Prince of Darkness

Eleanor would have chosen some swifter road to oblivion.
    Corbett looked up, staring hard at the great wooden crucifix which hung above the altar. So it had to be murder. If so, by whom? Lady Eleanor had been last seen walking in the grounds of the priory before Compline. All the sisters, including the Lady Prioress, her two deputies and Sister Agatha, had been in church. No one had left half-way through the service or made an excuse to return to the convent building before the sisters went over to the refectory. Of course, the Lady Prioress might be lying but Dame Elizabeth had remarked that she had heard no one come up the stairs, certainly not whilst Compline was being sung. Nevertheless, even if the old lady was deaf, Corbett concluded, the assassin or assassins must be someone outside the priory.
    He gnawed is lip. And who would want her dead? The King would be only too willing to be rid of an embarrassment whilst involved in delicate negotiations over his son's betrothal to a French princess. The royal favourite, Gaveston, detested Lady Eleanor and saw her as a potential rival. He had the malice as well as the means to hire soft-footed assassins. And the Prince of Wales? A feckless youth, had he too tired of his former paramour? Corbett sighed and blew out his cheeks. Did the Prince want to be rid of the Lady Eleanor because of some secret she held, such as a clandestine marriage ceremony between them? Only three years ago the court had been fascinated by the delicious scandal of the young Prince's infatuation with Lady Eleanor.
    Corbett stood up and went to sit in one of the nun's stalls. If it could be proved, he thought, that either the King or his son had been involved in murder, the scandal would rock the English throne, cause distress abroad and put Edward of England firmly in the hands of Philip of France. Corbett smiled mirthlessly. He knew Philip, with his public morality and private evil. He would not be above stirring the muddy waters of the English court, and his envoy and master assassin, Amaury de Craon, was now in England. But could de Craon get an assassin in here or did he have an agent in place already? Or was the murderer someone totally unconnected with the murky world of the English court? Such as Father Reynard, a priest who might see himself as the embodiment of Divine Wrath…
    'Master Corbett, you wish to join our Order?'
    The clerk looked up. Lady Amelia stood in the door of the chancel screen
    'My Lady.' Corbett rose. 'Accept my apologies,' he looked around, 'but this is a quiet and beautiful place to think.'
    The Prioress walked slowly across, toying with the silver tasselled cord round her waist.
    'Sit down, man,' she said wearily.
    Corbett looked sharply at her as she slumped in the stall beside him.
    'What did you think of Father Reynard's sermon?' Corbett shrugged.
    'I took it for what it was – a harsh warning to the rich.' 'He meant us, Corbett,' Lady Amelia retorted. 'And he was a trifle unfair.' 'What do you mean?'
    'We are not an Order dedicated to poverty. We are a refuge for women who cannot survive in the harsh world of men. Do you know what it's like, Clerk, to be a woman, married off to some man you hate, or else left alone to fend for yourself? You know the King's court. There we are, like pheasants allowed to play just under a nest of falcons. The church is controlled by men; men go to war, build ships and ply the seas.' She sighed. 'The Daughters of Syon are a refuge, that is why the Lady Eleanor was sent to us.'
    'Did you like her?'
    'She kept to herself, borrowed books, went for walks -fitted into our normal order and routine. A sad young woman who never came to terms with the sudden shock of her fall from grace. I did not want her here but the King's writ was quite explicit. At first she protested, but in the two years here,' the Lady Prioress made a face, 'she became one of us.'
    'So why don't you tell me the truth about her death?'
    The Lady Prioress looked quickly at Corbett. The clerk realised how attractive she was without the air of hauteur and arrogance. Lady Amelia stretched over and wiped a thin film of dust from the top of the prie dieu in front of her.
    'You're sharp, Corbett. I wondered when you'd return to challenge me.'
    'My Lady, I am the King's clerk. The questions I ask are His Grace's. You must answer.' 'You'd best come with me.'
    She took a surprised Corbett delicately by the wrist and led him out of the stalls up to the high altar. The red and