Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

Corbett thanked the old nun and slipped quietly out of the chamber in search of the Prioress. Lady Amelia had regained some of her composure. He found her sitting behind her great oak desk, chatting to the two Sub-prioresses, a roll of accounts before them. She gestured to Corbett to sit

'Master Clerk,' she began, 'I apologise for my outburst but despite what has happened, this is a convent.' She took a deep breath. 'You have more questions?'

'Yes. Did any of the sisters see anything untoward the day Lady Eleanor died?'

'No.'

'You are sure?'

'In an enclosed community, Master Corbett, people chatter – to themselves, to their sister, to me, or even to you or your ubiquitous servant, Master Ranulf.'

'Then tell me, Lady Prioress, at Sunday Compline who was in church?'

'I have told you that – everyone.'

'No, I mean beforehand.'

'The Lady Prioress was in church with me,' Dame Catherine blurted out.

'Whilst I was in the sacristy with Dame Agatha,' Dame Frances added quickly.

'You are sure of that? You were all there before Compline?'

'Ask anyone you like,' Lady Amelia broke in. 'Other sisters saw us there.'

Corbett bit back his disappointment.

'And what happened to Lady Eleanor's possessions?'

'The day after her death,' Lady Amelia repeated, 'the Prince sent down one of his henchmen with strict orders. Lady Eleanor's jewellery and other precious trinkets were to be handed over. The rest…' She shrugged. I thought it rather spiteful but the Prince ordered me to bum them. I did so immediately. Are there any more questions, Master Clerk?'

'Yes.' He smiled bleakly at the Sub-prioress. 'Lady Amelia, you admitted that you found Lady Eleanor's corpse in her room and, together with these sweet sisters, moved it to the foot of the stairs to make her death appear an accident. Yes?'

I have said as much.' Lady Amelia glared back. 'Did you find any trace of a struggle in Lady Eleanor's chamber?' 'No.'

'The door was open?' 'Yes.'

'But nothing was untoward?'

'No, I've told you. I thought at first that Lady Eleanor had fainted. Are there further questions?' Corbett shook his head. 'Then, Sir, I bid you adieu.'

After he left the sisters, Corbett went out to the stable yard where Ranulf and Maltote were waiting with the two retainers from the porter's lodge. The latter looked angry at being dragged from their life of leisure but both were well- armed, having donned helmet and hauberk, with swords and daggers pushed into their belts. Maltote, too, looked surprised at his new duties.

'Master, is this necessary?'

'You are the King's man, aren't you?'

Maltote nodded mournfully. Corbett pointed to the arbalest which swung from his saddle horn.

'You can use that?'

Maltote just stared back. Corbett, intrigued, walked closer.

'You can, can't you? You are a royal serjeant-at-arms.'

He pointed across the stable yard at an old, disused door propped against a wall. A few straggly chickens pecked the din around it

'Aim low, loose and hit the door,' Corbett ordered. 'Hit it dead centre.'

'Master!' Maltote pleaded.

Corbett placed a hand on the messenger's stirrup.

'You know the rules, man. You are under my orders now. The King sent you to me. Do as I say!'

Maltote, watched by all, loaded the arbalest and aimed at the door. Corbett wasn't too sure what happened next. He heard the bolt whirr as it was loosed but, instead of hitting the door, Maltote sent it crashing into an unfortunate chicken, which collapsed, squawking, in a pool of blood and feathers. The two retainers sniggered. Ranulf gaped, open- mouthed.

'Good God, man!' Corbett whispered. 'You are the worst archer I have ever seen. Was that deliberate?'

Maltote, looking even more ridiculous under his conical helmet, shook his head mournfully.

'Now you know, Master Corbett, why I am just a messenger. Where weapons are concerned, I am as much danger to friend as to foe.' He smiled broadly. 'But the King says I am the best horseman in his army. I can ride any nag and get the best out of it'

Corbett nodded and, taking his heavy sword belt from Ranulf, clasped it round his waist.

'I'll remember that, Maltote.'

'And so,' Ranulf added drily, 'will the chickens!'

After giving his small escort strict instructions, Corbett, accompanied by Ranulf and Maltote, left by the Galilee Gate and thundered along the track, through the silent village and up the road to Woodstock. He hadn't decided what exacdy to do. He wanted to confront Gaveston, and was determined to question the Prince on why he knew about Lady Eleanor's death long before any messenger arrived from Godstowe.

The guards at the palace's main gate swiftly let them through but, as they debouched out of the tree-lined path front of the palace, a gruesome sight awaited them. A huge, makeshift scaffold had been erected in front of the palace, a long, thick ashen pole fixed into two uprights at either end. Corbett stopped, calming his horse which grew skittish at the sight. From the pole hung four corpses; three of the great, black mastiffs and, in between them, his neck broken and twisted, eyes protruding, the body of Gyrth, their keeper.

Corbett dismounted slowly, ordering Ranulf to look after the horses as he went to meet the chamberlain, who had come out to greet him. The fellow treated Corbett as if he were a Prince of the Blood and took him swiftly into the had, which an army of servants were now cleaning after the previous night's banquet. Corbett was led down a maze of corridors and into a chamber where the Prince of Wales and Gaveston, both white-faced and sober, stood waiting to receive him. Before Corbett could open his mouth, Prince Edward came forward and took him firmly by the hand.

'Master Corbett – Hugh,' he said, his eyes pleading with the clerk, 'the dogs… it was a mistake. My profuse apologies. The beasts and their handler have been hanged.' The Prince swallowed nervously and looked away. 'It was a mistake, an accident, wasn't it, Piers?'

'Yes, it was,' Gaveston replied. 'A terrible accident.'

Corbett glanced at the favourite, noting how pale his face had become. An accident? the clerk thought. Perhaps some drunken jape which got out of hand, or perhaps a calculated act of attempted murder.

'We found out this morning,' the Prince continued hurriedly. 'The Lady Prioress sent messages. Both the keeper and his hounds were instantly hanged. The fellow was drunk and released the dogs as you left the palace. They picked up your scent…' His voice trailed off.

The Prince of Wales' concern was genuine. Was it remorse? Corbett wondered. Or even complete ignorance on the Prince's behalf? Had Gaveston acted on his own? Corbett understood their fear. He had no illusions about the King. If Corbett was killed in the royal service, the King would accept it. But a deliberate attack on one of his messengers? Edward would have hurried troops south and burnt Woodstock to the ground. Corbett was going to ask about his lost glove but decided not to. Gaveston would have a ready explanation.

'Your Grace, I must see you alone.' Corbett ignored the look of annoyance on the favourite's face. 'Your Grace,' he persisted, 'you owe me that. I must talk to you. It is on your father's orders,' he lied.

The Prince looked across at Gaveston. I agree,' he replied. He grinned sheepishly at Corbett. I have to change. The French envoy. Monsieur de Craon, has returned.'

'You do not like the French envoy, Master Corbett?' Gaveston sardonically observed.

'Monsieur de Craon does his job and I do mine,' Corbett replied drily. 'But, Your Grace, I insist you must not trust him. Monsieur de Craon could catch spiders in the webs he weaves.'

The Prince nodded briskly and looked round.