Prince of Darkness

walls for their mid-day meal. The priory was a grand building built from the yellow stone carved from local quarries. The main house, a two-storeyed building, was built in a square around the cloister garth. Beyond this was the church with its red-tiled roof and soaring towers. Corbett identified the other buildings: the infirmary, the novitiate, the chapter house built above the refectory, the Prioress' house at the far side of the church, and then, huddled up against the walls, the maltings, kiln room and other outbuildings. A place of ostensible serenity, contemplation and prayer, Corbett thought Still, he must force himself to see it as a place soaked in blood and intrigue.
    'Ranulf.' He turned in the saddle and looked across at his servant. 'Godstowe is a nunnery, the women reputedly consecrated to God. Be prudent and remember my advice -nothing will be what it appears. Oh, by the way, what was in that bag you took down to the taproom last night?'
    'Nothing, Master.' Ranulf gazed back in round-eyed innocence.
    Corbett grunted and they cantered down the hill following the path up to the main gate. Ranulf pulled at the bell cord hanging there and kicked his boot against the small postern door. A tall, thin pole of a man with a face as white as snow, bleary eyes, and a nose so red it flared like a beacon, opened the small door and stepped out, half-closing it behind him.
    'What do you want?' he snapped. He studied the dark face of the clerk, noting the expensive quilted cote hardie, woollen hose and costly Spanish riding boots. 'I mean,' he added more politely, 'what business brings you here?'
    He was joined by two men-at-arms dressed in the blue and gold livery of the Prince of Wales, well armed with sword and dagger, their faces hidden by the noseguards of their conical helmets.
    'Bugger off!' one of them shouted.
    He swayed slightly and, behind Corbett, even Ranulf could smell the stench of ale.
    Corbett urged his horse forward, freed his foot from the stirrup and pushed the guard up against the gate, pressing his boot firmly into the man's chest
    'My name is Corbett,' he announced quietly. 'Hugh Corbett, senior clerk in the Chancery of the King and his special envoy to Godstowe Priory. I treat you courteously so I resent your bad manners. Now,' he turned to the porter, 'you will either open that gate or I will kill one of you!'
    He smiled. 'After all, it is treason to interfere with a royal envoy.'
    Corbett withdrew his foot and both soldiers scuttled away like rabbits whilst Red Nose hastily unlocked one of the great gates and led them in. He didn't even stop to lock it behind him, so eager was he to show them to the stables. After that one of the soldiers, mumbling a profuse apology, led them across to the Prioress' lodgings. Word of the debacle at the gate must have preceded them for Lady Amelia was already awaiting their arrival in her cool upper chamber with its painted blue walls, polished wooden floor and oval-shaped windows filled with precious coloured glass. The Lady Prioress sat in the centre of the chamber on her favourite throne-like chair. She rose as Corbett entered, extending one elegant hand for him to kiss.
    'You are most welcome, Master Corbett. We heard you were coming. I must apologise for the greeting.' She smiled falsely. 'But we have so many curiosity seekers. Lady Eleanor's death draws constant visitors here. Anyway you are most welcome, Master Corbett. I did think His Grace would send…' Her voice trailed off,
    'Someone more important than a clerk, My Lady?'
    She nodded her head.
    'Then, My Lady, you are disappointed!'
    Corbett looked at the haughty face framed by its white starched wimple: the gimlet eyes, imperious nose, and a mouth no more than a line. Lady Amelia smelt of perfume, crushed herbs, and something deeper, more cloying. This lady, Corbett thought, would kill if her honour or pride were at stake. Lady Amelia, however, disregarded his answer and graciously introduced her two companions, the Sub-prioresses, who had been sitting on either side of her like two fire dogs: Dame Frances, tall, thin and dry, hard-eyed, and sour-faced with twisted lips; Dame Catherine, comely, plump and pert, cheery-faced and with a generous mouth though her eyes were like two black pebbles in her rosy face. Lady Amelia indicated a chair for Corbett. She clapped her hands and a servant brought in cups of malmsey and a plate of sweetmeats. Ranulf she ignored and left to stand behind his master. He