De Alençon bobbed his head in understanding. ‘You think that if the miscreant is among us, he might profit by learning of our efforts to unmask him?’
‘Yes. We will discuss any possible candidates openly, but if it comes to devising stratagems to catch him, we must guard our tongues. Even if the fellow is not within the Chapter, I’m sure that the famed gossip of the cathedral Close would soon spread the message far and wide.’
The Archdeacon patted John’s shoulder. ‘I think I have the answer to that — I’ll call you down shortly.’
De Wolfe sat in a reverie for the next half-hour, while Thomas wandered off and became engrossed in a thick volume of theology chained to a nearby shelf. From below, came the harmonious chanting of the vicarschoral and some choristers, then the mutter of prayers, followed by a series of voices, the content of which was inaudible upstairs.
As he waited, John wondered what life with Matilda was going to be like for the next few days. Long experience had taught him that when he offended her, she was at first enraged, then ignored him for a day or two. This usually thawed into a period of sarcastic comments about his infidelity, before she returned to her normal state of sulky instability, where any incautious remark tipped her back into fury.
He suspected that, later today, when she returned from staying with her widowed cousin she would act as if he was invisible, keeping out of his way either in her solar or at church. But de Wolfe also knew that as the judges were arriving next week, she would recover rapidly to take up invitations to dine with the great and good.
Then his musing turned to more pleasant things, his delight at the reconciliation with Nesta. The greyness of the past weeks had lifted and he looked forward to his visits to the Bush like a child with a new toy. He hardly dare admit to himself that he loved her, his self-image of an ageing warrior too world-weary and cynical to indulge in such adolescent fancies. But being with her and enjoying her open nature and affectionate manner, lifted his spirit like nothing else could. Even their coupling in the big bed — glorious though it was — was no longer the main attraction at the Bush Inn.
He never wished Matilda dead — in truth, the thought had never crossed his mind — but he hoped that one day her religious mania would lead her to its logical end and she would enter a nunnery. He was not sure if that was enough to annul the marriage that neither of them had wanted — he must tactfully sound out his friend the Archdeacon one day. Sometimes, he even contemplated throwing up this life in Exeter and running away with Nesta — maybe back to Wales, where she would feel at home and where he had many friends.
Suddenly his musing was interrupted by a change in the muffled sounds from below. The chanting ended and a young chorister came far enough up the steps to summon him down to the meeting. With Thomas slinking unobtrusively behind, John descended into the hall, with a score of faces upturned towards him. The vicars and other minor orders had gone, leaving almost the full complement of Exeter’s twenty-four canons to offer their advice.
John de Alençon stood at the lectern in the centre, with the Precentor, Treasurer and two other senior canons seated behind him. The other double rank of benches formed a square around the chamber, filled with black-cloaked priests, an occasional flash of white surplice showing underneath. The Archdeacon invited the coroner to sit opposite the lectern, and as he did so, Thomas rapidly slid behind him. The sonorous voice of de Alençon began the proceedings.
‘Brothers in God, you are all well aware of the reason for this unusual extension of our session. Regretfully, our brother Arnulf now lies before the altar of St Paul in the cathedral, done to death by someone of evil intent who, even more regrettably, may also be a priest.’
A buzz of concern whispered about the Chapter House, as although everyone knew of de Mowbray’s death, the actual circumstances were not yet common knowledge. De Alençon held up his hand for silence.
‘Though the crime occurred in a church and to a man in Holy Orders, it was outwith the confines of the cathedral precinct. In any event, our Lord Bishop is well known to have delegated his ecclesiastical jurisdiction in cases of violent crime to the secular authorities — though if the culprit truly is a priest, then he will decide whether or not the Church will deal with him.’
He paused and looked around the silently attentive throng. ‘The purpose of this meeting is to see if Chapter can assist the king’s sheriff and coroner in discovering the identity of this madman. This cruel and blasphemous death seems to be one of a series committed by the same perpetrator, who is well versed in Holy Scripture.’ He went on to outline the circumstances of the three deaths, with emphasis on the biblical quotations. After more shocked murmuring had subsided, he beckoned to the coroner and stepped aside for him to take his place at the lectern.
De Wolfe’s tall figure stooped over it, a hand braced on each edge. He scowled around the expectant faces, feeling almost as if he was about to deliver a sermon. ‘There is no doubt that the man who committed these foul deeds is indeed one of you, in that he must be in Holy Orders,’ he began, his voice echoing harshly in that bare chamber. ‘Moreover, he must be a priest within these city walls. My inquests on these crimes against the King’s Peace have revealed nothing to put a name to the killer, so the sheriff and I need your help to bring him to justice — and, indeed, to prevent further tragedies.’
He gazed around the chamber as if trying to spot the villain by the sheer intensity of his gaze.
‘We need to be told of any of your colleagues, either in the cathedral or in the city churches, who might be so unbalanced in their minds as to be capable of these awful acts.’
There was a silence as each member of Chapter looked covertly at his neighbours, as if expecting to see the mark of Cain on their brows. Then de Wolfe stepped aside from the lectern and the Archdeacon took his place again. ‘If there is any brother who wishes to speak, let him do so now.’
Once more, a wave of murmuring swept along the benches, heads going together and eyes shifting this way and that, but no one volunteered anything. De Alençon repeated his exhortation and eventually an older canon stood up from his place in the front row. He was Simon Lund, a corpulent man with fleshy lips, drooped on one side from a slight stroke. ‘I presume that, with this request, you are not inviting us to break the sanctity of the confessional, Archdeacon?’ he brayed, rather indistinctly. ‘Not that I have anything useful to divulge myself,’ he added hastily.
John de Alençon shook his head decisively. ‘Indeed not, Simon. That remains inviolate, as always. But no one should be inhibited from adding names to a list of priests whose habits and preferences may make them worthy of some enquiries. We are not seeking accusations, only some leads as to who might merit investigation.’
This was followed by another silence and the Archdeacon became impatient. ‘I appreciate that it might be difficult for you to speak frankly on such a sensitive issue at such short notice and in such a public fashion. So let me say that the Precentor, the Treasurer, the King’s coroner and I will form a small group which you may approach confidentially at any time. We will be meeting with the Lord Bishop later today to discuss this matter further and hope that before then some of you will feel able to offer us some suggestions.’
He stood down from the lectern and the meeting broke up, with groups of canons animatedly discussing the drama, which had brought some welcome excitement into their otherwise humdrum routine.
The two Johns walked out into the May sunshine, and moved out of the crowd’s earshot.
‘I gave them no idea of what steps we were likely to take in this matter, John,’ said de Alençon with a wry smile. ‘Mainly because I have no idea what can be done. Let’s hope that some will provide a few clues as to the more unbalanced of our clerical community before we meet the bishop this afternoon.’