Prince of Darkness

was being supported by the two Sub-prioresses, their own cheeks wet with tears. A young peasant boy had remounted his lathered horse and was galloping away from the priory.
    'Lady Amelia, what is wrong?'
    The Lady Prioress raised tearful eyes, shook herself free from the clinging sisters and wiped her cheeks.
    'God rest him, we argued enough,' she muttered. 'But the poor man is dead.'
    'Who, My Lady?'
    'Father Reynard,' she whispered. 'He was found murdered in the cemetery this morning. A crossbow bolt in his heart.' She clasped her hands and stepped closer. 'What is happening, Corbett?' she asked. 'Such a peaceful community once, now murder and death at every turn.' She stepped back, her eyes hard. 'Is it you, Clerk? Are you a death-bringer? Does murder slide behind you?'
    'No, My Lady,' he replied sharply. But we are in the eye of a gathering storm. Unless I find a solution to the puzzle, hundreds – perhaps even thousands – more will die in Gascony, on the Narrow Seas, and in our towns along the southern coasts. Now, My Lady,' he took her cold hand and raised it to his lips, I bid you adieu. I will return. If you have further information, send the fleetest messenger you can hire to my manor at Leighton. It can be found by following the Epping road down into London.'
    Corbett nodded at the two hard-faced Sub-prioresses and went to order Ranulf and Maltote to saddle their horses as swiftly as possible. He told them briefly what had happened and, satisfied that they had packed everything, led them out towards the Galilee Gate.
    'Hugh – Master Corbett!'
    The clerk turned. Dame Agatha was hurrying towards him. She, too, had been weeping.
    'I heard,' she said breathlessly, 'about Father Reynard's death.' She thrust a small linen-bound bundle into his hand. 'Some food for your journey. Take care!' she whispered. 'You will come back?'
    I will come back.'
    He glimpsed the tenderness in her eyes and looked away, embarrassed.
    'God be with you, Sister.'
    Corbett returned to a grinning Ranulf, who was holding the heads of the horses.
    'Mount!' he ordered gruffly. 'You find something amusing, Ranulf?'
    The mischievous grin disappeared.
    'No, Master,' he replied innocently. 'I just wondered if we could invite some of these sisters down to Leighton. The Lady Maeve would relish such company.'
    Corbett gathered the reins in his hands and leaned towards Ranulf.
    'Mark my words,' he snapped. 'If you so much as whisper a word about Dame Agatha to the Lady Maeve, you will regret the day I ever plucked you out of Newgate!'
    Ranulf drew back, eyes rounded innocently.
    'Of course, Master, he replied slyly. 'I was only trying to help.'
    They cantered down into the village and led their horses into the graveyard. A small crowd had gathered outside the church. Corbett gave a child a penny to hold the horses and they went into the priest's house. The villagers had laid Father Reynard out on the table and an old woman, tears streaming down her face, was gently bathing the corpse before it was sheeted for burial. Corbett went across, saw the horrible wounds and glimpsed the short, feathered quarrel still embedded in the man's chest
    'God have mercy on him,' he muttered. 'Did I cause this?' He gazed down at the now peaceful face of the priest 'Why didn't you go?' he whispered. 'Why didn't you go when I told you to?'
    'Master?' Ranulf muttered, 'the assassin must have been very close. The quarrel is embedded deep.'
    'Strange,' Maltote interrupted, his face drawn and white as he stared down at the gory, blood-spattered wound. 'Strange,' he repeated. 'The assassin must have been lying on the ground or Father standing on some steps? Look, the crossbow quarrel is turned upwards.'
    Corbett peered closer and agreed. The quarrel was embedded at an angle.
    'Was Father Reynard found in the cemetery grounds?' Corbett asked the grizzled woman. She blinked away a tear and nodded. Corbett dug into his purse and handed her some coins.
    'Prepare him wed,' he said. 'He was a good man, a dedicated priest He deserved a better death.'
    They went back out into the cemetery. At Corbett's bidding an old man showed them the blood-spattered piece of ground where their priest had been found. Corbett walked over the soft rather damp clay of the cemetery, Ranulf and Maltote on either side.
    'Look, Master, here!' Ranulf squatted down and pointed to the small indentation of a boot. He looked up at Corbett 'Like a child's,' he whispered. 'But what child wears boots in