Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

Corbett remembered the letters he had brought and was pleased to hear they had received them. He chatted for a while, giving them news of England and the royal court, trying to do his best to allay their anxieties and reassure them that their homesickness would soon be at an end. He met Tuberville's sons, two sturdy boys of eleven and thirteen who resembled their father as closely as peas out of a pod. Corbett found their youthful enthusiasm and constant questions about their father and home as a welcome relief to the gloom and despondency of the other hostages. They spoke of the letters they had received and the eldest, Jocelyn, openly confessed that sometimes he did not know what his father was writing about. Corbett laughed, promising to tell their father to write in a more clear and lucid fashion.

He was about to leave when he caught a glimpse of blond hair. He turned to gaze closer and his jaw fell open in surprise as he recognised the young woman he had last seen with de Craon and Waterton in that dingy Paris tavern so many weeks before.

'Who is that lady?' Corbett asked one of Tuberville's sons.

'Oh,' the boy replied scornfully, 'The Lady Eleanor, the Earl of Richmond's daughter. She keeps to herself and pines away in corners. She hardly ever talks to anyone.'

'Well,' Corbett murmured almost to himself, 'She is one person who is going to talk to me.'

He walked round one of the raised flower beds and approached the young woman, tapping her on the shoulder. She spun round, her blond hair swinging like a veil round her face. She was thin, pale, but her light blue eyes and perfectly formed features made her beautiful.

'What is it, Monsieur?' she asked.

'My lady,' Corbett replied. 'May I present my compliments. I am Hugh Corbett, senior clerk in the chancery of Edward of England. I am here on diplomatic business and also to present the compliments of your father as well as your secret admirer, Ralph Waterton.'

Of course it was all a iie but Corbett knew he had struck the truth, she blushed whilst her reply ended in an almost meaningless stammer.

'Ralph Waterton,' Corbett continued, 'is your secret admirer, is he not, my lady?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

'And you were sent by your father as hostage to France? To keep you out of Waterton's way?'

The young woman nodded.

'It was to keep you both apart,' Corbett continued relendessly, 'that your father had Waterton transferred to the royal service. It was both a ruse and a bribe was it not?'

'Yes,' Lady Eleanor whispered, her eyes downcast, 'we love each other deeply. My father was furious that I even looked at such a man.

'First, he threatened Ralph and then attempted to bribe him by recommending him to the King.'

'Did this work?'

The Lady Eleanor played nervously with the rings on her long white fingers.

'No,' she answered hoarsely, 'we continued to meet each other. My father threatened Ralph, who in turn replied that he would appeal direct to the King.'

'So,' Corbett interrupted brusquely, 'when your father had to send a hostage to France, he chose you? I also gather,' he continued, 'that Monsieur de Craon found out about your affair, or should I say liaison, and when Waterton came to Paris, he arranged secret meetings between you did he not?'

'Yes. Yes,' Lady Eleanor replied. 'Monsieur de Craon was most kind.'

'What price did de Craon ask?'

The young woman looked up in alarm and Crobett saw fear in her eyes and the slight tremble of her shoulders.

'There was no price,' she snapped back, 'Ralph is a loyal servant of the King. Monsieur de Craon did not even ask.'

'Then why did Monsieur de Craon extend such kindness to both of you?'

'I do not know,' Lady Eleanor replied, hiding her nervousness behind an assumed air of haughtiness, 'If you wish to know, why not ask him.'

And, without further ado, the lady spun on her heel and walked quickly away.

Corbett watched her go. His questions had sprung from a wild guess but the surmise had proved correct. Another missing piece was placed in the puzzle. Ends were matched. Slowly but surely the picture was emerging. De Craon had used both Waterton and the Lady Eleanor, but for what purpose? And if he was so concerned about the young lovers why had he not informed Lady Eleanor about Waterton's imprisonment? De Craon must surely know about that. The only reason could be that de Craon did not want to alarm the Lady Eleanor and Corbett was now fully aware of the logic behind that. Corbett sighed and walked slowly back into the palace buildings. He must be careful; if Lady Eleanor informed de Craon about what Corbett knew, envoy or not, Corbett would be far too dangerous to be allowed a safe passage back to England.

Three days later Corbett was summoned to a meeting of Philip IV's council, held in the great hall of the palace; every care and attention had been taken to transform the place into a majestic and regal setting. Huge cloths of gold had been draped over rafter beams, pure white velvet arras hung from the walls depicting the insignia of Philip's famous and sainted ancestor Louis IX.

On the dais a row of chairs had been placed, each draped in a silver cloth except for the large central throne covered in purple velvet fringed with gold. Before this was a low stool and Corbett had no illusions about who was to sit there. The hall filled with various officials, men in the different striped robes of Philip's household, black and white, red and gold, green and black: household knights in silver-plated Milanese armour took up position around the hall, their drawn swords placed point down between their mailed feet, hands resting on the jewelled cross-hilts. Heralds in the gallery above the dais flourished their trumpets and a shrill, braying blast silenced the clamour of the hall. A side door opened, two thurifers, dressed in white robes with gold girdles round their waists, entered, their slowly swaying censers sending puffs of fragrant incense up into the hall. They took up positions at either end of the dais as the heralds followed, each bearing huge banners. Corbett only had eyes for the one carrying the Oriflamme, the sacred pennant of the Capetian kings usually kept behind the high altar in the royal chapel of St. Denis.

The heralds were followed by members of Philip's family, sons, brothers and cousins, all resplendent in purple and gold. There was a pause, silence and then the trumpets brayed another long thrilling blast and Philip entered, brilliant in cloth of gold, his gown fringed with the costliest lambswool. A pair of golden spurs clanked on his black leather riding-boots which peered incongruously from beneath • the long court gown. Corbett smiled to himself. Philip IV was a master of protocol and court ceremony but, even here, he could not hide his great love of hunting. Corbett suspected that the King had recently returned from one of his hunting lodges in either the Bois de Boulogne or the forests of Vincennes.

Philip sat on the throne, his family and entourage also took their seats. De Craon appeared as if from nowhere and beckoned Corbett and his party forward to the stools, Ranulf and Hervey sat down, overawed and open-mouthed at the gorgeous panoply of splendid power around them. Corbett slowly took his seat, carefully arranging his robe, taking time with all his movements before schooling his features to become the experienced diplomat prepared to receive messages on behalf of his royal master.

He stared at Philip but the French king's face was impassive as carved alabaster, though Corbett was quietly pleased to see a flicker of annoyance cross de Craon's face. Clerks scurried about, documents were unrolled and once more Corbett had to listen to the Process of Gascony, a long list of French grievances over the duchy. He had heard it before and sat half-listening as the clerk droned on, only becoming attentive when the clerk paused to intone a new passage, 'Autem nunc Regi Franciae placet', 'However it now pleases the King of France'.