Prince of Darkness

the back of his wrist Ranulf refilled their cups. Outside a wind had sprung up, gently moaning through the trees, carrying the distant shrieks of the night creatures from the dark forest beyond the walls. The thatched roof of the lodge creaked as if mourning over the dreadful secrets of the priory. Ranulf let his own eyes droop. He sighed, rose, and began to scoop his winnings into a small leather purse.
    'Wait!' The porter staggered drunkenly to his feet. 'I will tell you my secret. You must come with me!'
    Ranulf agreed and, with the inebriated porter on one hand and a lantern horn in the other, went out into the darkness. The door slammed behind them like a thunder clap. Ranulf looked up and groaned. It was obvious a storm was coming in. The clouds were beginning to gather, hiding the hunter's moon, and Ranulf shivered as he heard an owl hoot and the ominous chatter of other night birds. The wind blew in a low hum, making the trees shift and rustle eerily as if there were shadows waiting in the darkness. Ranulf pulled his cloak tighter, stopped, and looked back at Godstowe Priory, a huge pile of masonry dark against the sky. No lights burned now. He let the fresh air clear the wine fumes from his head and, dropping all pretence, began to question the porter on what he had hinted earlier. The fellow fenced for a while but Ranulf persisted. Eventually the porter broke away from him.
    'I'm going to tell you,' he slurred drunkenly.
    Ranulf allowed the fellow to walk ahead of him, round the priory to the Galilee Gate. For a while the man stood muttering and cursing as he clanked his heavy ring of keys, but at last he found the right one and they stepped on to the moonlit track which ran down like a strip of silver through the overhanging trees. They walked along until suddenly the porter turned, following a track into the thick, dark wood. A lonely place, though the porter caused some light comedy with his staggering and drunken curses, stopping every so often to wave Ranulf on, urging him to hold the lantern horn higher. They must have walked for at least three miles and eventually came out of the wood and on to a pathway which led to a crossroads.
    Ranulf lifted the lantern horn and his blood ran cold as he glimpsed a gibbet standing there. On it a body, half- decayed, still turned and twisted in its iron jacket. The porter gestured him over.
    'You want to know my secrets?' he slurred.
    'Yes,' Ranulf hissed.
    'Then swear you will keep them.'
    Ranulf raised his right hand.
    'No,' the porter growled. 'Here!'
    He took Ranulf's hand, led him over to the gibbet and pushed his hand between the iron bars until the tips of his fingers touched the decaying flesh of the hanged man, just above where his heart had been. Ranulf felt his stomach lurch as all the wine he had drunk threatened to spew out The porter, staggering beside him, made the iron gibbet creak and groan until it appeared that all three were partners in a deadly dance. Ranulf was sworn to secrecy, but there was worse to come. The porter pulled out his knife, slashed the corpse, and then gave Ranulf's arm a small nick on the wrist He then forced Ranulf's hand close to that of the corpse. Ranulf felt the wet scaliness against his skin as if some dreadful snake was slithering along his arm. Oblivious to the words he spoke, cursing Corbett and near fainting with terror, he swore he would never divulge the secret in this life or the next Once the macabre masque was over, Ranulf stepped back. His usual good humour had vanished and his hand dropped to the dagger pushed in his belt. The porter stood swaying drunkenly before him.
    'Listen, man!' Ranulf snapped. 'I have sworn the oath -now what is it you wish to tell me? What is so dreadful and so secret about the Lady Eleanor's death?'
    'I didn't say Lady Eleanor!' he chanted. 'I didn't say Lady Eleanor! I said my secret. You promised to take the oath and divide your winnings with me for a secret!'
    He stood still, his drunken face sagging as Ranulf's dagger pricked him under the chin. 'Now, now,' he slurred. 'The secret, you bastard!'
    The porter fell to his knees and began to scrabble at the soft soil next to the wooden scaffold pole. Rocks and loose dirt were pulled away and eventually he dragged out a tattered leather bag.
    'That's my secret!'
    Ranulf knelt beside him, cut open the neck of the bag and shook out the contents into the small pool of lantern light. Nothing much. A collection of thin yellowing bones and a