Paul Doherty - Prince of Darkness

Corbett entered the room. The light inside was dim and the air musty with the smell of candle grease, burnt charcoal, and the lingering odours of leather and parchment There was a trestle table and a huge stool, the rest of the room being taken up with leather and wooden caskets of all sizes. Some were open to reveal rolls of parchment spilling out on to the floor. Around the walls were shelves which stretched up to the blackened ceiling, bearing more rolls of vellum. It all looked very disorganised but Corbett knew that Couville could select any document he wanted in an instant This chamber was the muniment room of the Chancery and the Exchequer with records dating back centuries. If a document was issued or received it would be filed in the appropriate place in Nigel Couville's kingdom. Once the senior clerk in the Chancery, Nigel had been given this assignment as a benefice, a reward for long and faithful service to the Crown. Couville had been Corbett's master and mentor when Hugh first became a clerk and, despite the gap in years and experience, they had become and remained firm friends.

Couville searched around the room and brought a small stool forward.

I can see you are going to be a nuisance,' he observed drily. 'Old habits never change.' He waited until Corbett sat down. 'Some wine?'

Corbett shook his head.

'Not if it's that watered vinegar you always serve!'

Couville went into a small recess and brought out an unstoppered jar and two pewter goblets.

'The best Bordeaux.' He filled a cup to the brim and handed it to Corbett 'Now I know what Scripture means when it says: "Don't cast your pearls before swine".'

Corbett grinned as he sipped the rich red wine.

'Beautiful!' he murmured.

'Of course it is.' Couville sat opposite him, elbows on his knees, cradling the cup as if it was the Holy Grail. 'St Thomas a Becket drank the same wine. Do you know, even when he became an ascetic and gave up the pomp of court, even when he fasted, the Blessed Thomas could not abstain from his cups of claret.' Couville smiled at the clerk. 'And you, Hugh, you are wed? Maeve too?'

They exchanged banter and gossip about old friends, new acquaintances, and fresh scandals. At last Couville put his goblet down on the floor beside him.

'What is it you want, Hugh?'

Corbett took the faded leather dog's collar out of his wallet

'There's a motto written on this – "Noli me tangere". I think it's from a family crest. Do you recognise it?'

Couville tapped his fingers together and narrowed his eyes.

'Somewhere,' he mused, I have heard that phrase.' He rose, scratching his head. 'But the question is, where?'

Corbett rested for an hour whilst his old friend, arms full of sheaves and rolls of parchment, searched the records of armorial bearings and heraldic designs. At first Couville confidently announced, 'It will not take long, Hugh, believe me!'

But after an hour had elapsed, he stood in the centre of the room, shaking his head.

'Tell me, Hugh, why you want this?' He raised a hand. I know your secret business, Master Corbett. I know you despatch letters of which no copy is sent to me.' He sat down again on the stool opposite his former student. 'But why is this motto so important?'

Corbett closed his eyes and described the events at Godstowe: the death of Lady Eleanor Belmont, the subtle treachery of the French and Philip IV's evil intentions. He had almost finished when, as an afterthought, he mentioned the possibility of an assassin from the attainted de Montfort family being present in England. Couville's eyes lit up.

'I have been looking,' he said, 'through the noble families of England and Gascony as they are today. But what happens to a noble family when it is found guilty of high treason?'

'Of course!' Corbett cried. 'The insignia of such a house is destroyed, its titles removed and its lands seized by the Crown!'

Couville rose and went across to a long leaden tube. He undid the top and drew out a thick, yellowing roll of parchment He laid it carefully out on the long table whilst waving Corbett over. The clerks studied the parchment curiously. It was divided into two; on one side were drawings of Coats of Arms. Corbett recognised a few: Percy de Bohun, Bigod, Mowbray. On the other side of the broad sheet of parchment were Coats of Arms with great black gashes through them.

'What are these?' he murmured.

'This is the Roll of Kenilworth,' Couville replied. 'Simen de Montfort rose in rebellion in 1258. As you know, Edward destroyed his forces amongst the apple orchards of Evesham in 1264. De Montfort was killed, his body hacked to bits and fed to the royal dogs. Some of his companions died with him, a few ded abroad, but most took refuge in Kenilworth Castle in Warwickshire. After a long siege the casde surrendered and de Montfort's rebellion was over.' Couville pointed to the parchment 'On one side are the armorial bearings of those nobles who supported the King. These others with the black line drawn across their escutcheons belong to the leading supporters of de Montfort. Perhaps we can find your motto amongst them.'

Corbett walked away whilst Couville, muttering to himself, pored over the Rod of Kenilworth.

'Ah!' Couville looked up, face beaming with pleasure. 'Noli me tangere belonged to the Deveril family.'

'What happened to them?'

Again Couville muttered to himself and wandered round his room checking other rods and parchments and quarto-sized journals which contained an index of royal warrants and proclamations. He beckoned Corbett back to the table.

'The Deveril who fought with de Montfort died at Evesham.'

'And were there any heirs?'

Couville shook his head and pointed to the Deveril insignia.

'The clerk who drew this up added a note. Look!' Corbett squinted down at the faded blue-green ink. 'Nulli legitimiti haeredes.'

'No legal issue,' Couville translated. 'According to this, the last of the Deverils died at Evesham.'

Corbett shook his head and picked up the faded leather dog collar.

'So why was this found round the neck of a little lap dog in the forest outside Godstowe?'

'I don't know,' Couville retorted. 'Be logical, Hugh. Just because it was found there doesn't mean it has anything to do with the crimes you are investigating.'

'But surely it must?' Corbett whispered.

Couville put a hand on his shoulder. 'Hugh, only God knows where that collar came from. After the defeat of de Montfort, the market stalls were swamped with the forfeited goods of rebels.'

Corbett wearily rubbed his face in his hands.

'Tell me, Nigel,' he began, 'a young woman and her male companion are found barbarously murdered in the glade of an Oxfordshire forest Their corpses provide no clue as to their identity. No one comes forward to claim the bodies. No one makes petitions or starts a search for their whereabouts. They are brutally murdered yet their deaths provoke nothing but silence.'

Couville shrugged. 'Go out into the alleyways of London, Hugh. You will find the corpses of the poor, but no one gives a fig!'

'Ah!' Corbett replied. 'But these were well-fed, pampered people, used to luxury. Where did they come from?'

Couville grinned. 'They must have come from abroad.'

Corbett stared hard at his old mentor. Of course he thought. Father Reynard had described both of them as olive-skinned. So were they foreigners?

'If they were foreigners,' he said slowly, 'they must have obtained a royal licence to enter England. Would such a document be difficult to trace?' Couville nodded.

'Of course. Hundreds enter England every month. Even if such a licence were issued, a copy may not be sent to me.'

Corbett scratched his head and grinned sheepishly.

I have discovered something,' he said slowly, 'and yet it sheds no light.' Corbett picked up his cloak from the door where he had tossed it. 'No jests, you know I am the keeper of the King's secrets. I admit you do not see the copies of the letters I send or the reports spies send me.' He fastened his cloak round his shoulders. 'Sometimes I am proud because I have the King's ear, but our royal master is a devious, sly man. He once told me that if his right hand knew what his left was doing, he would cut it off.'