Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

Corbett stared at Gareth and smiled realising Ranulf was right, this man only acted the fool. Gareth confirmed his suspicions: the French were visiting Neath, their ships finding it easy to slip into the deserted coves along the desolate coasdine of South Wales. This explained the beacons, Morgan's secretiveness as well as his wine cellar, though Corbett suspected die French brought arms and stores as well as tuns of red Bordeaux. Philip was intent on raising a rebellion in Wales and Morgan was his chief ally but was there a link with Philip's spy on Edward's council?

Corbett emptied his purse and showed Gareth a clutch of coins.

'They are yours,' he said, 'if you can tell me why Talbot died?'

Gareth wiped saliva from his slack lips and stared at Corbett, the vacuous expression in his eyes, replaced by a wary cunning. 'Master Talbot,' he drooled, 'was an inquisitive man who also paid,' he stretched out a be-grimed claw-like hand and Corbett dropped a few coins into it before drawing back.

'Gareth,' he added warningly. 'You are trying my patience.'

Gareth smiled. 'Master Talbot had a quarrel with the Lord Morgan.'

'What was said?'

'Nothing, except the Lord Morgan accused him of prying where he should not.'

'Anything else?'

'No, except I heard Talbot, Master Talbot, that is, mention something about saddling. I suppose he intended leaving, there was something else.'

'Yes. What?'

'A man called Waterdoun.'

'You mean Waterton?'

'Yes, I think so for I heard both Lord Morgan and Master Talbot use that name.'

Is there more?'

Gareth turned, looking slyly out of the corner of his eyes.

'Oh, no,' he replied. 'That's all Gareth knows. Truly, so why not pay Gareth his money.8

Corbett handed the rest of the money over and rose to go. He heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the parapet walk and hastily distanced himself from Gareth but Owen came tripping up the stairs and stood, legs apart, blocking Corbett's path. Dressed in black, Owen looked like some sleek, well-groomed crow, his glittering eyes stared at Corbett and then beyond to where Gareth say huddled in terror.

'So,' the Welshman said in his half-sung tones, 'the Englishmen have been talking and now Master Corbett has to be away. Ah well,' he stood to one side and mockingly bowed with an ornate flourish of hands for Corbett to continue down the steps. The clerk turned and looked pityingly at Gareth crouched like a frightened rabbit, there was little he could do and he had to prepare himself. Clutching the dagger beneath his cloak, Corbett glared at Owen and passed him by and, throat dry, his heart thudding with fear, he walked slowly down the steps, half expecting Owen to challenge him, listening intently for the hiss of steel as sword or dagger were pulled from their sheath.

Nothing. Corbett reached the bottom and continued his journey across the castle yard and up the steps into the keep. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against the cold, grey stones as he tried to control the terror which had drenched him in sweat and threatened to turn his bowels and legs to water. He breathed deeply, gulping the air until his heart ceased its beating and the warmth seeped back through his body.

Corbett wanted to stay hidden in the dark gloom but he knew he had to prepare himself, he sighed and made his way slowly up to his chamber, leaving the door ajar while he hurriedly packed saddle-bags, ensuring the purses, warrants and secret memoranda were carefully filed away. He searched the bottom of the largest trunk until he found what he was looking for and lifted it out, his ears straining for any sound on the steps behind him. He heard the soft scuff of a boot and turned praying it would not be Ranulf. He adjusted the saddle blanket on his arm, watching as the door pushed open and Owen slid like the figure of death into the room. He carried a sword and Corbett saw the blood splashes on its edge and tip.

'You look as if you expected me, Englishman?'

'I waited for you, Owen,' Corbett looked down at the sword, 'and how is Gareth?'

'Oh,' Owen smiled brilliantly. 'Gareth is dead. I always thought he only acted the fool. I told the Lord Morgan that many a time but, as you have found out, he has a soft heart, like Maeve his niece!'

'Like Maeve his niece,' Corbett repeated, mocking the words, glad to see the slight flush of anger in Owen's face. 'And you, Master Welshman,' he continued, 'Why are you here, Owen?'

To kill you, Englishman!'

'Why?'

'Firstly, you are English. Secondly, you are a retainer of the English King, and thirdly you are a spy and, finally, because I want to.'

'Why, because Maeve loves me?' Corbett taunted.

Owen anrily threw his head back snorting with laughter and Corbett waited no longer. He let the blanket drop, jerked the clasp of the small, steel-meshed crossbow and the jagged bolt was speeding for Owen's chest even as he lowered his head, catching him just beneath the heart and flinging him back against the half-open door. Owen groaned and looked in surprise at Corbett as he crumpled to the floor. A great dark stain circled the bolt embedded firmly in his chest and a light red froth seeped between his half-open lips.

'Why?' he whispered, 'like this?'

'Like all killers,' Corbett replied, 'you talk too much.'

But Owen could no longer hear, he groaned, coughed blood, his head sagging forward as he quietly died. Corbett crossed and felt Owen's neck, guilty at the warmth he still felt there but relieved there was no beat of the heart. He jerked up, clutching for his dagger as the door was pushed open shoving Owen's corpse onto its face. Maeve stood there, her face as white as snow, mouth open, her bosom heaving to suppress the scream.

'Hugh!' she exclaimed. 'I saw Owen walk across the bailey with his sword drawn, I knew he was coming, I expected…'

'To find Owen alive and me dead? Corbett interrupted.

Maeve nodded, her face still white with terror. She looked down at Owen.

He is dead?'

Corbett nodded. 'He killed Gareth and came over to murder me.'

Why?'

'Why not?' Corbett snapped back and slumped wearily on the bed. 'Maeve,' he added slowly, 'you know why I was sent here. I know your uncle is conspiring against the King. He must stop. Philip of France is only using him. Owen knew I was a spy and he hated me for that as well as for loving you.'

'And do you?' Maeve picked her way over Owen's body and came to stand next to Corbett. 'Oh, Englishman,' she said, 'I stand in my own castle with the corpse of a man who would have championed me against the world, yet I neglect him because of an Englishman, a spy who says he loves me. And do you? Do you really?'

Corbett grasped her white clenched hands in his and drew her to him to kiss her. 'With all my heart,' he muttered fiercely. 'So, leave with me, Maeve. Now, come!' She kissed him gently on the forehead and stroked his cheek, tracing with one finger the furrows around his mouth.

'I cannot,' she whispered, 'but,' she drew herself together briskly, 'you must. Now! No!' She stopped any protest by placing her fingers gently against his mouth. 'You must go, my uncle will kill you for Owen's death. You must not take your horses but leave by sea. I will show you.' She stared round the chamber. 'Get Ranulf!' she ordered. 'Now!'

Corbett rose and was about to speak but saw her determined look and meekly complied.

He found Ranulf ensconced in one of the outhouses, hiding like the rest of the garrison from the fierce afternoon sun. He was wearily attempting to seduce a girl who persisted in talking in Welsh and so refused to accept or acknowledge any of his compliments. Corbett dragged him outside and whispered what had happened and, stifling the young man's exclamation of horror with a vicious rap on the ankles, returned to their chamber in the keep. Corbett was now concerned that the garrison would soon rouse itself from its slumbers, questions would be asked and he had no illusions about what would happen if they were in Neath when Owen's corpse was discovered. Maeve was still in the room.