Prince of Darkness

Corbett was adamant Within an hour he had kissed Maeve adieu and they were on the road south to Westminster. Corbett was determined to seek out the truth. He might not be able to stop murder at Godstowe, but at least he might trap the assassin who stalked the priory.
    Corbett was right in his dread premonition. At Godstowe Priory Dame Frances was only a few minutes away from death. The self-important Sub-prioress was both disturbed and fearful. She was troubled, distracted in meditation, and often found herself staring into the middle distance when the other sisters were chanting Divine Office. She had told her confidante but she had been no help, and how could she approach the Lady Amelia? No, she thought, that was out of the question Dame Frances gazed round the small kitchen of the novitiate. Upstairs the young postulants were now retiring to bed in the long dormitory. Each knelt in her partitioned alcove, commending heart and soul to God and praying that Satan, who wandered around like a lion seeking his prey, did not harm their bodies or souls that night
    Dame Frances sat down on a stool, her face in her hands. What that dour clerk had announced must be connected with the death of Lady Eleanor, and, perhaps the death of old Martha. Dame Frances had seen that motto, 'Noli me tangere' here, in Godstowe, but could not remember where or when. Should she flee the priory? Go to Westminster and seek an audience with Corbett or one of the King's Officers? But whom could she trust? Gaveston had his spies everywhere and the common jest was true, England had three kings; old Edward, his son and Gaveston. She stared dully at the logs crackling in the hearth. Perhaps she should wait her mind was tired. A good night's sleep and tomorrow she would plot and plan.
    Dame Frances rose, picked up the bucket and stopped, heart in mouth, at a sound outside. Was there someone watching her? Or was it just the wind rustling the leaves along the grass? Dame Frances walked towards the fire, muttering a short prayer that all would be well. She was still praying as she emptied the bucket over the logs. Her mumbles rose instantly to a terrifying scream as the flames jumped from the fire, ran along the hearth, and caught her robe. In a few seconds, Dame Frances was a blazing human torch.
    Only a few miles away other actors in the macabre drama surrounding Lady Eleanor's death were taking up new roles and stances. In his velvet-lined chamber, Piers Gaveston lay under the great, silken canopy of his four-poster bed, chewing his lip and wondering what would happen next He trusted his spy in London. Corbett had been snooping there and seized a juicy morsel, first visiting his old friend at St Bartholomew's and then the poisoner in Faltour's Lane. Gaveston had ordered the apothecary to be killed. He knew too much, and besides Gaveston could not understand why Lady Eleanor had not died of those powders. The apothecary had assured him that anyone who took them would gradually weaken and die as if from natural causes. The apothecary had lied and Lady Eleanor had been murdered by other means. So what should he do next? Gaveston looked at the young page boy standing near him, a goblet of wine in his small white hands. The favourite sat up and grabbed the cup so hastily splashes of wine fell on his silken, multi-coloured hose. He rounded in anger, slapping the page across his sulky, girlish face.
    'Get out!' he roared. 'Get out, until you learn how to serve a lord!'
    The boy hurried away, rubbing his flaming cheek, as Gaveston sipped from the goblet If only Corbett had kept his long nose out of this God-forsaken business! The royal favourite gazed moodily around the chamber. He would not forget Corbett a man to be reckoned with. Should he make him a friend? Gaveston bit his lip. Perhaps, but that was for the future. The old King was now hurrying south and with him would come those grizzled warlords who followed like mastiffs at the royal heels. Gaveston knew how much they hated him. If only the old King would die! Gaveston would keep the Prince sweet until then. He would confess all, go on his knees, say he was the Prince's slave, buy him expensive presents… But when would the old King die?
    Gaveston rose and went across to an old, ironbound chest taking a ring of keys from a gold chain which hung around his neck. He undid the three locks and swung back the lid. He took out the waxen figure which also contained straw and fat from a hanged man. It wore