Paul Doherty: Satan's Fire

‘Your Grace, I am going,’ Corbett had declared. ‘I wish to be on the road by midday. I kept my word and now you must keep yours.’

The king had fumed, sulked, shouted and pleaded, but Corbett was obdurate.

‘Your king needs you!’ Edward yelled in exasperation.

‘So does my wife and family,’ Corbett retorted and, taking the ring from his finger and the Seal from his purse, he’d walked over and thrust them into the king’s hands.

‘My Lord King,’ the clerk had whispered, ‘even a good dog gets his bone as a reward.’

‘But why now?’ Edward grasped Corbett by the front of his tunic.

‘I. .’ Corbett had glanced away. ‘I am tired,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I am tired of the blood, the violence. I resign my office. I wish to sit in my manor and count my sheep. Go to bed with my wife and stop sleeping with a dagger beneath my pillow whilst Ranulf and Maltote guard the door.’

Corbett had closed the king’s fingers around the Seal and ring, then strode out of the royal chamber, shouting at Ranulf and Maltote that they were leaving. De Warrenne followed Edward’s stare.

‘I could stop him,’ the earl offered. ‘Give me ten good archers. I’ll seize him at the city gates and bring him back.’

‘Oh, for the love of God, don’t be stupid!’ Edward groaned. He leaned over and tweaked his earl marshal’s cheek. ‘You are a good man, John. If I told you to mount a destrier and charge the moon you probably would.’ Edward tossed Corbett’s ring and Seal into the rushes, though he made careful note where they fell. ‘I made Corbett what he is,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘What I fashioned once, I can fashion again.’

Even as the words were out of his mouth, Edward knew he was lying. He would miss Corbett: dark, secretive, with his wry sense of humour, his love of law. Corbett, his shadow-master or ‘guardian angel’, as the king had once referred to him.

‘He did well,’ de Warrenne grudgingly conceded. ‘Do you believe Master Hubert Seagrave?’

Edward grinned. ‘No, I don’t. Truth comes in many guises, but a rich vintner coming to confess his sins, his chests full of ancient gold, craving the royal pardon for a momentary lapse. .’ Edward shrugged: he jabbed a finger at the courtyard below. ‘Corbett’s brain may be of steel, but he has a heart of wax. I suspect he had a hand in it. However, my coffers are full, my Exchequer clerks are dancing with delight at the profits, not to mention the low price Seagrave will charge for every tun of wine delivered to the royal household.’

‘And de Craon?’ the earl asked.

‘Huffing and puffing,’ Edward replied. ‘Shocked, outraged. The lying bastard protests too much. He’ll go back to my sweet brother of France and I’ll have letters! Oh, by the moon’s tits, I’ll have letters! Angry protestations, fierce denunciations, then Philip will scuttle back to his spiderweb and plot again. He’s set his heart on the Templars and the Templars he will have; but not while I sit on the throne at Westminster. .’

Edward rose and went across to the table. ‘Legrave is dead,’ he continued. ‘De Molay will return to France to accept Philip’s protestations of innocence. He will even offer the French king a loan.’ Edward sat down and began to leaf through the books Corbett had borrowed from the Archbishop’s library. ‘But this fire. .’

‘You had heard about it before, your Grace?’

‘Oh yes,’ Edward lied, snapping his fingers at de Warrenne to join him. The king leaned his elbows on the table, cupping his face in his hands. ‘In the summer,’ he mused, ‘I intend to cross the Scottish march. I will teach Wallace and his rebels a lesson they’ll never forget.’ He tapped the pages of the book. ‘I want my Clerks of Stores to read this. What Corbett discovered, so can they. That rogue Claverley, whom I’m going to reward, can help. Let us, my good Earl, take this fire north. I’ll set the very heather ablaze!’

Edward heard a sound from the courtyard below. He pushed back his stool and went to look out of the window. His heart skipped a beat: Corbett was gone.