Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

'Be my guest, Master Corbett. In an hour I will meet you in the scriptorium.'

Corbett bowed, withdrew, and spent the rest of the time kicking his heels in an antechamber before a servant imperiously summoned him up the great staircase and ushered him into a brilliantly decorated room. The floor was of polished wood and the new wainscoting bore elaborate designs: vines, strange flowers, and exotic creatures such as dragons and wyverns. Around the painted blue walls were shelves and small cupboards full of different books, all bound in calf-skin of different colours, red, blue and tawny brown, their clasps of wrought gold and silver. Corbett noticed how each of these precious manuscripts was fastened to the wall by silver chains. He knew the Prince was a connoisseur of luxury, deeply influenced by the new designs from the prosperous Italian states. It was the only chamber Corbett had ever seen where there were no torches fixed to the wall. Instead heavy bronze candelabra stood on polished oak sideboards and dressers round the room. Nor were there any rushes on the floor with their usual fleas and dirt but thick wooden carpets of the purest white.

At the far end of the room on a small dais stood a polished round table with high-backed, ornately carved chairs. The Prince was sitting quietly there, his hands clasped, staring down at the table, so silent he could have been taken for some studious monk; his robes, however, were splendid, his fingers covered in precious rings, and his hair and golden beard carefully combed and oiled. He looked up and gestured Corbett forward. As he approached, the clerk noticed that the Prince's doublet was of pure white satin with gold buttons. On his legs were hose striped with red and gold, while his feet were hidden in crimson velvet slippers with silver roses on the toes. Judging by the Prince's appearance and demeanour, Corbett sensed that Gaveston had advised him to stand on his dignity in his dealings with both him and de Craon,

The Prince rose and waved him round the table to the chair next to his before serving them both with the best wine the clerk had tasted in months. He sat down and sipped carefully from the cup. The Prince was not as temperamental as his father. Indeed, when he so wished, the young Edward could be dazzlingly courteous and charming. But, like all the Plantagenets, his moods were fickle, his temper unsure. Corbett had always liked Prince Edward; he had a roguish air, coupled with an almost childlike innocence. He could be a good friend or the most dangerous of enemies. Edward settled himself in his own chair, turning to look directly at Corbett

'Well, Hugh?' he began. 'You wish to see me "in secreto". I respect you, otherwise my Lord Gaveston would be present.' He glanced away. 'Piers can be wicked,' he remarked softly. 'What happened last night was unforgivable. My father – must he know?'

'Alea iacta,' Corbett replied evenly. 'The die is cast' His eyes caught the cornflower blue of the Prince's. 'As Your Grace remarked, it was probably a terrible accident.'

The Prince smiled his thanks and held his hand out so that the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows caught the gems in his rings and made them sparkle. 'So, Hugh, what is it?'

'Two questions, Your Grace.' Corbett sipped again from the wine cup. 'On the day Lady Eleanor died, did you send any of your men to Godstowe Priory?'

The Prince shook his head.

'No, I did not.'

'Well, Your Grace, did anyone else, perhaps unknown to you, send retainers there?'

The Prince, still shaking his head, rose and walked over to a carved bookstand which was similar to a lectern in a church. He placed his hand on the huge bible lying there.

'You may tell my father,' he replied, 'my hand on the bible, and I will repeat this oath before the Commons and the Lords Spiritual and Temporal – I swear this: neither my people nor the Lord Gaveston went anywhere near Godstowe Priory on that day.'

'Your Grace seems so certain?'

Edward turned, a stubborn look on his face.

I forbade my Lord Gaveston to have anything to do with that woman!'

'Your Grace, is it true that the first you heard of the news was when the porter from Godstowe arrived here?'

Corbett noticed how quickly the Prince took his hand from the bible and walked back towards him.

'Yes, it was, as far as I know,' he replied, and sat on the edge of the table, looking down at Corbett, one leg swinging lazily before him. 'Why do you ask?'

Corbett took a deep breath.

I must inform you, your father knows different There is a rumour mat you knew about Lady Eleanor's death long before any drunken porter arrived here.' Edward chewed his lip.

I was also drunk,' he murmured. 'But not that drunk,' he continued. I did hear something, or was I told…? Yes!' the Prince said excitedly. 'If Monsieur de Craon alleges I told him, then he is a liar! Indeed, Master Corbett, I am sure it was the Frenchman who informed me.'

'Then how did he know?'

The Prince shrugged.

I can't tell. And if I questioned him, he would simply deny it De Craon comes here,' he added bitterly, 'with his false face and lying tongue… the fellow wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and pulled him by his pointed nose!'

The Prince went back to the bible and put his hand on it

I swear I have told you the truth. I swear I did not send men to Godstowe, though I would love to know who did. Were they wearing my livery?'

Corbett shook his head.

I cannot say.'

I also swear,' Prince Edward declared, 'that if I knew about the Lady's… death-'

Corbett was sure he was going to say 'murder'.

'-if I knew of the lady's death before Monday morning, I learnt of it from Monsieur de Craon.'

'Your Grace, were you married to the Lady Eleanor?'

The Prince kept his hand on the bible.

'That is none of your business,' he replied testily. 'What is your business, Corbett, is to clear my good name. De Craon awaits in a chamber down the hall. I want you to question him. He can stay there until you are ready to do so!'

And with that the Prince flounced out, all courtesy and good humour forgotten. Corbett smiled drily and leaned back in his chair, half-listening to the Prince's footsteps in the gallery outside. He believed the Prince that it was de Craon who had informed him on the Sunday night but how had the Frenchman known? Did he have a spy at Godstowe? If so, who? But the Lady Prioress had maintained that de Craon had been turned away from Godstowe. Corbett moved restlessly, then laughed to himself. Of course! He rose, went to the door, and beckoned a waiting servitor towards him.

'The French envoy, Monsieur de Craon – the Prince wishes me to speak to him.'

The fellow led him down the corridor, stopped before another door and tapped gently on it. The door was half open and Corbett, not waiting for the servant to knock again, simply pushed it open and swaggered in. De Craon was sitting in a high-backed chair near the window, a small scroll of parchment on his lap, apparently waiting for the Prince to summon him to an audience. He looked up as Corbett entered, smiled and half rose before slumping back into the seat again as if he really could not be bothered. The scroll he had been studying disappeared quickly into the folds of his voluminous robes.

'Monsieur Corbett! I am delighted to see you. Do sit down.' He airily waved towards a footstool.

'De Craon, you're a lying bastard! You're about as pleased to see me as a peasant is to meet the tax-gatherer!'

Corbett walked over, arms folded, and smiled icily down at his inveterate enemy.

'Hugh,' de Craon spread his hands expansively, 'why do you insult me? Like you, I carry out orders.' He sighed wearily. 'Diplomacy can be such a tangled web.'

'With you, de Craon, anything would be tangled!'