Prince of Darkness

looked away.
    'God has been good,' he murmured. 'And works in mysterious ways.'
    'Except for the two unfortunates buried in your churchyard.'
    The friar narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean?'
    'About eighteen months ago,' Corbett replied, 'two corpses were found – a young man and woman, strangers. They were discovered in the woods completely stripped of all clothing and possessions.'
    'Ah, yes.' Father Reynard gazed at a point above Corbett's head. 'That's right,' he murmured. 'They are buried in paupers' graves beneath the old elm tree in the corner of the churchyard. Why do you ask?'
    'No reason. I wondered if you knew anything about them?'
    'If I did, I would have told the King's Justices, but nothing was ever discovered about them or their dreadful deaths.'
    Father Reynard turned away to speak to one of his villagers as Dame Agatha and Ranulf came through the church door. Ranulf's face was flushed and Corbett surmised he had been sampling some of the tavern's heady ale. He glowered at his servant but Ranulf grinned back as he swayed slightly on his feet and looked around, admiring the church. Dame Agatha took Father Reynard by the sleeve and they walked away, the young sister apologising loudly for being late and asking if Father would give her the altar breads as. she must return to the priory. Corbett marched Ranulf out into the porch.
    'A good day's drinking, Ranulf?'
    He slyly tapped the side of his nose.
    I have been renewing my acquaintance with the wench at The Bull. I have learnt a lot, Master, and not just in the carnal sense.' He licked his lips. 'Nothing is what it appears to be around here.'
    'I have gathered that,' Corbett replied drily. 'What do you know?'
    Ranulf was about to reply when Dame Agatha suddenly emerged, carrying a small wooden box of altar breads, so they went across the green to reclaim their horses. The autumn sun was beginning to set The villagers, tired now, were bringing their festivities to an end and streaming back across the green to the tavern or to their homes in search of other pleasures. Corbett allowed Ranulf to slouch sleepily in the saddle and waited for Dame Agatha to draw alongside him.
    I understand Lady Eleanor's funeral is tomorrow?'
    The young nun stared soulfully at him, making Corbett catch his breath. Apart from Maeve's, he had never seen such a beautiful face. The autumn sunlight seemed to lend it a glow; her eyes were larger, darker; the half-open lips full and sweet as honey. He coughed and cleared his throat
    'A sad day for you.'
    'Yes.' She smiled wanly. 'A sad day for me and for the community.'
    Corbett looked over his shoulder. Ranulf was now fast asleep and the clerk breathed a prayer that his servant would not fall out of the saddle and break his neck. He also hoped Dame Agatha would shed some tight on the murder at Godstowe.
    'Do you blame yourself?' he began softly. 'For leaving Lady Eleanor like that? I mean,' he stammered, 'when I asked about the funeral, you looked shocked and grieved. It's such a mystery,' he continued hurriedly. I believe Lady Eleanor liked you?' Dame Agatha nodded.
    'Yet that day she dismissed you. Was she so melancholic?'
    Dame Agatha gathered her reins, pushing her mount closer to Corbett
    'Everyone says that,' she whispered. 'You know the Lady Prioress was lying when you talked to her on your first day at Godstowe?'
    'Yes, I gathered that from your face.'
    Dame Agatha smiled to herself.
    'Yes, the Lady Prioress is a bad liar. I mean, would a melancholic woman order everyone to leave her? I tell you this, Master Corbett, in the weeks prior to her death, Lady Eleanor's humour had improved. She was happy, more alert. If she had been really melancholic, I would never have left her alone.'
    'What caused this change, do you think?'
    Dame Agatha laughed mockingly.
    I don't know. Sometimes I think she had a secret lover.'
    'What makes you think that?'
    Dame Agatha chewed her lip, carefully measuring her words.
    'A week before her death,' she began slowly, 'she wrote one of her rare letters to the Prince. A short one. I glimpsed what she had written – nothing extraordinary except that she hoped she would soon find deliverance from her troubles. I think Lady Eleanor was nursing some secret but she would tell no one.'
    'Do you think she had a lover?' Corbett persisted. 'I mean, apart from the Prince?'
    'Perhaps. But I would not say that in public. The Prince is a dangerous man. I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for