Prior Anselm was kind and welcoming, a gaunt, severe-faced man, thin and dry-skinned. A sharp-eyed churchman, clearly fascinated by what was happening here in his own friary, a keen observer of the court and all its foibles. He ushered us in and made us comfortable on a settle before his chair. Beside him stood a stout lectern on which a book lay open. I was fascinated by the painting on the wall behind it. The prior followed my gaze, and smiled back at me.
‘What do you see, Mistress Mathilde?’
‘A beautiful vineyard,’ I declared. ‘Yes, I can make out the vines, the wine press, but the ground is littered with corpses.’
‘The work of one of my predecessors.’ The prior shrugged one shoulder in apology. ‘He was fascinated by the story of Naboth — you know it? In the Old Testament, King Ahab wanted Naboth’s vineyard, and when he wouldn’t give it, Ahab’s wife Jezebel plotted to kill Naboth. In return the prophet Elijah declared that both Ahab and Jezebel would die violent deaths and dogs would come to lick their blood.’ The smile faded from the prior’s face. ‘Little changes, does it, mistress?’
I wondered if the prior was referring to Edward — and was he making a play on Isabella’s name by his reference to the pagan queen Jezebel?
He narrowed his eyes. ‘I read your thoughts. I make no comparisons, mistress. The painting was there long before I even attended this friary as a novice, but the stories from the Old Testament ring true. Where there’s power there is always blood. The court has come here; his grace the king, the queen and all their entourage are most welcome.’ He paused.
I noticed he had omitted Gaveston.
‘However, be that as it may, three men have been killed here, one being a member of this community. You sent a message asking to see me. I suspect you’ve heard the stories about what Eusebius claimed to have seen?’
I respected his honesty and frankness. He offered us some wine, but I refused.
‘Father Prior, please, what did Eusebius say to you?’
The prior rubbed his brow, then stared around.
‘Eusebius could be fey-witted, a madcap. Like a magpie he loved to collect things. Some of our community used to laugh at him, but now and again he would surprise us all by his keen observations. On the day Leygrave fell to his death, Brother Eusebius went into our church long before the Angelus bell was rung. He liked to go there because it was quiet. The community should all be at their work. Consequently he was surprised when he glimpsed one of our brothers, or so he thought, a figure dressed in a brown robe, slipping like a shadow through the Galilee Porch and out of the church. He reported that to me.’
‘Anything else?’ I asked.
‘Yes, on that same day, after Compline, I met Eusebius when the brothers were relaxing in the cloisters. Eusebius had been shocked by the two deaths. There’d been whispers that he blamed himself, and of course, he was always full of stories about the belfry being haunted. I approached him and asked how his day had gone. He was more agitated than usual and made a very strange remark. You’ve heard the jibe, how someone can be as madcap as a bat?’
‘Yes!’
‘Eusebius was faltering in his speech,’ the prior scratched his hand, ‘and turned away, then came back with a remark that intrigued me: “Father Prior,” he asked, “can a bat be more cunning than a dog?” I asked him what the riddle meant. Eusebius seemed to recollect himself. You know how he was; you met him, mistress. He just shook his head, muttered something about his duties and hurried away.’
‘So Eusebius saw someone in church dressed as a friar or disguised as one,’ I asked, ‘when no Franciscan should have been in that church? And what provoked his suspicions was the haste in which he left?’
The prior nodded.
‘And that strange remark about the bat and the dog, but there’s more?’
‘Yes, yes, there is.’ He paused, cocking his head, listening to the sounds of his friary. ‘I was concerned about Eusebius. Our seraphic founder Francis told us that the leader of our community must be like a mother and look after all members as if they were children in a family. I was also concerned about the church. How had those young men fallen to their deaths? Had they committed suicide or had they been murdered? I wondered if I should write to the bishop and ask for the church to be hallowed and reconsecrated. Canon law has certain regulations regarding such matters. If blood is spilt in God’s holy place, then it must be cleansed.’
‘Do you suspect it was murder?’ Demontaigu asked.
‘I think it was.’ The prior crossed himself. ‘But I will leave that until the court moves. Once this friary is settled and returned to its peace, I shall deal with such matters.’
‘But that evening, Father?’
‘Yes, mistress, that evening I became anxious about the church, about Eusebius, so I decided to meet him. Darkness had fallen. I went into the church; the sacristan had yet to lock the doors. I entered the bell tower. Eusebius was there, kneeling on the ground, a knife in his hand, carving something on the wall. I crouched down beside him. “Brother Eusebius,” I asked, “what are you doing?” He wouldn’t reply. I could see he’d been crying and had grown very agitated. I picked up the lantern and peered at the wall. What seemed to be a bird had been carved, and next to it some wild animal.’
‘A dog?’ I asked.
‘No, I asked Eusebius that. He shook his head and said it was a wolf. I tried to soothe him. I prised the knife out of his fingers, persuading him to join the other brothers, adding how it was late and the sacristan must lock the church. We went out in the evening air. Eusebius grew calmer. I invited him here to share a goblet of wine to soothe his rumours, tire his mind and prepare him for sleep. He thanked me but refused. I bade him good night, then he called my name. ‘Father Prior,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll hear my confession?’ ‘Now?’ I asked. Eusebius just shook his head. ‘No, Father, but you should shrive me sometime and listen to my sins,’ then he was gone. The following day he was murdered in the charnel house.’
‘And now?’ I asked. ‘What do you think?’
‘Eusebius wanted to be shrived. He wanted to sit in the mercy seat and receive absolution because he knew what had truly happened in our church. I suspect Lanercost and Leygrave were murdered. How, and by whom, I don’t know; that is a matter for the king and, if rumour is correct, for you, mistress. You are the queen’s physician, yes?’
I nodded.
‘You advise her?’
‘I do my best, Father Prior.’
‘Well,’ he sighed, ‘we all have our duties. Once the court leaves, I will have that tower exorcised, blessed and sanctified. ’ He paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘I have reflected, fasted and prayed. What did Eusebius mean about the bat and the dog, and what about those carvings? Inspect them, mistress. You’ll find them on the wall of the bell tower. A man torn by guilt and doubt always expresses himself somehow.’
‘And you think that Eusebius, in his own pathetic way, was trying to confess his sins through that carving?’
‘Yes, I do. It gave him a little peace, but eventually he would have come to me.’ The prior eased himself out of his chair, thrusting his hands up the sleeves of his robe. ‘Mistress,’ he smiled, ‘I shall not be displeased to see both king and court leave. Anyway, Vespers must be over. Why not see what Eusebius carved? Perhaps it might mean something more to you.’
Demontaigu and I thanked him and we left, his blessing ringing in our ears. When we reached the church, the swirl of incense still hung thick. The brothers had filed out; only the sacristan and his assistants were still busy in the sanctuary, extinguishing candles and preparing the high altar for the Jesus mass the following morning. I borrowed a lantern and returned to the bell tower. As usual it was cold, rather musty and dingy. I recalled Eusebius’ story about the young novice Theodore, and wondered if his ghost had been joined by that of Eusebius. I stared around, and glimpsed the dust on the floor and the carvings on the plaster just to the right of Eusebius’ bed. I handed the lantern to Demontaigu and crouched down. Both carvings were rough and hurried, as if done by a child; one looked like that of a bird, great wings extended, with claw-like feet.