Paul Doherty: Satan in St Mary

Boudon muttered to Corbett and Ranulf to stay while he slowly moved across the room and, head bowed, respectfully whispered to the seated man, turning his fat body slightly to indicate Corbett and Ranulf. The man moved a chess-piece and, looking direct at Corbett, called out.

"Master Clerk, come nearer. It's cold and I do not intend to move from this chair. Boudon, " he turned to the little fat steward. "Bring some mulled wine. "

Corbett and Ranulf walked over and sank to one knee before the table, Ranulf only doing so at Corbett's sudden insistence for the clerk recognized the harsh, imperious voice of the King which he had last heard in that lonely, snow-swept valley so many years before. Corbett introduced himself and Ranulf.

"Yes, yes, Master Clerk. " The voice had a slight testy edge. "We know who you are. " He clapped his hands and servants appeared as if from nowhere with stools on which Corbett and Ranulf were told to sit. Corbett did so, feeling faintly ridiculous as these seats were low, forcing him to look up into the King's face while trying to fend off the wet nose and slobbery mouth of a large, curious wolfhound which disdainfully walked off when a royal foot swung out to kick him.

The King was simply dressed in a blue cotta which stretched down to black leather boots, over this cotta was a surcoat with capuchon attached and lined with costly ermine around the neck and long sleeves. The only distinguishing marks of royalty were a simple chaplet of gold around his brows and thick gold bands on his wrists. The King studied Corbett carefully and the clerk looked back, noting the grey strands in the straw-coloured hair and close-cut beard which framed the King's long thin lips.

Edward had aged since Wales yet the eyes were still as striking and the large fleshy nose still made the King look like one of his haughty hunting falcons. Edward watched Corbett closely then grinned and leaned across to tap him on the shoulder. "I remember you, Master Corbett, from Wales. It seems we are in debt to you once again for saving our life. I read the Chancellor's letters. " He paused to clear his throat. "A memorable feat of deduction!" The King turned as his companion asked a question, her broad nasal tones giving the Norman French a curious ringing twang. Edward replied softly and Corbett bowed as Edward introduced his Queen, the beloved Eleanor of Castile.

Eleanor was a dark-haired, Spanish beauty, her olive skin and delicate sensitive features enhanced by a lacy white wimple which covered her head and framed her slim face. A blue, gold-brocaded dress with a silver chain round the waist and fringed with Bruges lace at the neck and cuffs adorned a body which, Corbett knew, had captivated the King since his engagement to her over thirty years ago. Despite her sensitive face, Corbett knew that Eleanor, so infatuated with her husband, had followed him on crusade as well as his wars in Gascony and Wales. She had borne the King children but, until this year, no male child had survived. Yet her hold over Edward was complete. Even the costly furnishings in this room would be her work for Eleanor had a reputation for being both virtuous and luxury-loving.

When the King finished talking, Eleanor turned, her face radiant with happiness, and extended a slim be-ringed hand for Corbett to kiss. The clerk did so, realizing that anyone responsible for saving the King's life would have Eleanor's complete protection and gratitude. He smelt the faint fragrant perfume of the Queen, immediately thought of Alice and felt a momentary stab of anger at what both these royal personages had cost him.

He looked up in astonishment as the Queen burst into peals of laughter, her hand pointing beyond him to where Ranulf sat. Corbett turned and almost laughed himself at the young man's white face, his wide eyes and slack jaw revealing his awe and trepidation at being in the royal presence. Corbett touched him reassuringly on the knee while the King talked to Ranulf in English which almost parodied the voice of a Londoner. Ranulf stammered a short reply then lapsed into silence, head bowed, as the King summoned Boudon and asked his steward to pour the wine that the servants had eventually brought. Only then Corbett was questioned carefully on all he had discovered in connection with Duket's mysterious death.

Twenty

The King listened to Corbett carefully, now and again interrupting to ask a question or make him repeat a statement to clarify a point. Occasionally, the Queen broke into the conversation with a blunt question or stark observation. Time passed, more wine was brought, this time with sweetmeats which clogged Corbett's mouth and made him feel slightly nauseous. Eventually, Corbett's story ended, he had circumvented Alice, telling slight lies to soften her participation in the plot against the King. Nevertheless, he was uncertain whether the King was ignorant of the full facts. He seemed well briefed, his shrewd eyes assessing Corbett seemed to sense that something was missing. Yet, he appeared pleased and, when Corbett had finished, there was silence as the King stared into the fire, one hand stretched across the table to caress his wife. He got up, his huge bulk towering above Corbett.

"You have done well, Master Clerk, " he rasped. "Very well. I shall not forget. Take this, " and he dropped two full purses into Corbett's lap "as a mere token of our gratitude. There will be more, " he added softly, looking at both Corbett and Ranulf. "But that will come later. " The King tapped Corbett on the shoulder. "Enjoy yourself here, Master Clerk. You are a loyal, faithful servant of the Crown who has chosen the better part. Whatever you may think now. " Then he was gone, his wife following in a billow of silk and perfume almost before Corbett and Ranulf could rise to their feet.

Corbett sat and thought about what he had said to the King. He sighed, turned and grinned at the still awestruck Ranulf. "Come, Ranulf, " he joked. "The King has told us to enjoy ourselves. Let us begin. "

Corbett stayed at Woodstock for over a week, enjoying and participating in the ritual and festivities of the Court as it celebrated Easter and the ending of Holy Week. Gradually Ranulf relaxed and a cynical Corbett watched him flirt in his open, vulgar way with the ladies of the Court. The young man's blatant sexuality and infatuation with the opposite sex both fascinated and repelled Corbett. The sophisticated court ladies thought differently, a few of whom found themselves in Ranulf's bed, turning and working to pleasure a young man who, by rights, should have been dangling on the gallows weeks ago.

The days passed. Corbett felt the frantic routine of the Court soothe his anxieties and regrets about Alice though the scraps of news from London were ominous enough. There had been raids on houses both in the city and the surrounding countryside, arrests had been made, followed by summary trials before the King's Justices and then brutal executions at the gallows or in chains at Smithfield. The King, for all his calm demeanour, was secretly furious at being kept from his city by rebels, secret sympathizers of the dead but still hated de Montfort.

Corbett would have stayed at Woodstock immersed in the Court routine carrying out minor tasks assigned to him by the King but, of course, Burnell changed all that. About ten days after arriving at Woodstock, Corbett received a letter from the Chancellor, and he opened it with trembling hands, recognizing the bold firm script of the Chancellor's own hand.

"Robert Burnell, Bishop of Bath and Wells, Chancellor of England, to our well beloved clerk, Hugh Corbett, greetings. The information you sent us has proved most valuable in the apprehension and arrest of traitors in the city. The tavern known as The Mitre in St. Mark's Lane was surrounded by soldiers the King had sent into the city. All persons in that tavern were arrested and taken to the Tower for questioning. There was, however, no sign of the owner, the woman known as Alice atte Bowe. Nevertheless, others were not so fortunate in their escape and once confined in the Tower were put to the question and interrogated for days regarding the murder of Lawrence Duket A number of them died under this questioning but one, a huge fellow, the protector of Alice atte Bowe and former public hangman called Peter, eventually made a full confession. It would appear that the revolutionaries or Populares party in the city, those known supporters of the dead de Montfort, were infiltrated and controlled by an even more dangerous faction, a secret black magic coven called the Pentangle