Angel of Death

as the grave-diggers covered the coffin. He waited for a respectful while before walking across the sanctuary; there, he genuflected before the winking light and went into the sacristy. Plumpton was divesting, amice, alb, stole, all the paraphernalia priests seemed to think they needed when they spoke to God. The priest knew Corbett was behind him but the clerk had to wait until Plumpton was divested and only then did he greet him.
    'Master Corbett, I cannot say it's a pleasure to see you again.'
    'Sir Philip,' Corbett replied cheerily. 'I am here on the king's business.' On any other occasion Plumpton would have groaned out loud for he had begun to hate this inquisitive, hard-faced, cat-eyed clerk who would not leave the dead alone and kept coming back to ask questions.
    'What is it?' Plumpton snapped.
    'On behalf of the king, I would like you and the other four celebrants of the mass officiating when de Montfort died, to join me in the sanctuary.'
    'What is this?' Plumpton stepped back, his eyes narrowed in amazement. 'Why don't you leave this terrible business alone?'
    'Why not ask the king?' Corbett said. 'You will have the opportunity if you refuse.' Plumpton sighed, and spun on his heel and stomped out.
    Corbett stood looking round the sacristy, at the cupboards, the huge leather iron-bound chests, all padlocked, some of them with three, even four clasps; the barrels full of candles of various hues denoting their purity; boxes of sanctuary lights, tapers, casks of incense, nothing of real interest. He walked to where Plumpton had left a huge cupboard unlocked and pulled the door open. Inside were all the vestments the priests used in their services, each arranged in colours denoting the different liturgical seasons of the year. On the far left he saw the chasubles which had been used at that fatal mass and, going deeper into the cupboard, examined each of them minutely. One of them caught his attention and he studied the stain on it. Then, breathing quickly with excitement, Corbett closed the door as he heard footsteps in the passageway outside. Plumpton, accompanied by the other canons, stormed into the room. They were all angry at being called away from their different duties to dance attendance yet again on a common clerk. He could read their minds and knew the rancour they must feel for him. Only Blaskett and de Luce seemed calm.
    Corbett waited for a while before speaking.
    'Sir Philip, if you would, please.' He stepped aside and Plumpton brushed past him, the others following up the sanctuary steps, until they all stood before the altar. Corbett, who had picked up a plain pewter cup he had seen lying in the sacristy, asked the canons to arrange themselves as they were at the fateful mass, whilst he took the place of de Montfort. Once they had done so, Corbett made them go through the rite of communion. The cup was passed down, first to those on his right, de Eveden and Ettrick, the latter sent it back across the altar to Blaskett, who passed it to de Luce, Plumpton and so back to Corbett. One thing the clerk did notice, Ranulf was right: shielded by the rest, either de Eveden or Plumpton could have administered poison without the others noticing, though there was still the risk of alerting de Montfort. Moreover, if Plumpton or de Eveden was the poisoner, each would have noticed the other. Did the two conspire together? Corbett dismissed the thought as too fanciful, for the two men disliked each other intensely. There was no comradeship there, no feeling of conspiracy. Corbett was about to thank and dismiss them when suddenly a voice called out behind him.
    'And the Angel of the Lord came down into the sanctuary and cleansed it with his sword!' Corbett turned and looked towards the anchor house. There in the slit he could see the bright eyes of the hermit glaring out at him. Corbett went down the stairs.
    'What is it you want, man of God? Who is God's angel?'
    'Why,' the anchorite's voice rang out clear as a bell, 'it is you, God's emissary sent to bring justice, and if not God's at least the king's.'
    'Then, if you can see things so clearly,' Corbett said wryly, on the point of spinning on his heel and walking back to join the rest, 'could you not see who actually killed de Montfort?'
    'I can see what you have been doing,' the voice replied. 'I have been working on the conundrum facing you.' 'And what is the solution?'
    'Quite simple. You are wondering how the others could drink from the chalice after de