‘That’s how it was done!’ Will said savagely. ‘I should have known. When the pilgrims leave after vespers, we search the cathedral thoroughly to ensure no one is hiding, but once the great door is locked, it isn’t searched again, because only the monks attend matins and lauds at midnight and no monk would ever dream of stealing from his own cathedral, would he?’
He glowered at Oswin. ‘So you had nearly four hours to steal the saint’s hand before the gates were opened again to admit the monks for prime at daybreak, and then all you had to do was slip back into your place among the brothers. But you still haven’t told us why you left that foul abomination in that holy place.’
Oswin shrank from Will’s fury. ‘I… I put that corpse’s hand in the coffin and left the coffin lid a little ajar so that the smell would force you to open the shrine and discover the saint’s hand was missing. I thought you would understand it was a message.’ He clutched at Will’s sleeve. ‘I wanted you to search and find the bones. But they’ve stopped searching. So I must go to Father Edmund now. I must put right what I did wrong.’
He struggled to rise and collapsed again almost at once. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Stephen pressed his hand to the young monk’s face. It was burning.
‘He has a fever. We should get him back to the priory at once.’
‘What about the relic?’ Will protested.
‘Promise… promise you will find it. I must…’ Oswin suddenly screamed and doubled up in pain.
‘That’s it,’ Stephen said. ‘The relic will have to wait. We must take Oswin to the infirmary now.’
Ely
There was silence in Prior Alan’s solar, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Candles burned steadily on their spikes, and outside the shuttered casements the world slept on in darkness. Prior Alan stared miserably at the jar before him on the table. There was nothing in it save sodden ashes and fragments of charred bones.
‘You are sure this is all that remains.’
Will nodded. ‘Father Edmund was so close to death when we arrived that I’m certain it was only malice that kept him breathing. He laughed when he saw us. “You’re too late,” he said, pointing to the fire. “She betrayed me, just like de Lisle, so now her bones can warm mine.”’
‘Those were his very last words,’ Stephen added. ‘A great spasm seized him. He choked and clutched at his throat as if someone was strangling him, blood gushed from his mouth, then he fell back dead. Will quickly threw the remains of the priest’s ale into the fire to douse the flames, but the hand was already burned away.’
‘A t least we recovered something,’ Alan said. ‘We three will inter what remains in her shrine tonight and hold a vigil until prime. We have much to pray about.’
He lifted the silver sword, which lay next to the ashes on his table, turning the blade over in the candlelight, tracing with his finger the secret names of God – Agla on one side of the blade and on the other side, On. The intricate engraving of mystic signs and scrolls was so delicate, the angels themselves could have fashioned it.
The alchemist had evidently cleaned the sword, but not well enough, for when Alan held it close to the ball of glass that intensified the candlelight he could just make out dark threads of blood trapped in the fine line of tracery. It was a sword of exquisite beauty, intended only for holy work, but now it was tainted by murder. For this sword had never been honed for battle, though it was sharp enough to bisect a single hair. It had been made to conjure spirits and angels. And such a sword was worth… ah, yes, that was the question. What would a man with knowledge of how to use it be prepared to pay for such a sword?
Alan laid it down with a sigh. ‘This must be locked away in our own vaults, at least until we can discover which cathedral or abbey it was stolen from.’
‘Father Prior,’ Stephen said, ‘what do you intend to do with Martin now, and the other players? For it seems they were telling the truth after all.’
There was more than a hint of ‘I told you so’ in his tone, but if Prior Alan noticed, he was choosing to ignore it.
‘I’ll release them in the morning – all except Martin, of course. I think he would find himself a murder victim in truth if we left him to the mercy of the other actors. Besides, he may be innocent of murder, but there’s still a long list of other crimes for which he is assuredly guilty. But I don’t intend to keep him lying around in the hell-pit. He can spend his nights chained up in there, but I’m sure we can find work to keep him occupied during the day, until the alchemist’s trial. I think cleaning out the latrines might be a good start, then the stables, that way he can start earning the bread he received in alms.’
There was a knock on the heavy oak door and the infirmarer entered.
Alan motioned to him to join them round the fire, but he shook his head and remained standing just inside the door.
‘I have bad news, Father Prior. It’s Brother Oswin.’
‘Has his fever worsened?’
‘It has, but I am afraid it’s no common fever.’ He sighed and wearily massaged his eyes. ‘He is coughing blood and the black marks have appeared on his skin. There can be no doubt, it is the Great Pestilence.’
Prior Alan groaned. ‘God have mercy on us all.’
Will and Stephen stared aghast at each other. They had both touched Oswin, held him up on Will’s horse as they brought him home and carried him to the infirmary.
‘You changed your robes, did you not?’ the infirmarer asked, in answer to their unspoken question.
‘They were wet and muddy.’
‘They should be burned. But if it’s any consolation, by all accounts it’s mostly the young men like Brother Oswin the pestilence is claiming this time.’
Will had turned very pale and his hands were trembling. ‘Father Edmund coughed blood at the last. Do you think…?’
The infirmarer grimaced, refusing to meet his frightened gaze. ‘I will prepare some draughts for you that are thought to be efficacious, and, Father Prior, with your permission I will have fumigants burning in every part of the priory by morning. But I think that you should order a grave to be dug in the monks’ cemetery as soon as it’s light. There is no physic that will help Brother Oswin now.’
‘I pray it’s the only grave we will need to dig, but I suspect there will be many more,’ Prior Alan said.
Stephen shuddered. He knew he should not fear death. His life was in God’s hands and it was His to take it, whenever it pleased Him to do so. Nevertheless, Stephen could not help but be comforted that they would be spending the night in vigil at St Withburga’s shrine. He felt the need for her protection more tonight than he had ever done in his life before.
The infirmarer made to leave, then turned back. ‘There is something else you should know, Father Prior. Some of the brothers are saying The Play of Adam is the cause of this misfortune and when the people of Ely learn of Brother Oswin’s condition they will surely blame the curse of the play as well. They may even try to storm the priory.’
‘I’m not a man to believe in curses,’ Alan said, ‘and I’ve always tried to ignore the legend that the very first time the play was performed in Oseney Abbey, a monk was cruelly murdered. But I am beginning to believe that play has a strange way of bringing forth the evil in man.’
He sat in silence for a few minutes as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then he gave a great sigh. ‘Brother Stephen, would you be so good as to fetch The Play of Adam from the library for me?’