Angel of Death

'who murdered him, and why?'
    As expected, Sir Philip Plumpton was the first to answer.
    'How do we know,' he jibed, 'especially since I have given you that flagon of wine, that our late lamented colleague, de Montfort, was not poisoned by the king, or,' he added, looking meaningfully at Corbett, 'by one of the king's minions?'
    Corbett ignored the treasonable assertion. 'Again, I refer you to Father Thomas at St Bartholomew's,' he answered. 'He will tell you that if de Montfort drank the wine which the king sent, and which someone else undoubtedly poisoned, he would never have survived the opening prayers of the mass. Of course,' Corbett chose his words carefully to close the trap, 'if you are going to allege de Montfort drank wine and broke Canon Law by not fasting before he celebrated such a holy occasion, let those who saw him do so tell me now?'
    His question was greeted with silent disapproval and a shuffling of feet.
    'In which case,' Corbett continued crisply, 'perhaps we should proceed.' He nodded to where Hervey sat. 'This is Master William Hervey from the chancery office. He will transcribe my questions and your answers. So, sirs, your names and the offices held?'
    Starting on Corbett's immediate left, each canon introduced himself.
    'Sir John de Eveden, librarian,' – yellow-faced, thin, emaciated, with white tufts of hair springing out from his scalp. Corbett noticed the loose mouth and the shifty eyes which refused to meet his.
    'David of Ettrick,' – the almoner, red-faced, small, completely bald, his podgy fingers fluttering in the air as he introduced himself and his office. Corbett detected a light Scottish ascent.
    'Robert de Luce,' ascetic-looking, clean-shaven, his hair, hands and fingers carefully groomed, a studious man, well suited to his task of treasurer. 'Stephen Blaskett,' – young, fresh-faced, bright-eyed, his fingers marked with the same colours as those of Hervey. Corbett surmised, even before he spoke, that he must be chief clerk and secretary for the cathedral.
    And finally, the fleshy-faced, charming Philip Plumpton, the sacristan. A man Corbett reckoned to be the most dangerous for, despite the smiling mouth, his eyes were agate-hard. A difficult man, Corbett thought a dangerous man to cross.
    When the canons had finished introducing themselves, all of them showing deep resentment at his presence as well as his questions, Corbett took a piece of parchment and, pulling one of the silver candlebra closer to him, he drew an arc on the scrap of vellum.
    'Let us say,' he began, 'this is the altar. Would you please indicate where you stood during the sacrifice of the mass.' After a great deal of careful questioning and ignoring Hervey's sighs of annoyance, Corbett had the order established. De Montfort would have been in the centre, on his far left Blaskett, then de Luce with Plumpton alongside the main celebrant, and on his right de Eveden and then Ettrick. 'Tell me,' Corbett continued, 'the order of the service.'
    'You know it well,' Ettrick the almoner snapped. 'You were there. I saw you later, busy as a bee, going across our sanctuary.'
    'You are from Scodand?' Corbett smiled at him.
    'Yes, I am from Scotland,' the man replied. 'From just outside Edinburgh.' He leaned forward across the table and glared at Corbett. 'But before you utter it, I am a faithful subject of King Edward, as are many Scotsmen. Let me tell you that in his recent campaign against Berwick there were many Scots who fought on King Edward's side.'
    'I am implying nothing,' Corbett answered soothingly. 'I simply asked if you were Scots. But help me refresh my memory, Master Ettrick. De Montfort would have stood at the centre of the altar facing the east, under the great rose window, above him the crucifix. Yes?'
    Ettrick nodded.
    'After the consecration, before the communion, what happened?'
    Ettrick shrugged. 'We each had our paten, holding the consecrated host.' 'And you ate it?' 'Yes.'
    'I do not wish to blaspheme,' Corbett said anticipating any shocked outburst, 'but are you sure that the hosts distributed after the consecration were not changed by anyone on the altar?'
    'They couldn't have been,' the high-pitched voice of Blaskett intervened. 'Let us be honest: we were all at the altar. No deacon or server interferes with the bread or the wine after they have been transubstantiated.'
    Corbett took careful notice of the theological terms the young man rather pompously used.
    'But my question still stands, Sir