Angel of Death

often sat there?'
    'Yes, I did,' Eveden replied. 'I spied on de Montfort, if that is what you are saying. I hated the man.'
    'Do you know the relationship between de Montfort and his strange woman visitor?' Corbett asked.
    'No, I do not. I suspect she was his mistress.'
    'But, Sir Philip Plumpton…' Corbett said slowly, 'he insinuated that de Montfort was a sodomite and attempted to corrupt the young priest, Blaskett.'
    De Eveden snorted with laughter.
    'It wouldn't take much to corrupt Blaskett!'
    'What does that mean?'
    'Ask him yourself, Clerk. I am not here to answer questions about him.'
    'Yes, that's right,' Corbett continued. 'You are here to answer questions about de Montfort. Tell me, in the days before de Montfort's death, did you have any argument with your dean?'
    'No, I tried to avoid him.'
    'On the day he died during the mass, you drank from the chalice and passed it back? Is that correct?'
    'No,' de Eveden replied quickly. 'I did not. Remember, I was standing immediately on de Montfort's right. After me, Ettrick drank from the chalice before handing it to de Montfort who gave it to the other three. They touched and drank from it after I did.'
    'Ah, yes,' Corbett said, 'when the chalice finally returned you were standing next to it, as you said, immediately on de Montfort's right.'
    De Eveden smiled. 'You forget one thing, Clerk – de Montfort had already taken the' chalice and drunk from it. He did not do so again.'
    'How do you know that?'
    The man seemed lost for words. 'That was the rite.'
    'But you didn't actually see him not drink from it?'
    'I didn't see him drink from it again,' de Eveden emphasized. 'Anyway, what are you saying? Do you think de Montfort would have just stood there and let me put some powder into the chalice and tell him to drink again? Wouldn't you think that was suspicious?'
    'Yes, I would,' Corbett said. 'Thank you, Sir Priest.'
    De Eveden glared at him, gave the sketchiest of bows, rose and stalked out.
    Plumpton was next. He waddled in, his face wreathed in smiles. Corbett asked him the same questions and received the same answers. Yes, he hated de Montfort. Why? Because he believed de Montfort was the wrong man for such high office. He made the same insinuations against de Montfort's private life but offered no substantial evidence. Corbett nodded understandingly as he talked. Plumpton seemed satisfied with his answers and Corbett allowed him to run on until, just before the priest thought he was going to be dismissed, Corbett leaned forward and touched the man gently on his hand.
    'Two problems concern me,' he said. 'You were standing to the left of de Montfort at the altar?'
    'Yes, I was.'
    'The chalice was passed back by you after the other celebrants had drunk from it?' 'That is correct.'
    'It would have been easy, Sir Priest, to put some potion in?'
    Plumpton shrugged. 'It would have been easy,' he agreed, 'except for two things. First, de Montfort did not trust me. He was sharp-eyed, and would have seen me put anything into the chalice. The mass would have stopped as dramatically as it did, only for a different reason. The second thing, Master Clerk, is that, as I am sure Sir John de Eveden has told you, de Montfort had already supped from the chalice. There was no reason for him to raise it to his lips again.'
    Corbett sat and thought about what Plumpton had said. Had anyone seen Sir Walter raise the chalice again after it had been passed back? Yet, he must have drunk from it a second time just after the poison had been put in. For, if it had been there when he first drank from it, the other celebrants would also have died. So what did happen? He dismissed Plumpton courteously, but suddenly called him back.
    'Sir Philip, I am sorry, there is one more question.'
    The man turned, his hand on the latch of the door. 'What is it, Clerk?'
    Corbett looked at him; he realized the priest's earlier friendship was a disguise; this man was dangerous, ambitious, ruthless. He took a slight insult as a serious threat, being a man who had probably risen, like himself, from common stock and believed every breath he drew should be fought for.
    'Sir Philip,' Corbett said placatingly, 'I said there were two questions. The other one is this. You were very quick to point out that the wine sent by the king was poisoned. How did you know that?' Corbett watched the smile disappear from the man's face.
    'I…' he stammered.
    'Yes, Sir Priest?'
    'There is a small vestry off the sacristy.