‘An arrow wound,’ Ranulf said. He took his dagger out and scraped away the mud.
‘Where was he found?’ Corbett asked.
‘On the edge of a marsh, deep in the forest.’
‘And the arrow?’
‘Plucked out.’
‘By the killer?’
‘It must have been,’ Sir William replied. ‘My huntsman only found it because the body had resurfaced, one boot sticking out of the water.’
Corbett turned the corpse over. Cantrone was still wearing his cloak, his dagger was still in its sheath, but the large wallet and small purse which hung from the belt were unbuckled and empty.
‘And his horse?’
Sir William, crouching on the other side of the corpse, pulled a face.
‘He was riding when he left St Hawisia’s but, of that, there’s no trace.’
‘I suspect the horse was unsaddled,’ Corbett said.
‘The harness was thrown into a marsh and the horse left to graze. It wouldn’t take long for such a valuable animal to be found and hidden away.’
‘It’s the same as the corpse we saw at St Hawisia’s,’ Ranulf remarked. ‘An arrow wound to the throat. His purse and wallet have been rifled.’
‘Amaury de Craon will be pleased,’ Corbett observed, wiping his hands and getting to his feet. ‘Sir William, the good physician, he was your house guest. You will see to honourable burial?’
Sir William nodded.
‘But who can this killer be, Sir Hugh?’
‘I don’t know. This mystery, Sir William, is becoming untangled. However, I have yet to pull a loose thread free. I would be grateful, sir, if you could keep your men out of the church.’ He glanced across to where Jocasta and Blanche were now walking away. ‘Did you know that the poor girl is your brother’s child?’ He glimpsed the astonishment in Sir William’s eyes. ‘We are all sinners, Sir William. As a kindness, I beg you, take good care of them.’
And Corbett walked back into the church, gesturing at Ranulf to bring the hermit in with him.
Chapter 11
Corbett settled himself on the bench and looked quickly at the memorandum Ranulf had been writing. Sometimes he found it unnerving, how his companion’s style of writing so closely imitated his own. He idly wondered what dangers this might pose for the future.
Brother Cosmas, who had stayed to bless the corpse, came striding up the church. Corbett noted wryly how agitated the Franciscan had become. He went into the sanctuary and relayed what had happened to Verlian, who still sat with his daughter Alicia.
‘My father wasn’t there when he died,’ Alicia declared in a loud voice.
Corbett turned on the bench. ‘Hush now, mistress!’ he said soothingly. ‘There is no evidence against your father.’
The church door opened and closed. Ranulf walked up the aisle, the hermit Odo striding purposefully beside him. Odo sat on a bench before the table. A youngish man, his hair, black as a crow’s feather, tumbled down to his shoulders. The ragged beard and moustache were slightly streaked with grey. He had large eyes, a hooked nose; his face was sallow and lined. Corbett studied the eyes: worried, anxious? He looked at the man’s hands wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. The bare feet in the rather tattered sandals were dirty and chapped. His robe had once been bottle-green but now it was cut and sweat-stained. A piece of hempen cord bound his waist.
‘You know why you are here?’ Corbett began.
He was aware of Brother Cosmas coming back and sitting on the stool. Ranulf had eased himself down, taken a new quill and was busy writing the hermit’s name.
‘Master Ranulf has told me who you are,’ the hermit replied. His voice was soft and cultured, in stark contrast to his rough appearance. ‘He has also told me why you are here. But he gave no reason why you should question me.’
‘We are not questioning you. Rather asking what you know, if anything, about the circumstances leading to Fitzalan’s murder.’
‘I am the hermit. I live out at Dragon’s Mouth cave. I spend my life in prayer and penance. For your sins and mine.’
‘Thank you,’ Corbett said. He spread his hands on the table. ‘I know my sins, Master Odo. What are yours?’
The hermit stared back in surprise.
‘You are not a man of the church,’ Corbett continued. ‘You are not protected by its laws. I can ask for your assistance and you must give it. You, by your own confession, live in the forest of Ashdown. You must see, hear things that may be of interest.’
‘I was at prayer when Lord Henry was killed. I rarely leave my cave.’ He held up his bandaged hands. ‘I was born with a rottenness of the skin. I cannot use my hands for work so I pray for God’s faithful.’
‘And how do you eat?’ Corbett asked curiously.
‘The goodness and generosity of the forest people is well known.’
‘They bring you food and drink?’
‘I would like to say that, like the prophet Elijah, I am fed by the ravens. But men like Verlian and Brother Cosmas,’ he looked quickly at the Franciscan, ‘are kind and generous.’
‘Do you know anyone called the Owlman?’ Corbett asked.
‘I do not. I have neither seen nor heard anything which could be of help, master clerk. I beg you to let me go. I will remember you in my prayers.’
‘Not so. Not so.’ Corbett beat on the table-top. ‘Shall I tell you what you are, sir? You are a liar. You are no more a hermit than I am.’
‘How can you say that?’ Brother Cosmas broke in. ‘Odo has been. .’
‘Yes, when did you arrive in Ashdown?’ Corbett asked.
‘Early spring of this year.’ The hermit was now agitated.
‘It may cross your mind to get up and flee. I would advise against that. If you have done nothing wrong you have nothing to fear.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Here you are,’ Corbett pointed out. ‘A self-confessed hermit. A stranger in these parts. Why come to Ashdown? It’s not a place of sanctity or holiness. St Hawisia’s Priory is not the sort which attracts men dedicated to the service of God.’
‘I have nothing to do with that place.’
‘No, no, you haven’t. But I wager you have a great deal to do with Brother Cosmas.’
‘This is nonsense!’ The Franciscan sprang to his feet. ‘Sir Hugh, this is God’s house and my church!’ He went and patted the hermit gently on the shoulder.
‘Would you mind taking the bandages off Odo’s hands?’ asked Corbett.
Brother Cosmas looked as if he was about to refuse so Ranulf went and stood over the hermit with his dagger drawn. He was surprised as anyone at what his master had said, but if the King’s commissioner wished these bandages to be removed, then Ranulf would see it was done.
Odo sighed. He undid the bandages and dropped them slowly on the floor. Ranulf re-sheathed his dagger and took the man’s hands in his.
‘The skin is white and soft, isn’t it?’ Corbett asked.
‘Unmarked, cleaner than the bandages themselves.’ Ranulf gripped both hands and squeezed tightly. The hermit winced in pain.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘He is the Owlman,’ Corbett declared. ‘Release him, Ranulf.’
Ranulf returned to his writing. The hermit now had his hands in his lap, head down. Brother Cosmas was staring at a point above Corbett’s head, lips moving quietly.
‘Don’t be so nervous, Odo. It’s no crime to wear bloodstained bandages on your hand. And, apart from a few arrows and cryptic messages despatched to me, Lord Henry and, last night, through a window at Ashdown Manor, you’ve committed no real crime. Well, the evidence so far shows. Shall I tell you how I know?’ He paused.
Alicia Verlian had come up beside them, engrossed as the drama unfolded.
‘The great Aquinas, echoing the words of Abelard, said a logical conclusion can be reached by two methods.’ Corbett paused. ‘The first is by evidence, and I have some of that already; the second is by logic. Let me explain.