Corpse Candle - Hugh Corbett 13 by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780755350407
Google: ECM1AgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00GU35U10
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2012-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

QUI CUPIET METUET QUOQUE

WITH DESIRE COMES ALSO FEAR

HORACE

Chapter 8

Brother Francis, the archivist, was pleased to have the library to himself. The small scriptorium at the far end was also empty. The rest of the brothers had gone to celebrate divine office before the evening meal. Brother Francis was so excited, and his stomach so agitated, that he had no time for food or drink. He hadn’t told anybody the reason but had sought permission from Prior Cuthbert to absent himself. The librarian now sat at a table and stared round his domain. This was his kingdom with its specially hooded candles and lanterns to diminish the risk of fire. He gazed lovingly at the stacked rows of shelves containing the abbey archives, as well as the manuscripts collected over the years: Augustine’s Confessions and City of God: Beothius’s On Consolation, the sermons of Ambrose, the writings of Jerome and other fathers: the theological treatises of Bernard, Aquinas and Anselm. Brother Francis got up and walked along the shelves. Here were the jewels of the collection: the works of Aristotle and Plato, the speeches of Cicero, the histories of Tacitus and the thoughts of the philosopher Seneca. These had been Abbot Stephen’s favourites, with his love of Roman culture. Brother Francis stopped, closed his eyes and sniffed. He relished the smell of the library, as a gardener did the fragrance of flowers: the perfume of vellum, of leather, ink, beeswax and the sweet-smelling polish which his assistants used on the shelves, tables and floor. Brother Francis liked nothing better than to check everything was in its appointed place. Some of the books were so rare and precious that they were locked away in heavy coffers. He touched the ring of keys on his belt and recalled why he was here. His face flushed. Brother Francis had thought long and hard about these deaths, these heinous murders, which hadn’t just started because of a guesthouse or Prior Cuthbert’s desire to acquire a precious relic.

Of all the members of the Concilium, Brother Francis had served the longest at St Martin’s. He had entered the abbey as a mere stripling. The old abbot had been so impressed by his desire to learn he had sent him to the cathedral schools of Ely and Norwich, as well as the Benedictine house in Oxford. Francis stopped and gnawed at his lip. He must marshal his thoughts carefully, as a true scholar would. Above all, he had to be sure he was alone. Brother Francis went to one of the latticed windows and peered through. The fire arrows had been alarming but surely they had merely been some cruel jape? Brother Francis moved back to the lectern. Didn’t one of those chronicles which described the evil depredations of Geoffrey Mandeville mention how the wicked earl always signalled his coming by fire arrows? So, if it wasn’t his ghost or demon, who was loosing such fiery shafts on St Martin’s-in-the-Marsh?

‘I mustn’t be distracted! I mustn’t be distracted!’ Brother Francis murmured.

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