Paul Doherty: Prince of Darkness

'What is your question, Hugh?'

I know all the King's spies and agents, whether they be working in the court of Castille or in the Papal Chambers in Rome. But is there anyone else?'

Couvtile spread his hands.

'You are proud, Hugh, and pride interferes with logic. You know there must be men who work directly for the King. The Earl of Surrey is one. There must be others.'

'Nigel, all royal accounts come to you. Have you ever discovered another name?'

Couville rounded his eyes in mock wonderment

'Another Corbett? Of course not!' His face grew serious. I have seen one name. Payments made to a de Courcy.'

'Who is he?'

I don't know. Ad I have seen is the occasional references, monies given "pro secretis expensis in negotio regis".'

'For secret expenses on the business of the King,' Corbett translated, and felt a flash of anger at his royal master's deviousness. He took his old friend's hand.

'Nigel, I thank you. One day you will come to Leighton?'

Couville grinned.

'To see Maeve, of course.'

Corbett found Ranulf and Maltote had moved from the pie shop to the nearest tavern. Both looked well pleased after hours of hard drinking and glowered at their sober master's harsh strictures to leave their ale and go back through the pouring rain to King's Steps and another unpleasant journey along the Thames. By the time they reached London Bridge Maltote and Ranulf had vomited every drop they had drunk and had to spend the rest of the journey listening to the harsh witticisms of the grinning oarsmen.

They disembarked and stayed in a tavern near the Tower for the rest of the day. The next morning they began their gruelling journey up the ancient Roman road which ran from London's city wall into Oxfordshire. Ranulf and Maltote objected vociferously.

'Why this?' Ranulf shouted.

Maltote looked away, not daring to confront this dour but very important royal clerk.

'The reason, Ranulf,' Corbett announced softly, his face only a few inches from his servant's, 'is that I am trying to find out if, from some eighteen months ago, the ale-masters and tavern-keepers along this highway remember two foreigners, a young woman and her male companion. So,' he added sweetly, 'we shall stop at every tavern and ale house along the road. You will not drink anything but watered wine. You will not get drunk and you will help me in this business.'

'But I have told you,' Ranulf replied. 'The landlord at The Bull in Godstowe saw a young man and woman as well as a well-dressed stranger. What more do you want?'

Corbett gathered the reins in his hands.

'Ranulf, everything depends on this. I am searching for a pattern. First, did these two strangers suddenly appear in Oxfordshire or had they travelled from London? If the latter, they probably came from across the seas. Secondly, the young stranger who also passed through Godstowe at the same time – was it just a coincidence, or was he connected with the murder victims?'

Ranulf saw the seriousness in his master's face.

'In which case, Master, the sooner we begin, the sooner we finish!'

Ranulf was correct in his forebodings, the journey proved to be a nightmare. The rain fell incessantly until it seemed they travelled through sheets of water, the old cobbled road turned into a muddy mire, sometimes dangerous with potholes, where a man could plunge waist deep in water. Most of the time they led their horses as they moved from small ale-houses and comfortable inns to huge spacious taverns. At first they had no joy and, on the evening of their first day out of London, went to bed so weary they could scarce speak to each other. On the following day, however, at a thatch-roofed tavern which stood on the outskirts of Stokenchurch village, the landlord listened to Corbett's questions and pursed his lips in self-importance.

'Oh, yes,' he declared. 'I remember the pair.'

'Describe them!'

The fellow made a face.

'It's a long time, Master Clerk.'

Corbett raised the silver piece between his fingers.

'But I remember them well,' the landlord continued hastily. 'Well-dressed and fed they were. She was comely, though dressed like a nun with rosary beads in her hand. Her companion,' the landlord shrugged, 'really nothing more than a boy. I thought he was her page.' 'Did they speak English?'

'Oh, no! The noble tongue – French. I asked them where they were going. She just shook her head and smiled but the boy said she was dedicated to God. I could scarcely understand him. They paid their silver and off they went!'

'Did anyone,' Corbett asked, keeping his excitement hidden, 'travel with them?'

The landlord shook his head.

'Did another stranger come here about the same time?'

'Oh, yes,' the tavern-keeper replied. 'A young, well-dressed fop, though armed. He carried a sword and dagger.'

'Did you see his face?'

'No. He arrived early in the morning to break his fast just as the young woman I mentioned earlier was leaving. He was cloaked and hooded. I thought that strange because the weather was fair.'

'So, how do you know he was well-dressed?'

'There were rings on his fingers. His jerkin was of red satin. As I said, he broke his fast and left within the hour.'

Corbett rose as if about to leave.

'The woman,' Ranulf broke in, 'did she have a lap dog?'

The fellow's rubicund face broke into a gap-toothed grin,

'Yes, she did, a little yappy thing wrapped up in her cloak. She fed it tidbits, morsels of bread soaked in milk. I remember it well It whined every second it was here.'

Corbett left the tavern elated with what he had found out and they continued their journey to the outskirts of Oxford. Sometimes his questions only provoked blank glances, muttered oaths and shaken heads. But at two other taverns he elicited the same responses he had at Stokenchurch: a young woman and her male companion, both olive-skinned and quiet, with a less than perfect command of English. The boy, apparently a page, always did the talking. The woman seemed pious and withdrawn: indeed, one of the innkeepers actually described her as a nun. More ominously, the well-dressed young stranger always appeared at the tavern around the same time the mysterious woman and her page were about to leave. At last, to his own satisfaction and Ranulf's apparent pleasure, Corbett decided they had found what they wanted and ordered them to turn back and travel south.

They reached Leighton Manor soaked and saddle-sore. Ranulf and Maltote disappeared like will-o'-the-wisps whilst Corbett received one of Maeve's lectures about the need to rest, as wed as the dangers of charging about on the King's business in weather not fit for the worst of sinners. Corbett heard her out, torn between his desire to sleep and excitement at what he had discovered.

Once night had fallen and the manor was quiet, he rose, took out his parchment and again began to fit the puzzle together. He had the events at Godstowe in some semblance of order. Now he concentrated on the mysterious murders in the forest. He believed the woman to have been connected to the attainted Deveril family; the motto on the dog collar could not be dismissed as a coincidence. She was also a foreigner. The Roll of Kenilworth had indicated that there was no legitimate Deveril issue so was she of some bastard line? If so, the Deverils were still proscribed so why had she been allowed to enter England and, undoubtedly, to travel to Godstowe, a sensitive place where a former royal mistress had been incarcerated. Who was the young page, and the mysterious young fop who had trailed them? And what happened in the forest outside Godstowe? Who had murdered whom? It was logical to conclude the young fop was the assassin but it could have been the young page or, indeed, a complete stranger. And was the mysterious woman the murder victim or was it someone else? She had apparently been travelling to Godstowe and must therefore have been expected. So she must have arrived…