Prince of Darkness

portable altar from village to village. Now, as evening fell, despite the warm summer closeness, Corbett knew the road was a dangerous place. The woods and desolate moorlands were inhabited by landless and lawless men, filthy verminous beings dressed in tattered, weather-stained garments, disfigured by every sore and disease under the sun. Such men plagued this highway, even boasting of their deeds, telling their bruised and wounded victims how they had been robbed and beaten by 'Rawhead', 'Bloody Bones' or 'Robin Badfellow', or whatever such name the outlaws assumed. Corbett touched the sword and dagger strapped to his belt and, feeling more comfortable, urged his tired horse into another canter.
    They arrived late at night at the village of Woodstock, which lay between the palace and the priory. They lodged in a chamber of The Bull tavern, which stood at the far edge of the town on the forest fringes. Corbett, ever prudent, spent his money carefully; the room they obtained was really a garret, furnished with a trestle straw bed which he and Ranulf would share, together with a woollen coverlet, chest, table and two stools. They were promised a pot of watered ale in the morning, a mess of oats and a meal at night. The poxy-faced landlord also agreed to provide stabling and fodder for their horses.
    After his master had retired, Ranulf went down to the taproom, taking with him a small bag of goods he always carried in such rural areas; a few jars filled with coloured water and crushed flower petals, hair from a boiled red dog, crushed skin from a dead man's head, mixed with grease. These and other delicacies Ranulf sold to the landlord and his customers as cures for every known ailment under the sun Satisfied that he had at least recouped some of his master's losses, he pocketed their money, stole back upstairs and, lying on one edge of the trestle bed, slept the sleep of the just
    At Godstowe Priory, however, murder had once more taken up camp. The aged Dame Martha was busy arranging an unaccustomed bath in her large spacious chamber. A screen had been set up around it and cooks from the kitchen had brought up great earthenware jugs, filling the wooden tub with scalding hot water. Dame Martha wanted to look her best She was sure the Lady Prioress would be very interested in what she knew.
    Dame Martha had taken off her brown serge robe lined with blue, the habit of her Order, the Daughters of Syon, and was busy, dressed only in her white linen shift, placing the screen more closely round the bath. She made sure the chamber door was locked and bolted, picked up the wine goblet and sipped it greedily.
    She would have liked some soap, the perfumed type, fragrant and sweet-smelling which the priory had imported from Castille. She had used some three months previously when she had last bathed just before the Easter celebrations.
    Dame Martha touched her hair, noticing how greasy the grey locks were. She stood, sucking on her gums, and her little black eyes hardened. Yes, she had to look her best when the Lady Amelia saw hen Dame Martha wanted to impress her as being perceptive and clever and not be dismissed as some garrulous old nun lost in stupid daydreams. She didn't want one of those bitches, Dame Frances or Dame Catherine, pooh-poohing her information as some fevered phantasm of an ageing mind. No, Dame Martha had seen something the night the royal whore had died, something which just didn't fit into place, and she would use her knowledge to get more for herself; some sweetmeats, perhaps linen sheets or bigger portions from the refectory. After all, she deserved them; she had given long years of service to the Order.
    Dame Martha doffed the linen shift and climbed into the bath, allowing her vein-streaked, decaying body to sink into the hot, relaxing water. She leaned her head back, then sat up as Murder tapped on her door.

Chapter 3
    Corbett and Ranulf arrived at Godstowe late in the morning, just after Dame Martha's drowned cadaver was sheeted and moved to the death house, a small brick building which stood behind the priory church. The two riders studied the convent buildings which nestled at the foot of a shallow, wooded valley. Facing them was a high, double-gated entrance and further along the steep curtain wall, the postern door or Galilee Gate leading to the forest
    Corbett patted his horse as it stirred restlessly at the faint tolling of the priory bell calling the lay workers in from the fields beyond the