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both soldiers scuttled away like rabbits whilst Red Nose hastily unlocked one of the great gates and led them in. He didn't even stop to lock it behind him, so eager was he to show them to the stables. After that one of the soldiers, mumbling a profuse apology, led them across to the Prioress' lodgings. Word of the debacle at the gate must have preceded them for Lady Amelia was already awaiting their arrival in her cool upper chamber with its painted blue walls, polished wooden floor and oval-shaped windows filled with precious coloured glass. The Lady Prioress sat in the centre of the chamber on her favourite throne-like chair. She rose as Corbett entered, extending one elegant hand for him to kiss.
    'You are most welcome, Master Corbett. We heard you were coming. I must apologise for the greeting.' She smiled falsely. 'But we have so many curiosity seekers. Lady Eleanor's death draws constant visitors here. Anyway you are most welcome, Master Corbett. I did think His Grace would send…' Her voice trailed off,
    'Someone more important than a clerk, My Lady?'
    She nodded her head.
    'Then, My Lady, you are disappointed!'
    Corbett looked at the haughty face framed by its white starched wimple: the gimlet eyes, imperious nose, and a mouth no more than a line. Lady Amelia smelt of perfume, crushed herbs, and something deeper, more cloying. This lady, Corbett thought, would kill if her honour or pride were at stake. Lady Amelia, however, disregarded his answer and graciously introduced her two companions, the Sub-prioresses, who had been sitting on either side of her like two fire dogs: Dame Frances, tall, thin and dry, hard-eyed, and sour-faced with twisted lips; Dame Catherine, comely, plump and pert, cheery-faced and with a generous mouth though her eyes were like two black pebbles in her rosy face. Lady Amelia indicated a chair for Corbett. She clapped her hands and a servant brought in cups of malmsey and a plate of sweetmeats. Ranulf she ignored and left to stand behind his master. He swallowed his pride as he studied the nuns. Hell's teeth, a most unholy trinity! Dame Catherine, however, drew his glance; she was studying Corbett intently, her small pink tongue constantly wetting her lips. Ranulf grinned to himself. A wanton one there, he thought, and began to daydream quietly of what would happen if he and the good dame were alone in some small, cosy chamber. The Prioress settled herself, allowing a faint smile to grace her face. She nibbled at the doucettes.
    'What does His Grace the King command?' she began. 'His Grace requires nothing save a full explanation of the Lady Eleanor's death.' Lady Amelia made a face.
    'We regret Lady Eleanor's death, as we do that of the unfortunate Dame Martha. One of our sisters,' she added quickly, noting the puzzlement in Corbett's face. 'She was found drowned in her bath this morning. Remember, Master Clerk, in the midst of life we are in death.'
    'Yes, but it makes a difference how Death comes.'
    'In Lady Eleanor's case, by accident.'
    Corbett adjusted his belt and settled himself more comfortably.
    'Was she melancholic?' he asked.
    'A little. She was often heard praying to be delivered from her sickness. She had a malady of the breast Dame Catherine?' She turned to her cheery-faced companion.
    The fat nun shrugged as if freeing herself from a daydream. 'Lady Eleanor,' she piped up, 'had a malignancy in her breast The Prince sent her medicines.'
    'Did he bring them himself?' Corbett asked. 'Oh, no.'
    'Did any visitors come?'
    'Of course not!' Lady Amelia snapped. 'We are a convent, not a guest house.'
    'These medicines – why should the Prince be so concerned?'
    'The Prince is a caring man.'
    'How do you know that?'
    'My father was steward in his household.'
    'Which is why you got preferment here?'
    'Naturally.' Lady Amelia's smile faded. 'Though one approved by both the bishop and the community.'
    Corbett noticed how Dame Frances pursed her lips in silent but eloquent repudiation of