Prince of Darkness

fragrant incense. He watched the priest, a stoup of holy water in one hand and an asperges rod in the other, bless the fallow fields. Corbett realised that soon it would be Michaelmas and these were the Rogation Days when the priest blessed the sod and asked God's help for the sowing and future harvest.
    Corbett continued on into the village, Maltote and Ranulf behind him, chatting about the lies of the horse-copers at Smithfield Market and how best to detect their tricks. Corbett left them at The Bud, its narrow windows draped with black crepe in mourning for the landlord whose coffin now stood outside the main door, perched rather crazily on its wooden trestles. Around it some villagers were drinking their departed companion's health, and by the looks of them were almost as senseless as the corpse they were mourning. Whilst Ranulf and Maltote stayed with the horses and pulled long expressions so they could join the mourners, Corbett strode across the leaf-strewn village green and through the wicket gate of the church. He sat on a small stone bench opposite the priest's house, half dozing, still relishing the memory of his meeting with de Craon. He heard the procession return and, after a while, Father Reynard appeared out of the side door of the church. He stopped and groaned when he saw Corbett.
    'What do you want, Clerk?'
    'A few questions, Father.'
    The priest blew out his cheeks, unlocked his door and gestured Corbett in after him. He waved the clerk to a seat and served him a cup of watered wine. The priest sat on a bench, facing him across the rough table.
    I have work to attend to. Master Corbett. The inn-keeper's body has been coffined and has now to be churched before the villagers become too drunk and dump him in the pond.' The friar smiled wanly. 'The landlord was a good poacher but a bad taverner. He was always watering his ale, and so many of the villages believe his body should be buried in water. A fitting epitaph!'
    'Is it always so dangerous,' Corbett asked abruptly, 'to be out at night around Godstowe?'
    The priest shrugged.
    'It depends. The landlord was poaching on palace grounds.' 'And the other two? The young woman and man found naked and murdered some eighteen months ago?' The priest grimaced. 'The roads can be dangerous.' 'You saw the corpses? Describe them.'
    The priest sucked in his breath.
    'The young man could have been no more than sixteen summers, olive-skinned and with black hair. Like his companion's, his throat had been cut. He wore no jewellery or stitch of clothing. The girl must have been a little older, also dark-skinned.' The priest paused. 'They may well have been foreign.'
    'What makes you say that?' Corbett asked.
    'The darkness of their skin. They were also well bred, and that surprises me.'
    'What do you mean?'
    'Well, the girl's hands particularly were soft, well kept She had certainly done no manual work. I realised that when I anointed them. The same for the feet. Soft, uncalloused, as if she always wore hose and shoes. The poor girl's hair was mud-caked but it had once been well combed and dressed with oil. I also wondered how a high-born lady could disappear and no one raise the hue and cry.'
    Corbett remembered the motto he had seen on the leather dog collar.
    'Does the phrase 'Noli me tangere' mean anything to you?' he asked.
    Father Reynard shook his head and stirred restlessly on the bench.
    'Surely you came to discuss other matters, Master Corbett?' 'Yes, I did.' The clerk stared at a point above the priest's head.
    'Well?' Father Reynard asked.
    'On the night Lady Eleanor died,' Corbett began, 'you went to Godstowe to anoint her body?' Father Reynard nodded. 'And after that?'
    Corbett caught the wary look in the priest's eye.
    'I came back here,' he mumbled.
    'No, you didn't!' Corbett snapped. 'You borrowed a horse from the tavern stables and went to Woodstock with the news.'
    I would have nothing to do with the Prince or his catamite!'
    'Oh, not the Prince,' Corbett replied. 'But with your good friend and benefactor, Monsieur Amaury de Craon, who had sent you a secret message saying he was staying at the palace! You see, Father,' Corbett continued, 'some time ago Monsieur de Craon tried to gain access to Godstowe and was refused, so he looked around for someone to keep him appraised of developments at the priory, particularly Lady Eleanor's movements. He wanted a person he could trust. Someone who had access to that information. He chose you.'
    Corbett noticed