Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

On his part, Waterton continued to act as if everything was normal, though he accepted the friendly farewells of the French officials and a further purse of gold from Philip IV. Corbett had no further chance to keep him under scrutiny for he and Ranulf spent the next few days packing their belongings and assisting with the preparations for leaving. Lancaster drove them harshly, his abrupt declaration of departure meant to take the French off their guard and so prevent any planned treachery. Horses and ponies were saddled, trunks, cases and caskets, packed at the dead of night, were hurried down and slung across their backs. Lancaster ensured some documents were sealed in pouches and others burnt. All the arms were distributed, helmets, swords, sallets, daggers and crossbows. Corbett kept the mail shirt he had drawn from the armoury and, after a meeting with Lancaster, obtained the Earl s permission to ride in the centre of the column.

The English embassy left Paris on the appointed day with banners and pennants unfurled, soldiers on the outside, clerks and officials in the centre. Outside Paris just a mile north of the gallows of Montfauзon, a French escort consisting of six knights and forty mounted men-at-arms with a scattering of mercenaries, joined them. Lancaster reluctantly accepted their offer of protection but, overriding the objections of the knights, insisted on allocating the French to their positions. Corbett watched the stooped, lank-haired Earl and privately concluded that, though he did not fully know who the traitor was, he felt Lancaster was not the man.

As it was, the Earl's precautions proved unnecessary, the English envoys had a bruising, nasty but uneventful journey back to the French coast. Corbett was tired, harassed and saddlesore when he reached Calais though relieved to be on the verge of leaving France. Waterton was just as secretive and withdrawn as ever but did nothing to provoke further suspicion. Ranulf was positively morose, Corbett thought it was just his servant's inherent laziness yet Ranulf had more subtle reasons; he had returned to the rue Nesle and the dead Fauvel's lodgings to pay court to that haughty lady and fully enjoyed the consequences.

Madame Areras, as the lady of the house called herself, had been difficult at first, but Ranulf plied her with trifling gifts, sweet words and longing stares. Madame Areras was cold and distant as any lady in the chansons of the troubadours but, slowly, like a flower with its face to the sun, she opened and responded to the forceful young Englishman's wooing. Oh, there had been sighs and pretty pleas even as Ranulf removed her skirts so she stood naked before him in her own chamber. Ranulf had ignored these, patting her bottom, stroking her thighs, breasts and neck until soon they were bouncing and rolling on Madame Areras' great bolster-filled bed: the lady gasping, crying out and groaning with pleasure. Now, Ranulf would never be able to continue the affair and he glared at his taciturn master who was responsible for ending his pleasures.

Corbett ignored his surly servant and concentrated on assisting Lancaster who had laid his plans so carefully. An English cog with an escorting man-of-war was waiting in the port of Calais. Under the Earl's hard stare and biting tongue, the English stumbled aboard, men followed by horses, ponies and baggage. Lancaster did not even bother to say farewell to the French escort but stood before them, spat in the dust at their horses' hooves and, turning, stalked up the gangplank. That same evening, the English ships slipped their moorings and stood out into the Channel, heading for England.

David Talbot, yeoman farmer, squire and heir to certain prosperous lands in Hereford and along the Welsh March, was riding for his life. He dug his spurs deeper into the soft, hot flanks of his horse which leaned forward, head outstretched, its magnificent legs and iron-shod hooves pounding the shale of the rutted track into a fine, white dust. Talbot turned in his saddle and looked quickly back over his shoulder, there would be, must be, pursuit.

Morgan's men were tracking him along these narrow, twisting Welsh valleys for Talbot was a young man who knew too much. King Edward of England had promised him a fortune in gold if he brought information about a rebel leader in Wales who was secretly negotiating with the French. Well, Talbot now had such information as well as the name of the English traitor on Edward's council. He had already sent some details to Edward but this he would bring personally and so receive his merited rewards, if only he escaped the pursuit, if only he had not been found in Morgan's outhouse, examining the way the English spy had sent information to the traitorous Welsh lord.

Talbot had to escape, break out from these treacherous valleys, the hills rising out on either side of him dotted with gorse bushes which might harbour one of Morgan's bowmen. The Welsh knew these valley roads and Talbot had seen the beacons spraying into flame, sending warnings ahead. Talbot turned, his heart lurching when he saw his pursuers, black cloaks fluttering, had also entered the valley in hot pursuit. Talbot leaned across his horse's neck, urging it on with words as well as with scarring, blood-tinged spurs. The narrow valley opening was in sight, Talbot gave a cry of relief and raised himself in the saddle and this made his death instantaneous. The thin, sharp wires strung across the valley mouth sliced through his neck and sent the blood-spurting head bouncing like a ball amongst the loose shale.

Corbett waited outside the chamber at the far end of one of the whitewashed corridors which ran off from the great hall of Westminster. Not for the first time he turned and looked up at the timbered ceiling or wandered across to push open a wooden shutter and stare out at the royal garden beginning to bloom under a warm spring sun. Corbett had landed at Dover two weeks ago and travelled back to London, only to succumb to a fever which made his limbs and head ache. Lancaster had told him to rest in his own house while he and the others reported back to the King.

Corbett had spent days being cared for by an overzealous Ranulf, who was always anxious when his master was ill, for, if he died, he would lose his livelihood. A doctor had been summoned, who wanted to bleed him so, as he put it, the fever would be drained and the evil humours quelled. When Corbett threatened to cut his throat, the doctor quickly changed his remedies, placing a jade stone on the English clerk's stomach while feeding him a herbal concoction of wild parsley, fennel, ginger and cinnamon, all pounded to pulp and served in piping hot wine. Corbett slept and sweated, his dreams disturbed by fevers and nightmares in which he relived the horror of slaying the beggar assassin in Paris.

At last he woke, weak but cool, the fever gone. The physcian returned, genuinely amazed that his remedies had worked, the fellow gabbled instructions at Ranulf, pocketed his sizeable fee and promptly left just in case his patient took a sudden turn for the worse. Corbett soon regained his strength and, a few days later, received a royal writ ordering his presence at Westminster. Corbett wondered how long he would have to wait for by the sounds coming from the chamber Edward was working himself into one of his royal rages. At last the door was flung open and the King himself gestured at Corbett to enter. Inside, a nervous clerk was seated at a table trying to conceal his anxiety by carefully studying what he had written while Lancaster lounged in a chair, slightly forward so as to favour his misshapen shoulder.

Both the King and his brother were dressed simply in dark gowns, surcoats and mantles; jewelled brooches, clasps and heavy studded rings their only concession to fashion. The room itself looked more like a tent or a military camp; two dirty stained tapestries hung slightly askew on the wall, an iron sconce was twisted downwards and the none-too-clean rushes had been kicked into heaps. By Lancaster's look of forced patience and the mottled spots high on the King's cheeks, Corbett guessed there had been a fierce altercation between the royal brothers.