Paul Doherty - The Magician

‘Who’s there?’ Corbett relaxed as he recognised Bolingbroke’s voice.

‘William,’ he shouted. ‘I’m over here.’ He edged out of the doorway. Bolingbroke stood a few paces away, sword drawn.

‘What happened?’ he exclaimed as Corbett came stumbling towards him.

‘Nothing,’ Corbett gasped, taking the sword out of Bolingbroke’s hand. ‘Did you see anybody?’

‘I came out into the castle yard,’ Bolingbroke explained. ‘There’s no real alarm. An accident, a small hay stall in the outer bailey near the walls caught alight. I looked around and couldn’t see you. I walked past the keep and heard the blast of the whistle.’ He laughed. ‘Anyone lodging with Chanson recognises that sound.’

‘Did you see anyone, anyone at all?’

‘Sir Hugh,’ Bolingbroke caught him by the arm, ‘people were running. I thought I glimpsed something, but-’

‘I was attacked,’ Corbett said. He suddenly felt weak, and dug the sword point into the ground, resting on the hilt. ‘I went into the old dungeons. I was looking for the girl Alusia.’ He described what had happened next.

Bolingbroke would have hastened off into the darkness for help but Corbett caught his arm.

‘He’s gone, William, there’s nothing we can do. That’s the last time I walk this castle unarmed. Where’s Ranulf?’ he snapped.

They walked back across the warren, past the keep. People thronged there, drifting back as the source of the alarm was known and the fire put out. Corbett glimpsed Ranulf standing on the steps leading from the Hall of Angels. He felt anger seethe within him and, striding across, brought the flat of the sword down on Ranulf’s shoulder. His henchman turned, hand going to the dagger in his belt.

‘Sir Hugh?’ Corbett glimpsed Sir Edmund and his family in the doorway, watching him, and behind them de Craon’s smirking face.

‘I sent you on a task,’ Corbett whispered, scraping the sword along Ranulf’s shoulder, ‘and while you were gone, I went looking for something and was attacked.’

‘Sir Hugh, is there anything wrong?’

‘No, Sir Edmund, I am just having words with a clerk who doesn’t understand me.’

The hurt flared in Ranulf’s eyes, and Corbett’s anger ebbed. He turned, tossed the sword to Bolingbroke and grasped Ranulf by the arm. He could feel the muscles tense, a mixture of alarm and anger. Ranulf’s fiery temper was difficult to control and Corbett did not wish to create a spectacle, or humiliate this man, his friend as well as his companion. In short, sharp sentences he told Ranulf exactly what had happened. The Clerk of the Green Wax heard him out, mouth and jaw tense, sharp eyes glittering.

‘Where were you?’ Corbett asked.

‘I was talking to the Lady Constance.’ Ranulf brought his hand down on Corbett’s shoulder. ‘Sir Hugh, don’t blame me for your stupidity. How many times have I told you, the Lady Maeve begged, the King ordered? You are never to be alone in a place like this.’ He pushed his face close to Corbett’s. ‘Don’t worry, Master, there won’t be a second time, and if there is, I’ll take the bastard’s head.’

Corbett drew a deep breath and stretched out his hand.

‘I’m sorry, Ranulf; the truth is, I was frightened.’

Ranulf clasped his hand. ‘You look as if you’re freezing.’

They returned to Corbett’s chamber. He was about to return the penny whistle to Chanson, then recalled how it had saved him. He crouched by the fire, drinking a posset, allowing the cold to seep away. A servant came to announce that dinner would be served in the Great Hall.

‘Did you see Crotoy?’ Corbett asked.

‘No, I didn’t.’ Ranulf shook his head. ‘In fact, when the tocsin sounded and everyone gathered in the yard, I looked for him, but he wasn’t there.’

Corbett stretched a hand out to the fire and suppressed a shiver, like an icy blade pressed against his back.

‘Where is he lodging?’

‘He has his own chamber in the Jerusalem Tower,’ Ranulf replied. ‘The staircase up is blocked off; he’s the only one who’s lodged there.’

Corbett put on his war belt, got to his feet and took his cloak. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered his companions.

They went down into the bailey. Corbett wasn’t aware of the flurries of snow as he strode across to the Jerusalem Tower, a great drum-like fortification approached by a set of steep steps. He hurried up these and grasped the iron ring on the door to the tower but it held fast. He drew his dagger and beat vainly with the pommel.

‘Chanson, go quickly, bring men-at-arms.’

Corbett walked down the steps and, looking round, glimpsed a window high in the wall, but there was no sign of light between the shutters. Covering himself with his cloak against the falling snow, he hastily pulled up his hood.

‘There’s something wrong?’ asked Ranulf.

‘Oh yes,’ Corbett whispered. ‘There is something dreadfully wrong.’

Sir Edmund came hurrying across. He had been changing for the evening meal and wrapped a cloak around him to protect him from the snow.

‘Are you sure Monsieur Crotoy isn’t elsewhere in the castle?’ he asked.

‘Sir Edmund, my apologies if I troubled you, but Louis is not a wanderer,’ Corbett replied.

‘Has he been seen?’

‘What is the matter?’ De Craon, followed by his cowled man-at-arms, came striding up.

‘Louis Crotoy,’ Corbett declared. ‘Is he with you?’

‘No, he isn’t,’ de Craon replied, wiping his face, ‘and he should be. The rest are gathered in my chamber; I wished to have words with him. A servant came down and told me about this. I hastened across. Is there something wrong? Louis is a member of my retinue. Sanson claims he hasn’t seen him since early afternoon.’

‘Force the door,’ Corbett urged.

At first there was confusion, but eventually Sir Edmund organised the men-at-arms to bring a battering ram, nothing more than a stout tree trunk with poles embedded along each side. Because of the steps, the men-at-arms found it difficult, and the pounding and crashing alerted the rest of the castle. The ward began to fill. The soldiers concentrated just beneath the iron ring, and at last the door broke free.

Corbett ensured he was the first through, almost pushing de Craon aside. The inside was cold and dark. Sir Edmund passed him a torch. Corbett held it before him and stifled a moan. Crotoy lay at the bottom of the inside steps leading up to the chamber, his head cracked, the dark pool of blood glistening in the light. Corbett glanced quickly to either side; there was no window. He took a step forward, shouting at Sir Edmund to keep the rest back. At first glance he knew his old friend was beyond any help: those staring eyes, the cold flesh, the blood like a stagnant pool. He moved the body tenderly; he could see no other wound or mark apart from the gruesome gash on the side of the head. He heard a jingle from the dead man’s wallet, and opening it took out two keys, small and squat; he realised these must be to the door of the Jerusalem Tower as well as Crotoy’s chamber. Meanwhile, the Constable’s men had forced the curious down the steps, leaving only Corbett, Sir Edmund and de Craon standing in that draughty passageway. Corbett crouched down and glanced at the door that had been forced. The lock had been snapped, but he realised that when he inserted the key he could turn it easily. He took the key out, thrust it at Sir Edmund and hurried back down to Crotoy’s corpse.

‘Send a messenger for Father Andrew,’ Corbett whispered to the constable.

Corbett plucked out the torch which he had placed in a sconce holder and, holding this out carefully, examined the steps leading up to Crotoy’s chamber. They were steep and narrow, with sharp edges, and to the left of the chamber was a stairwell filled with fallen masonry. He looked back at the corpse. Crotoy had his cloak wrapped around his arm, its hem trailing down. Corbett sighed, went up the steps and using the second key opened the door. The chamber inside was cold and dark. Sir Edmund came up, and Corbett stepped gingerly into the room, allowing the Constable to light the candles and large lanternhorn which stood on the round walnut table in the centre. A neat, tidy room. Corbett felt a pang of sadness at the sweet smell of herbs.