Paul Doherty: The Devil's Hunt

The King pushed his face towards him. Corbett smelt his wine-drenched breath.

‘I know, Hugh. There’s nothing wrong with being a mastiff amongst a pack of curs — I told them so. Go to Oxford and find out who culled those poor beadsmen but, remember, I want the Bellman. I want to hang him myself!’ The King got to his feet. ‘I’ll be leaving within the hour but Simon will remain. Now, I just hope that bastard de Warrenne hasn’t finished my story. Have you heard it, Hugh? About the abbess, the friar and the box of figs?’

The King was gone within the hour in a flurry of hugs, kisses and promises of royal favour. The royal party mounted their horses and galloped off raising clouds of dust, the King yelling that he would be at his palace of Woodstock, ‘Where he would reside “to keep an eye on matters”.’

Corbett gave a sigh of relief and hugged Maeve. They returned to the hall where Corbett broke his fast. He then ordered the room to be cleared so that only Maeve, Ranulf and an anxious-looking Simon remained.

‘Are you going to Oxford?’ Maeve asked tartly.

‘It seems I have to.’

Simon smiled wanly. ‘Oh, thank God, Sir Hugh. A refusal would have put the King in a terrible rage. He spent yesterday kicking his clerks off their stools for the slightest mistake.’

‘So, you accepted the Seal and ring?’ Maeve persisted. ‘Is that what you want?’ Maeve pursed her lips in a gesture of annoyance before she burst out laughing. ‘I am not a fool, Hugh. If you disobeyed, the King on this occasion …’

‘Do you want me to go?’ Corbett stretched over and patted her stomach.

‘Yes, I do,’ Maeve retorted. She nodded at Ranulf who was sitting in cat-like silence. ‘For a start, it would be nice to see a smile on Ranulfs face, and you’re bored as well, Hugh. After all, as Ranulf remarked, one sheep does tend to look like another.’

Corbett squeezed her hand. He pulled out the roll of parchment the King had given him. He undid this carefully and studied the clerkly hand.

‘It’s written in chancery script,’ he murmured. ‘So it could come from the pen of any trained scribe.’

‘If it was a royal scribe,’ Simon retorted morosely, ‘he’d be hanged, drawn and quartered. Read it, Sir Hugh.’

‘ “To the Mayor, Burgesses, Chancellor of the University of Oxford and to the Regents of the Halls,”’ Corbett began, ‘“The Bellman sends fraternal greetings. Once again I raise a clamour, bringing to attention the abuses of our King and his Council of nobles.

Item:- There should be a parliament at least once a year, at which the King should listen to the petitions of his good burgesses and citizens.

Item:- Holy Mother Church should not be taxed, nor its revenues disturbed, without the agreement of a Convocation of the Clergy.

Item:- The King dissipates his wealth in a futile war against the Scots whilst closing his eyes and ears to the manifold abuses of his officials at home.

Item:- The King should confirm the clauses of Magna Carta and the privileges of the University …”’

The proclamation went on, listing real or alleged abuses but it was the final paragraph that caught Corbett’s attention.

‘Remember,’ it began, ‘in your prayers, the saintly Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, brutally killed by this same king. The Earl’s measures, published here in the city of Oxford, would have established good governance of this realm. Given at Sparrow Hall on the feast of St Bonaventure, the 15th of July 1303, and ordered to be proclaimed throughout the City and University of Oxford, signed, THE BELLMAN OF OXFORD.’

Corbett studied the manuscript closely. The vellum was of good quality with the edges precisely cut, the ink was mauve, the letters clearly formed, the phrases neatly set out. It bore no other mark except the sign of a bell at the top: this had been pierced by a nail where the notice had been pinned to the door of some church.

Corbett passed the manuscript over to Maeve. She studied it and then pushed it across to Ranulf.

‘What does it mean?’ she asked.

‘Almost forty years ago,’ Corbett began, ‘Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, led a rebellion against the present king and his father. De Montfort was a brilliant, charismatic leader. He didn’t bother with the nobility but appealed to the burgesses and the citizens of cities like Oxford and London. He won their support, as well as that of many of the clergy who sit in their own parliament called Convocation. De Montfort was the first to expound the theory of a Parliament where the commons and nobles could meet in separate sessions to present petitions to the King as well as seek agreement before they were taxed.’

Maeve shrugged. ‘But that is just.’ She screwed her eyes up. ‘Didn’t one of Edward’s judges say that what affects all must be approved by all?’

‘Oh, Edward agreed: he took on the idea himself. Parliaments are regularly called although they don’t command the same importance de Montfort wanted to give them.’ Corbett played with the blackjack of ale a servant had poured him. ‘What de Montfort wanted,’ he continued, ‘was for Parliament to control the King and all royal officials but, more importantly, de Montfort wanted to control Parliament.’

‘But why is the King so frightened of such an idea, from a man who was killed almost forty years ago?’ Maeve asked.

Corbett shrugged. ‘Because de Montfort was almost successful and, if he had been …’

‘And if he had been,’ Ranulf interrupted, ‘De Montfort would have become King and Edward …’

‘Edward-’ Corbett finished the sentence for him, ‘- would have disappeared into some castle where he would have met with an unfortunate accident. There would now be a new royal line and that is the nightmare still haunting the Crown!’

Corbett studied the Bellman’s proclamation once again.

‘How long have these been appearing?’

‘Over five months,’ Simon replied. ‘At first we thought it was some scholar’s madcap scheme. Then the King’s Council tried to hush matters up but the proclamations became more frequent. The King wrote to the Regent, John Copsale, who wrote back claiming all innocence. A month ago Copsale who was in his fifties, was found dead in his bed. The physician said he had died from natural causes, but since then the Bellman has grown more vindictive.’

‘And how are matters at Sparrow Hall now?’

‘As in any college, Sir Hugh, there are tensions, rivalries, petty jealousies. Lady Mathilda would like more royal patronage: the other Masters find the Braose family irksome. They don’t like the name of the hall and would prefer to change it as well as the statutes drawn up by Braose when the college was founded.’

‘Why?’

‘Sparrow Hall is seen as a royal foundation, built on the blood of a man, de Montfort, whom many now see as a saint. Copsale believed it important for the Hall to have more self-determination, especially for a college in Oxford which prides itself on its history and its independence.’

‘Was de Montfort from Oxford?’ Maeve asked.

‘De Montfort had a great following in the University,’ Corbett replied, ‘amongst both the Masters and students. More importantly, the Earl raised troops there for his civil war. He also held a great Council in the city where he issued the Provisions of Oxford, a scheme to take over the royal Council and Government.’

‘And, of course,’ Ranulf added, ‘Oxford is the gateway to the kingdom. Scholars come there from all parts of the country as well as from abroad. The Bellman’s treason is like a pestilence, it could spread and cause further unrest.’

‘And the King doesn’t need that,’ Simon interjected. ‘Taxes are heavy, the royal purveyors are collecting provisions. The great earls want to return to their manors. It’s a fire which might quickly spread.’ Simon gestured at the proclamation. ‘I have a sack of these: I’ll leave them with you. But, before you ask, Sir Hugh, we have no evidence as to whether the writer is a Master or a scholar at Sparrow Hall. Of course, the King sent down his justices — but what could they do? The Masters and the scholars protested their innocence and cried harassment.’