’s path? So that where his master went he could follow? Reflect.’ Brother Cuthbert pointed at Ranulf. ‘Have you not made him? Does he not ride high in your retinue? Engleat was no different. Did he arrange the killing of Emma? Did he see her as a rival, an obstacle for his master? When Boniface was arrested in Southwark he whispered such suspicions to Evesham, who then allowed him to escape to safe sanctuary here.’

‘Of course.’ Corbett rose and stared down the church. ‘Of course that makes sense!’

‘What does?’ Sandewic barked. ‘Sir Hugh, I cannot hear such whisperings.’

‘My apologies.’ Corbett went and sat down behind the table. ‘Imagine Evesham taking Ippegrave into the city. Ippegrave hotly but quietly hisses his own suspicions. Evesham appears to cooperate, but already a plan is forming. Boniface Ippegrave must be depicted as the Mysterium and killed, either fleeing the law or by accident. What he certainly does not want is Ippegrave appearing before King’s Bench to voice his allegations.’ Corbett spread his hands. ‘We’ll never know what plots curled and weaved in Evesham’s brain, busy as a box of worms, except for one decision. Boniface Ippegrave was marked down for sudden death. Evesham allowed him to escape from the comitatus to demonstrate his good will. Later he entered the sanctuary of St Botulph’s, a demon disguised as an angel of light, and lured Boniface out into the dark where the assassins clustered. Yes,’ Corbett tapped the table, ‘I can imagine him accepting Boniface’s allegations, whispering how he must escape until the matter was investigated. He may even have suspected you were hearing Boniface’s confession, but why should he care? You could not reveal what was said under the seal of confession, which in fact would only assist Evesham in persuading Boniface to escape from St Botulph’s and the supposedly malign influence of Longleat. An escape that would play directly into Evesham’s hands. Boniface would be publicly depicted as a guilty fugitive, but in truth he was taken out for summary execution and silenced for ever.’

Corbett stared down the nave. Cuthbert’s allegations made sense. Evesham’s actions possessed their own deadly logic. Engleat could easily be depicted as the wicked servant with a will of his own. He glanced quickly at Ranulf. Did the clerk nurse his own secret ambitions? Would his friendship for Corbett withstand the allure of power? Would all the years of comradeship be one day weighed in the balance and found wanting? Boniface had pursued his quarry but then made a fatal mistake: unable to accept Evesham’s true wickedness, he’d turned on Engleat.

‘But that square of letters?’ Ranulf insisted.

‘We thought of that.’ Brother Cuthbert gathered the knotted cord around his waist. ‘Adelicia and I have discussed it many a time. We could see how Boniface reached his conclusion. Engleat was the child of a Gascon squire and a Spanish woman who came to England in the retinue of Eleanor of Castile. The corners of the square hold the letters A,C,G and I. They are contained in the title of Evesham’s manor, but they are also part of Engleat’s first name, Ignacio.’

‘Whilst the E,’ Ranulf murmured, ‘could stand for Engleat as well as Evesham.’

‘But, in the end,’ declared Corbett, ‘it was all a lie.’

‘Yes,’ Brother Cuthbert conceded mournfully. ‘Evesham was the root and the cause of all this evil. He let Engleat take the blame to achieve what he wanted, Boniface’s death.’

Cuthbert grasped Adelicia’s hand. ‘We have discussed this over the years. After Evesham came to Syon, whenever I could I fled from St Lazarus’ Chapel. I wanted to be nowhere near him. I was not interested in talking to such a malevolent man.’

‘And the killer must have known this,’ Ranulf remarked.

‘Yes.’

‘What,’ Corbett asked, ‘did Evesham intend by taking refuge there?’

‘Certainly not repentance or absolution!’ Adelicia snapped.

‘I think he was waiting,’ Brother Cuthbert murmured.

‘For what?’

‘I don’t know. The King, perhaps, to change, to relent, I cannot say. I had so little to do with him.’

‘Brother Cuthbert, you heard Boniface’s confession. Did he ever mention a woman called Beatrice?’

The lay brother became agitated. ‘Sir Hugh, Sir Hugh,’ he pleaded. ‘You keep pressing me. You know canon law: to break the seal of confession warrants instant excommunication. The same penalty is levelled against those who persuade a priest to break it.’

‘But you have discussed the same with Adelicia?’

‘Only when she asks questions that reveal that she knew the truth.’

‘Which is?’ Ranulf asked harshly.

‘I cannot, I will not break the seal of confession,’ Brother Cuthbert murmured. ‘But yes, I will tell you for other reasons. There was a woman, Beatrice, in Boniface’s life but I don’t know who she was. He confessed his sins; on one occasion I think he was going to ask me to take a message to her, but then,’ he shook his head and turned away, ‘he made no further mention of it.’

‘And the reason you are telling us this now?’ Ranulf demanded.

‘Some time later, just before I left for Syon, I was here in this church, listening to confessions, giving absolution. You know how it is. I sit with my back to the prie-dieu where those who want the sacrament kneel and whisper their sins. A woman came but she did not ask for confession; instead she demanded what I knew about Boniface Ippegrave. I was going to turn round, but she pleaded with me not to, pointing out that it would be to no avail, since she was cowled and visored. She said that all she wanted was the truth. What had happened to Boniface Ippegrave? She said her name was Beatrice. Hadn’t Boniface mentioned her to me? I think she told me that as reassurance, to convince me of her own good faith. She had a lovely voice. I smelled her fragrant perfume. I could not help her. I declared before God that Boniface Ippegrave had taken sanctuary here then disappeared. I dared not tell her my suspicions and so she left. Sir Hugh, I know what you are going to say. Why didn’t I tell you this before? Because it was all caught up in the sacrament of absolution, and in the end, what proof do I have that it is the truth? Not much. According to the law, Boniface Ippegrave was a felon who disappeared. How many lawyers in the King’s court would cry over him or plead for justice on his behalf?’