Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

A courtesan, her face painted and her brows finely plucked, stepped daintily through the street, one red, velvet-gloved hand raising her laced dress to escape the mud. She glanced coyly at Corbett and walked on. The noise and bustle was intense: tradesmen plucked his sleeve and dinned his ears with shouts and offers of custom. Corbett, regretting his decision to walk, pushed his way through the crowd into the coolness of the 'Hooded Kestrel' tavern.

It was a dirty, low-timbered room with a scattering of tables, up-turned barrels and a row of huge vats and kegs. Corbett ordered ale and a bowl of fish soup, he always found eating by himself an aid to logical analysis. He was troubled by what he had learnt: despite his victories in Scodand, the King was highly anxious, casting about like an imprisoned dog, lashing out at shadows, grasping the air and thinking it was substance. Corbett understood such anxiety but knew the traitor would only be caught through careful questioning, analysis and the application of logic. Corbett sipped thoughtfully from his tankard as he itemised what he knew about the traitor:

Item: The person was close to Edward:

Item: He had a swift, ingenious way of communication with the French which deflected all the efforts of Edward's searchers and spies:

Item: The person seemed to be a member of the Earl of Richmond's household, the same baron who had so disastrously attempted to defend Gascony just a few months ago, when, so the King implied, the trickle of vital information to the French began:

Item: It was only logical that Corbett start questioning members of Richmond's household who also had something to do with the council.

Corbett smiled to himself. He felt better and, deciding on what he should do next, left the tavern and walked back to his lodgings in Thames Street. Ranulf was surprised to see his master smile for the first time in weeks and so took advantage of the situation to ask permission to go on an errand. Corbett, smiling absent-mindedly, nodded and Ranulf was off before the clerk could change his mind, the 'errand' was the attempted seduction of some lady and there was always the chance that Corbett might suspect something amiss. Ranulf clattered down the stairs, behind him the plaintive sound of the flute his master always insisted on playing when trying to solve some intricate problem.

The following day Corbett was back at Westminster Palace. He would have liked to have interviewed the Earl of Richmond but 'My Lord,' so a haughty squire informed him, 'was gone on secret business of the King's.' Corbett walked off in search of Tuberville but the knight was absent on duties in the city so Corbett was left to kick his heels around the palace. He walked over to the abbey church, enjoying the warm sunshine as he watched the masons scampering like ants along the scaffolding against the north side of the abbey. Corbett was always fascinated by these magicians in stone and spent some time admiring the trellissed carved masonry, the huge grinning gargoyles depicting men, dogs, griffons and an array of grotesque faces. The abbey bells rang for prayer and Corbett wandered back to the Great Hall.

The place was thronged with lawyers, officials, petitioners and plaintiffs. There were sheriffs in from the counties to present their accounts for the Easter audit: royal stewards from the Duchy of Cornwall, their finery ruined by mud and dirt, they looked tired and harassed as they asked for directions in a strange, nasal accent. Corbett looked around, noted how many rings were left on one of the day candles and, leaving the Hall, made his way along empty stonewashed corridors to the council room.

He found Tuberville in his chamber. A man of about thirty to thirty-five summers. Tuberville seemed the typical fighting man with his close-cropped blond hair and lean, narrow features. He would have looked a predator, a professional killer if it had not been for his full mouth and anxious guarded eyes. He was dressed in chain-mail covered by a long, white surcoat bearing the royal arms of England gathered by a stout leather belt which carried a sword and dagger sheath. When Corbett arrived, he was lounging by a window, the shutters flung open for the place was a small and dusty guardroom, a table and two benches alongside the wall being its only furnishings, the floor was bare stone and the walls were covered in flaking plaster.

Tuberville turned as Corbett came in and bluntly answered his query; 'Sir Thomas Tuberville?'

'The same.'

'My name is Hugh Corbett, chief clerk to the Chancery. I am on the King's special business.'

'What special business?'

'Investigating the recent dйbвcle in Gascony.' Corbett watched the knight's eyes narrow in anger.

'Do you have a warrant, licence to do this?' he asked.

'No,' Corbett replied. 'Why, do you want one? I can, we can, go to the King and see him.'

Tuberville smiled, his face becoming almost boyish.

'Here,' he waved Corbett to one of the stools and crossed to a rather battered up-turned barrel bearing a tray of pewter cups and a flagon. He filled two with wine and crossed to rejoin Corbett. 'Look,' he said. 'I am sorry П was abrupt.'

Corbett took the wine. 'It was nothing,' he replied, 'Perhaps a sign of the times?' Tuberville shrugged, sat and sipped from the cup.

'Your questions, Master Corbett?'

'You were with the Earl of Brittany in last year's expedition to Gascony?'

'Yes,' Tuberville replied, 'We sailed, a fleet of ships from Southampton and landed at Bordeaux. Richmond assembled the column of march and we advanced inland to occupy the castle and town of La Reole. You may remember,' Tuberville continued bitterly, 'the damned French had already occupied a number of border fortresses and their troops were moving inland. Richmond just sat and waited: he did not try to draw the French into battle but stayed in the town.' Tuberville shrugged. 'It was inevitable. The French found the countryside deserted and their troops poured across the duchy.' Tuberville paused, staring into the cup. 'Richmond did not move, but froze like a frightened rabbit. The French encircled the town with ditches and traps to block the roads. War machines were brought up, I remember one huge bastard the French nicknamed "Le Loup du Guerre", "The Warwolf". These pounded the town with fire balls and huge rocks. We could not break out, the King was unable to send any relief so Richmond decided to surrender.'

'Was there no attempt at a sortie?' Corbett asked.

Tuberville pursed his lips. 'Yes,' he smiled 'I disobeyed orders. During the negotiations between Richmond and the French, I led a sortie, a phalanx of about sixty men-at-arms and mounted archers.'

'What happened?'

'We were driven back, the French were furious and so was Richmond. The Earl threatened me with a traitor's death for violating negotiations. I pointed out that the negotiations themselves were traitorous so Richmond ordered me to be put under arrest.' Tuberville got up and refilled his cup. Corbett watching him closely.

'What happened during the surrender?' he asked.

Tuberville stared at the wine he was swilling round his cup.

'The French, God damn them, insisted that we leave La Reole, and we did, our banners and pennants trailing in the mud, the French lined the roads and let us go with the mockery of horn, pipe and drumbeat.'

Corbett shifted in his seat. 'But you came back to a great honour, captain of the King's guard and responsible for protecting the King and his council?'

'Ah!' Tuberville smiled. 'When we returned to England, Edward read the results of the campaign and, ignoring Richmond's protests, gave me this post.'

Tuberville turned and looked through the narrow arrow-slit window. 'I must be going, I have to check the guard and ensure no threat exists to our sovereign lord.' Corbett caught the gentle sarcasm of the remark and smiled back. He liked the man, the typical professional soldier, hard, sardonic but strangely vulnerable.