Paul Doherty - Spy in Chancery

Corbett just smiled, though his heart danced with joy. Still kneeling, he took the King's hand and kissed the ring.

'Do I have your permission, your Grace?'

'Of course,' the King said. 'Provided you are back in London for Tuberville's trial.'

It was a cold October morning, the palace yard at Westminster was packed to overflowing, the crowd pressing in around the great scaffold, as if they were all trying to draw warmth from the huge, black, iron brazier which burned there. Corbett was present, Ranulf beside him. All of London, the great lords and ladies in their silks and costly raiment. Corbett had come at the King's command. He did not like executions but felt he would have to see this matter through to the bitter end.

Tuberville had been tried before a special commission of gaol delivery. He had confessed to all his crimes and sentence had been pronounced by the Chief Justice, Roger de Brabazon, the principal judge of King's Bench. Edward, however, kept his word, the sentence being commuted to one of simple hanging. There were to be none of the terrible severities of disembowelling, burning, beheading and quartering suffered recently by Prince David of Wales.

After sentence Tuberville had been taken to the Tower and, early on this dark October morning, he had been brought back from the Tower to Westminster mounted on a poor hack, his feet bound under the horse's belly, his hands tied in front of him. Around him had ridden six tormentors dressed like devils. One of them held the hack's rein, another the halter in which Tuberville would hang whilst the rest baited and goaded their prisoner. Tuberville, dressed in full knightly regalia, had first been taken in to Westminster Hall to receive judgement and now, before sentence was carried out, he was to be degraded.

A scaffold had been erected just outside the main door of Westminster Hall, a raised stand where the judges sat and alongside them a rough post on which Tuberville's shield hung upside down, now smeared with black pitch and animal dung.

There was a blast from the trumpets. The doors opened and the heralds brought Tuberville out dressed in complete armour and wearing all the decorations of his knightly orders. Priests took up position on either side of the scaffold and began to intone the Vigil for the dead. As each psalm ended, the heralds stripped one piece of the prisoner's armour, beginning with his helmet, finally, the man was naked except for a loincloth. Tuberville's reversed shield was then taken down and broken into three pieces and a bowl of dirty water mixed with animal piss was emptied over Tuberville's head.

Once the ceremony was over, a loud sigh escaped from the throats of the crowd, rocks were hurled, abuse called, while the executioners took over. Tuberville was hustled to the gound and tied to a hurdle made out of ox hide. This was fastened to six horses who would drag it all the way from Westminster to the conduit in Cheapside and then back to the gallows, the Elms at Smithfield. Corbett was pleased that the King had not passed an act of attainder against Tuberville's family, consequently the traitor knight's sons would still be allowed to inherit their property and not suffer for the sins of their father. He was even more glad now as he watched Tuberville accept with quiet dignity all the insults and humiliations now heaped upon him. Tuberville was fastened onto the ox hide, his body already bruised and cut by the rocks thrown at him and Corbett closed his eyes as the hangman brought down his hand on the rump of one of the horses and the macabre procession, preceded by the tormentors, made its way down to the execution ground, the crowd surging after, shouting and laughing.

Corbett knew how it would end. He looked up at the darkening sky, the clouds scudding in over the Thames. Tuberville would be taken to the scaffold and there hanged until dead. His body would then be encased in chains and put in some public place as a warning to all who committed treason against the King. Corbett did not have enough malice inside him to watch the poor man's death agonies. Instead, he turned away and took joy in the thought that Maeve would soon be in London. Her uncle, the Lord Morgan, had to make his peace personally with the King. He had written to Edward saying that he would be in England by the Feast of All Saints, the beginning of November, Maeve would be with him. Corbett quietly said a 'Miserere' for Tuberville's soul which would soon be speeding its way to God. He also said a prayer for himself that perhaps Maeve might thaw the winter in his own heart.

Perhaps the English can be excused if they believe that having double agents high in their government is only a phenomenon of the twentieth-century. Scandals regarding Philby, Burgess and Maclean, however, have their echoes in the treason of Thomas Tuberville, who was successfully managed by the French and was able to send information to them about the secret plans of the English king. We do know that Tuberville sent letters to the French – one is actually still extant in the Record Office in Chancery Lane, London. We also know that he was in treasonable correspondence with the Welsh rebel, Lord Morgan and aided Philip in building up his great alliance against Edward who was forced to accept the French King's terms.

The details of Tuberville's capture are shrouded in mystery but it was only achieved after a great deal of careful plotting and intrigue. He was captured and his treason exposed but not before he had caused terrible damage to the King's cause in Europe. However, unlike modern spies, Tuberville, rightly or wrongly, paid for his treason with his life.