Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

Item: There was a traitor on Edward's council who gave secrets to the French and communicated with the King's enemies in Wales.

Item: Waterton, the clerk, was half-French, his father had been a supporter of Earl Simon de Montfort, an inveterate opponent of Edward. Despite de Montfort's cruel death some thirty years ago, his memory was still revered in many quarters, especially in London.

Item: Waterton seemed wealthy, he acted suspiciously in Paris, being favoured by Philip as well as secretly meeting the French King's spy-master, Amaury de Craon.

Item: Waterton had been recommended to the King by the Earl of Richmond, his former patron and employer. Richmond had disastrously lost the war in Gascony, he, too, was half-French and a member of the council.

Corbett reviewed the list and sighed. It was all very well, he thought, but important questions remained unanswered:

Item: Who was the traitor? Was it more than one person?

Item: How did the traitor communicate his informaton to the French?

Corbet studied his scrap of parchment while the candles burnt low. At last he threw it to one side, logic could not help when there was insufficient information, he snuffed the candles and lay down on his trestle bed. There was something else but it eluded him until, almost on the verge of sleep, Corbett suddenly remembered that the file of letters he had seen earlier in the day were written in a familiar hand: Corbett recalled his meeting with Waterton in the writing chamber in Paris and realised Waterton was the clerk responsible for transcribing the letters to the hostages.

The following day, Corbett sent a surly Ranulf to make enquiries around Westminster. It was almost dark when his servant returned, his temper greatly improved. 'The Earl of Richmond,' he boldly announced, 'was in the Midlands, he had been a member of a diplomatic mission to meet certain Scottish envoys for secret negotiations and would be back in Westminster by tomorrow evening.' Corbett, satisfied, spent the next two days on his own affairs: he needed certain clothes: an indenture was drawn up with the goldsmith who banked his monies and he took Ranulf to a bear-baiting in Southwark but left, sickened at the sight, and moved on to watch a miracle play, 'The Creation', staged on a huge raised platform, fashioned out of long planks thrown across a dozen carts.

Corbett felt bored by the story but admired the strange devices; the massive inflated pigskins filled with water for the great deluge, the ark moving across the stage, the flaps of metal waved to create thunder and the voice of God. Corbett stood and marvelled though he kept one hand on his purse and half an eye on the pickpockets and cutpurses who gathered like locusts on occasions such as these. The crowd was packed, students, clerks in russet gowns, the beaver hats of the merchants, the gauze veils of the ladies, the ermine-trimmed cloaks of the courtiers and gallants.

Corbett moved along, not too concerned that Ranulf had disappeared, he bought a hot pie from a baker and walked slowly through the crowd, enjoying its warmth and colour while the meaty spicy juices filled his mouth. He visited a few shops, stopped to hear a pedlar sell his wares which, to the surprise of his incredulous audience, contained the asp which bit Cleopatra of Egypt, Moses' foreskin, a strand of Samson's hair and a glossy rack which bore the image of the Archangel. Corbett always revelled in such foolery, the direct opposite of his own cold and logical life.

Darkness had fallen by the time he reached his lodgings and slowly made his way upstairs. He paused at the door, astonished by the cries and shrieks from within. He gently pushed the door ajar, stared in through the crack and saw Ranulf, naked as the day he was born,, cavorting with a young girl whose red hair covered her like a veil as she twisted and turned, her white body wrapped around Ranulf, her face filled with pleasure which closed her eyes and formed her mouth into an 'O' of constant pleasure.

Corbett withdrew, angry at himself as well as Ranulf. He quietly tiptoed downstairs and went out into the street and the warmth of a nearby tavern. He chose a table near the great pine log fire and tried to dismiss what he had just seen. He felt guilty, angry and strangely envious; he was frightened of women, he had loved two and both had gone. One taken by the fever, the other, the lovely Alice, a traitor to the King. He dug his face deeper into the tankard, hoping no one else would see the tears which scalded his eyes. God knew he missed both and mourned the gap they had left. Corbett, he thought, the cold, calculating clerk, like some device from a stage, efficient, capable but lacking in warmth.

He eventually returned to his lodgings slightly drunk on ale and self-pity. He looked suspiciously at Ranulf but was too embarrassed to mention what he had seen, instead he instructed his sleepy-eyed servant to take a message to the Earl of Richmond at Westminster, to await the Earl's pleasure and bring back any reply.

The following evening Corbett, at work in his small office at Westminster Palace, was disturbed by his servant who brought a verbal reply from Richmond. The Earl,' Ranulf announced with malicious glee, 'was usually too busy to talk to clerks, but on this occasion he would make an exception. He would meet Corbett in the Great Hall of Wesminster just before the courts broke up. He stipulated an exact time and asked Corbett not to be late "as pressing affairs of the state" still awaited him.' Corbett immediately dismissed the still, smirking Ranulf, tidied his desk and wearily made his way along to the Great Hall. Beneath the great oaken ceiling, its timbers draped with the blue-gold standards of England, the different courts of Exchequer, King's Bench and Common Pleas, were still busy: Serjeants, plaintiffs, ermine-caped lawyers, soldiers, peasants and merchants thronged in the questionable pursuit of justice. Along the tapestry-draped walls were small alcoves for lawyers and clerks to meet and Corbett went straight to the one chosen by Richmond.

He was disconcerted to find the Earl waiting for him pacing up and down, his gorgeous fur-trimmed robe wrapped about him, fastened at the neck by a cluster of pearls, set in a golden brooch. Corbett had never liked Richmond with his blond hair, watery blue eyes, red-tipped nose and mouth turned down like a landed fish. In France, he had avoided him for the Earl seemed an arrogant, waspish man full of his own honour and neglectful of everybody else's. The interview did not improve matters: Richmond described his Gascon campaign as the result of a series of unfortunate incidents. 'There was nothing I could do,' he snapped peevishly. 'The French were all over Gascony. If I had marched out to meet them I would be defeated so I stayed in La Reole, hoping his Grace would send the necessary help. He did not. So I surrendered.'

'There was no chance of withstanding a prolonged siege?'

'None whatsoever.'

'Why?'

'I had a town full of citizens, men, women and children. I could scarcely feed my own men, never mind them.'

'You objected to Tuberville's sortie?'

'Of course, the man was a fool, he was captured by the French and was lucky not to be executed by them.'

'Why should they?'

'Because he attacked them during a sworn truce. He broke the rules of war.'

'Is that why the French demanded both his sons?'

'Exactly,' Richmond stopped pacing and studied Corbett. 'Why do you ask that?'

'Oh,' Corbett replied, 'Nothing really, just that they took Tuberville's sons but only your daughter. Why?'

'None of your business.'

'Do you miss your daughter?'

'Don't be impudent, Corbett!' Richmond snarled, 'His Grace the King will know of your insubordination.'

'Then I apologise,' Corbett coolly replied, 'But one last question. Waterton, the royal clerk, he was in your household?'