Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

The King dismissed the scribe, glared at Corbett and waved him to a bench alongside the wall. 'Sit, sit, Master Corbett,' he snarled. 'I don't suppose you have better news for me. The journey to France was a farce, Philip outmanoeuvred, insulted and ignored you. You learnt nothing and you acquired nothing except insults. God knows, you left like whipped curs, your tails tucked beneath your legs!'

'Your Grace,' Corbett replied slowly, 'What did you expect? Excuse my bluntness but I doubt if we will catch the spy in France. He is here in your council.' Edward glowered at Corbett, but the clerk pressed on.

'First,' he continued, ticking the points off on his finger, 'We did kill the murderer of Fauvel and probably Poer: secondly, we do know that Waterton is under suspicion,' Corbett nodded to Lancaster, 'I gave the Ear! a full report during our voyage back. Finally, we do know that Philip has some grand design and the seizure of Gascony is only a part of it.' The King sat down wearily on a stool, head in his hands.

'I am sorry,' he muttered looking up. 'You, Corbett, and my brother, Lancaster, are the only ones I trust.' He tossed a greasy parchment at Corbett. 'A report from David Talbot, squire and royal retainer. It was the last letter he sent. Five days ago his headless body was found at the bottom of a Welsh valley, another casualty inflicted by Philip.' Corbett slowly read the letter from Talbot, written in a forced, clumsy style.

'David Talbot, squire, to his Grace, Edward, King of England, health and greetings. Know you that I have been most busy in your affairs in Wales in the county of Glamorgan. Know you that I have kept the castle and retainers of the Lord Morgan under close scrutiny and that the same Lord Morgan, despite being recently received into the King's peace, conspires with the King's enemies abroad. I have seen French ships off the coast and members of their crews rowed ashore and taken to the Lord Morgan's castle. I have carried out my own searches and found that the Lord Morgan has also received messengers from dissatisfied lords in Scotland. I believe, your Grace, that Lord Morgan is still hostile to your interests and is allied to your enemies both at home and abroad. The moving force behind, all this is, as you know, Philip of France: he intends to destroy your Grace's patrimony in France and raise Scotland, Wales and Ireland against you. Know you that I have seen the same French ships land arms and that the Lord Morgan has new found wealth. I beg, your Grace, to intervene here otherwise all your interests will be lost. God save you. Written at Neath, March 1296.'

Corbett looked at Edward. 'Who is this Morgan?'

'A Welsh lord, recently at war with the Earl of Gloucester, he surrendered and was accepted into my peace.' Corbett looked at Edward's strained face. 'Then why not arrest him, he is a traitor?'

'Hearsay,' Edward testily replied. 'No real evidence except Talbot's letters. Talbot himself is now dead.' Lancaster rose and shuffled to the open window.

'Look,' the Earl said quietly, 'All these are symptoms. Poer, Fauvel, Talbot and French involvement in Wales are only symptoms of a deeper disease, treachery. Find the traitor, root him out and all the rest dies.' There was silence as Edward stared at his brother.

'Waterton,' the King said abruptly. 'Waterton must be the spy, the traitor, his mother was French, he has more wealth than he should have even if his father was a rich merchant. There is more, Waterton's father was a supporter of de Montfort.'

Corbett straightened up and looked sharply at the King. In 1265 de Montfort, the great rebel against Henry III, the King's father, had finally been destroyed at the Battle of Evesham and a savage civil war was brought to a close. London and its merchants had been fervent supporters of de Montfort. Hundreds of them died or had been fined for their support. Old wounds still rankled deeply. Corbett knew that only too well, years earlier Edward had used him to seek out and destroy supporters of the dead de Montfort.

'Your Grace,' Corbett urged, 'we have enough evidence now, arrest Waterton and stop his treason.'

'Nicely said,' Edward replied, 'But evidence – do you need it?'

'No.'

'But what if you are wrong? What happens if Waterton is only a pawn? After all, he was a member of Richmond's household, it was the Earl who recommended him to my service and it was the Earl who lost my army in Gascony.'

'Do you suspect the Earl of Richmond?' Corbett asked.

'He is French, he has land there and God knows how he lost my army?'

Edward rose and paced the room. The French,' the King continued, 'launched their attack on Gascony in 1293. In the autumn of 1294, Brittany landed my army at La Reole and garrisoned it. In the spring of 1295, the French laid siege to the town and, within a fortnight, a fortnight! Brittany had surrendered both town and army.'

'Your Grace thinks that Brittany may be the traitor?' Corbett asked.

'Possible, it is possible.' Edward replied.

'If the traitor is here in Westminster,' Lancaster broke in, 'how do they communicate with the French? Philip has no envoys in London, all ports and ships are searched. None of our spies in the French ports have noted any exchange of letters.'

Through Wales or Scotland?' Corbett asked hopefully.

'No,' the King replied, The information is sent too quickly. Philip seems to know what I have decided within days. No,' the King concluded, The information is sent from here.'

'Are there any letters sent to France?' Corbett asked.

'Official letters to Philip,' Edward replied, 'as well as letters to the hostages.'

'Hostages?'

'Yes, when Brittany surrendered, several of the knights could only ransom themselves by giving hostages to the French, in most cases, children. The knights write regularly to these.'

'Do any of the knights serve on the council or know any of its business?'

'No,' the King replied. 'Only Tuberville, Thomas de Tuberville. A baron from Gloucestershire. He serves as a knight of the chamber, he is Captain of the Guard.'

'Could he listen in?'

'No,' Edward answered, 'No one can listen through oaken doors and thick stone walls. Moreover, Tuberville hates the French, his letters attest to that.'

'How does your Grace know?'

'Like the rest, copies of his letters are kept in the Chancery files.'

'Talk,' Lancaster abruptly interrupted, 'All talk, everything points to Richmond. We would do well to put him, Waterton, Tuberville, anyone who has anything to do with him into prison.'

Edward rose and paced the room. 'No,' he said, 'Not yet.' He pointed at Corbett, 'You will pursue what we know. You will first visit Lord Morgan in Wales and ask him some pertinent questions.' Corbett's heart sank but one look at the cold, tired eyes of the King warned him that any objections would be ruthlessly dealt with.

A day later Corbett and Ranulf were preparing for the journey. Ranulf objected but Corbett sternly told him to carry out his orders for clothes, weapons, provisions and horses would be needed. Corbett himself wandered out into the streets, wanting to think, to reflect on his recent interview with the King. He strolied up into Cheapside, the broad highway sweeping from east to west was the main business area of the city with the Cornmarket, butchers' shambles, the Tun Prison and the Great Conduit which gave the city its water.

The boards of the traders were lowered, their protective awnings pulled out against the strong sun. Trade was brisk in everything from a pair of hose or cherries fresh off the branch, to a pair of gilt spurs or a satin shirt with cambric lace. A funeral cortиge passed, led by a friar, a quiet, sinister figure in his dark robes, pinched features staring from the cowl over his head. The mourners stumbled by, followed by the coffin on the shoulders of the bearers. Corbett heard the sobbing of the women and the deep-throated howl of a dog. Such sights seemed out of place on such a day, the crowds were out, the lawyers in fur capes on their way to the courts at Westminster: peasants in brown and green smocks coaxed their carts up to the market places ignoring the taunts and attempts at pilfer by a horde of ragged-arsed urchins. A column of mounted archers clattered by, prisoners in the middle, their hands tied to the saddle, ankles secured by chains under the horses' bellies.