Prince of Darkness hc-5 Page 12

  'Now,' he said, I am going to wash, shave, change my clothes and eat honest food, then it's back to Woodstock, Ranulf, mounted and armed. I am going to have that bloody pervert's head!'

  Ranulf grinned. Corbett rarely lost his temper and when he did it was always a pleasure to watch.

  'Is that safe, Master?'

  'As you would say, Ranulf, I don't give a rat's arse! The King still rules here and I am his envoy. We can take those two soldiers from the porter's lodge with us. It's time they earned their wages!'

  Ranulf felt pleased. This time it would be different. He would have sword, dagger and crossbow. He blinked rapidly.

  'Master, I am sorry, you have a messenger. A Ralph Maltote. He comes from the King's camp at Nottingham and bears urgent messages. He arrived just after dawn The Lady Prioress has also sent out riders. They found no trace of the dogs except the body of the one you killed and the Lady Prioress has ordered that to be burnt in the forest They also found,' the servant coughed and looked away, 'the mangled remains of a corpse.' Ranulf stopped. 'One of the labourers recognised him. The landlord of The Bud will not go poaching again.'

  Corbett whisded softly through his teeth.

  'God rest him,' he muttered. 'I suspect our landlord was our porter's poacher friend. You had better bring Maltote in.'

  Ralph Maltote proved to be a stout young man who looked rather ridiculous in his boded leather jerkin, military leggings and boots. His face was as round and as red as an autumn apple. His sparse blond hair was dark with sweat, and his surprised blue eyes and hangdog look made him the most unlikely royal messenger Corbett had ever seen. He stood with the conical helmet cradled clumsily under his arm.

  'You rode far and fast young man?' Corbett asked, glaring at Ranulf, who was sniggering softly beside him.

  'Yes, My Lord.'

  Maltote slumped down on the stool, his long sword catching him between the legs and nearly tipping him over on his face.

  'And?'

  The young man looked puzzled. 'The message?' Corbett asked. 'You haven't travelled all the way from Nottingham for nothing?'

  Maltote shook his head nervously, gulped, and dug into the inside pocket of his half-open jerkin. He handed a small scroll across to Corbett, who checked the purple wax seal of the King before breaking it and unrolling the vellum. The message was short and cryptic and Corbett's worst fears were realised. The King was bluntly informing him that he was ill pleased at the lack of progress Corbett was making. Indeed, the French envoy de Craon knew more, claiming the Prince had told him about Lady Eleanor's death long before the porter had even reached Woodstock. Corbett handed the letter over to Ranulf.

  'Read it and bum it!' He nodded towards the messenger. 'Then take Maltote to the kitchen and get him something to eat. Afterwards we leave for Woodstock.'

  Ranulf sauntered out, the young messenger trailing behind him like a lost puppy. Corbett was finishing his ablutions when he heard a knock at the door.

  'Come in!' he barked, regretting his harsh command as Dame Agatha entered, bearing a tray covered by a napkin.

  'You wish to break fast, Master Corbett, before you go?'

  Corbett smiled.

  'Good morning, Dame Agatha. Who told you I was leaving?'

  'Your servant. You will eat?'

  Corbett nodded, rather embarrassed as Dame Agatha bustled round the room, laying the tray on a small table and dragging across a stool. She had brought a bowl of hot chicken broth, freshly baked white manchet loaves and a tankard of watered ale. She did not leave as Corbett took up the pewter spoon and began to eat.

  'You are unhurt?' she queried anxiously.

  'Yes, except in my pride, Sister.'

  She walked across and placed her soft, white hand on his arm. Corbett looked up. It felt strange to be alone in a chamber with such a solicitous, beautiful young woman.

  'Take care,' she whispered. 'Do not be rash. Gaveston will be cunning. Lady Amelia says the dogs were loosed by him but we have no proof. Do not give him a pretext to strike you down.'

  She withdrew her hand and grazed his cheek softly with the back of her fingers. Corbett blushed and, tongue-tied, went back to eating, not daring to raise his head until he heard Dame Agatha's soft footfalls and the chamber door close behind her. He was touched by her care and concern but found it difficult to accept. He felt guilty as he thought of Maeve's sweet face, and embarrassed that he should be so powerfully attracted to a woman dedicated to God. Nevertheless, Dame Agatha's advice was wise and Corbett felt his temper cool. He decided he would show Gaveston he was not frightened but be wary of making any rash move. Gaveston was the favourite of a Prince of the Blood and even to draw steel in the Prince of Wales' presence could be construed as treason.

  Corbett chewed absent-mindedly on the bread whilst analysing the problem which faced him. In logic he had been taught to reach an acceptable conclusion by revising the steps which led to it. How could he do that now? He smiled and went over to the bag Ranulf had hidden beneath the bed. Corbett, laughing softly to himself, examined his servant's venture into selling physic. He took a small jar of ointment, went down the stairs and out across to the convent building. No one was around. He slipped quietly up the stairs and gently tapped on Dame Elizabeth's door.

  'Come in! Come in!' The old nun was as imperious as ever but she visibly thawed when she saw Corbett and beamed with pleasure at his gift.

  'A rare potion,' Corbett announced slyly.

  Oh, Lord, he thought, what does it contain? Ranulf was harmless but the potion could be dangerous.

  'It's ointment,' he lied, 'culled from the hoof of an elk and mixed with herbs. Smear it on your four bedposts every night It will purify evil vapours from the air, make you breathe more easily and allow more restful sleep.'

  The old nun nodded wisely and Corbett felt a twinge of guilt at his incredible lies. He placed the ointment on the table beside her, rose and walked over to the window. He peered down

  'What are you looking at, Master Clerk?'

  I am just remembering how you and Dame Martha saw Lady Eleanor on the night before she died. You are sure it was her?'

  'Oh, yes!' The old nun chewed on her gums. 'You see, Dame Martha was standing where you are. She called me over and pointed down. "Look," she said, "there's Lady Eleanor!"'

  'When was that?'

  'Oh, just before Compline.'

  'And what happened then?'

  'We tapped on the window and called out. Lady Eleanor turned and waved up at us.' 'You could hear her voice?'

  'Oh, yes. Dame Martha had opened the window and asked where she was going. Lady Eleanor replied she was going for a walk behind the church.' The old nun's eyes narrowed. 'She was always going there.'

  'You are sure it was she?'

  'Of course!'

  'What was she wearing?'

  'One of her blue gowns. Blue was her favourite colour.' 'But you saw her face?'

  'Oh, yes, she had her hood up but she turned and shouted back at us.'

  'Did you see her return?' 'No, but of course she must have. ' Corbett felt a twinge of disappointment. 'Master Corbett!'

  The clerk spun round. Lady Amelia, accompanied by her ever present acolytes, Dames Frances and Catherine, stood in the doorway, quivering with righteous anger.

  'You may be the King's Clerk, Master Corbett, but this is a convent building. You have no right to be here. Even though you are talking to an old nun!' She threw a look of contempt at Dame Elizabeth.

  'Dame Elizabeth is my friend,' Corbett snapped. I am a man of honour as well as a royal emissary.' Corbett felt his own anger boil at the Prioress' air of righteous indignation. I will leave this chamber when I have finished and, Lady Prioress, I should be grateful if you would wait for me in your own chamber. I have further questions to ask you.'

  The Lady Prioress looked as if she was going to refuse but Corbett stood his ground and glared back. Lady Amelia, with one more disdainful glance at Dame Elizabeth, stepped back and closed the do
or behind her. The old nun rose and scuttled across to him. Clasping her hands to her chest, she gazed up in round-eyed admiration.

  'You are brave, Master Clerk,' she murmured. 'No one else dares to speak to the Lady Prioress like that.'

  Corbett gently patted her hand.

  'Rest easy, Sister,' he said. 'She had no right to say what she did, and I never could stand a bully.'

  He scooped the old lady's vein-scored hand to his lips. 'But enough. I bid you adieu.' He walked towards the door.

  'Master Corbett!' Dame Elizabeth scurried towards him. 'I shall tell you a secret,' she whispered. 'One I have told no one else.'

  'What is that, Sister?'

  'On the afternoon Lady Eleanor died, I saw horsemen in the trees.' She pointed to the window. 'There in the forest, beyond the walls.'

  Corbett walked back to the window. The convent building was high and Dame Elizabeth's chamber on the second storey. He could see, just over the wall, the line of trees which marked the beginning of the forest.

  'Where exactly were they?'

  Dame Elizabeth came alongside him.

  'There,' she murmured. 'I was staring out, just after mid-day. I was watching a hawk above the trees when suddenly I saw something move. My eyes are not very good,' she apologised, so I stood and watched closely. I saw the horses, and three or four men just sitting there. If one of them had not been riding a white horse I would never have noticed them. Shadowy figures,' she whispered, 'who hardly moved. I went back to bathe my eyes and when I returned I could not see them.' She chuckled. 'I have told no one. I am not like Dame Martha. I don't chatter and allow, myself to be dismissed as an old fool!'

  'Did anyone else see them?' 'No, not that I have heard.'

  Corbett gazed at the distant line of trees. Anyone with good eyesight would certainly have seen the riders, but to someone like Dame Elizabeth their presence might only be betrayed by a flash of colour.

  'Did you see them again?'

  'Oh, no.'

  'Did they wear any livery?'

  She shook her head. Corbett rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  'Tell me, could these riders have entered the convent?' 'Oh, no. The gates would have been locked, and the porter may be a drunkard but he has his orders.' 'They could have climbed the walls?' Dame Elizabeth laughed.

  I doubt it. One of the labourers or lay sisters would have seen them. Anyway,' she said, 'you know what men are. They would have clattered upstairs along the gallery and woken both me and Dame Martha.'

  Corbett thanked the old nun and slipped quietly out of the chamber in search of the Prioress. Lady Amelia had regained some of her composure. He found her sitting behind her great oak desk, chatting to the two Sub-prioresses, a roll of accounts before them. She gestured to Corbett to sit

  'Master Clerk,' she began, 'I apologise for my outburst but despite what has happened, this is a convent.' She took a deep breath. 'You have more questions?'

  'Yes. Did any of the sisters see anything untoward the day Lady Eleanor died?'

  'No.'

  'You are sure?'

  'In an enclosed community, Master Corbett, people chatter – to themselves, to their sister, to me, or even to you or your ubiquitous servant, Master Ranulf.'

  'Then tell me, Lady Prioress, at Sunday Compline who was in church?'

  'I have told you that – everyone.'

  'No, I mean beforehand.'

  'The Lady Prioress was in church with me,' Dame Catherine blurted out.

  'Whilst I was in the sacristy with Dame Agatha,' Dame Frances added quickly.

  'You are sure of that? You were all there before Compline?'

  'Ask anyone you like,' Lady Amelia broke in. 'Other sisters saw us there.'

  Corbett bit back his disappointment.

  'And what happened to Lady Eleanor's possessions?'

  'The day after her death,' Lady Amelia repeated, 'the Prince sent down one of his henchmen with strict orders. Lady Eleanor's jewellery and other precious trinkets were to be handed over. The rest…' She shrugged. I thought it rather spiteful but the Prince ordered me to bum them. I did so immediately. Are there any more questions, Master Clerk?'

  'Yes.' He smiled bleakly at the Sub-prioress. 'Lady Amelia, you admitted that you found Lady Eleanor's corpse in her room and, together with these sweet sisters, moved it to the foot of the stairs to make her death appear an accident. Yes?'

  I have said as much.' Lady Amelia glared back. 'Did you find any trace of a struggle in Lady Eleanor's chamber?' 'No.'

  'The door was open?' 'Yes.'

  'But nothing was untoward?'

  'No, I've told you. I thought at first that Lady Eleanor had fainted. Are there further questions?' Corbett shook his head. 'Then, Sir, I bid you adieu.'

  After he left the sisters, Corbett went out to the stable yard where Ranulf and Maltote were waiting with the two retainers from the porter's lodge. The latter looked angry at being dragged from their life of leisure but both were well- armed, having donned helmet and hauberk, with swords and daggers pushed into their belts. Maltote, too, looked surprised at his new duties.

  'Master, is this necessary?'

  'You are the King's man, aren't you?'

  Maltote nodded mournfully. Corbett pointed to the arbalest which swung from his saddle horn.

  'You can use that?'

  Maltote just stared back. Corbett, intrigued, walked closer.

  'You can, can't you? You are a royal serjeant-at-arms.'

  He pointed across the stable yard at an old, disused door propped against a wall. A few straggly chickens pecked the din around it

  'Aim low, loose and hit the door,' Corbett ordered. 'Hit it dead centre.'

  'Master!' Maltote pleaded.

  Corbett placed a hand on the messenger's stirrup.

  'You know the rules, man. You are under my orders now. The King sent you to me. Do as I say!'

  Maltote, watched by all, loaded the arbalest and aimed at the door. Corbett wasn't too sure what happened next. He heard the bolt whirr as it was loosed but, instead of hitting the door, Maltote sent it crashing into an unfortunate chicken, which collapsed, squawking, in a pool of blood and feathers. The two retainers sniggered. Ranulf gaped, open- mouthed.

  'Good God, man!' Corbett whispered. 'You are the worst archer I have ever seen. Was that deliberate?'

  Maltote, looking even more ridiculous under his conical helmet, shook his head mournfully.

  'Now you know, Master Corbett, why I am just a messenger. Where weapons are concerned, I am as much danger to friend as to foe.' He smiled broadly. 'But the King says I am the best horseman in his army. I can ride any nag and get the best out of it'

  Corbett nodded and, taking his heavy sword belt from Ranulf, clasped it round his waist.

  'I'll remember that, Maltote.'

  'And so,' Ranulf added drily, 'will the chickens!'

  Chapter 9

  After giving his small escort strict instructions, Corbett, accompanied by Ranulf and Maltote, left by the Galilee Gate and thundered along the track, through the silent village and up the road to Woodstock. He hadn't decided what exacdy to do. He wanted to confront Gaveston, and was determined to question the Prince on why he knew about Lady Eleanor's death long before any messenger arrived from Godstowe.

  The guards at the palace's main gate swiftly let them through but, as they debouched out of the tree-lined path front of the palace, a gruesome sight awaited them. A huge, makeshift scaffold had been erected in front of the palace, a long, thick ashen pole fixed into two uprights at either end. Corbett stopped, calming his horse which grew skittish at the sight. From the pole hung four corpses; three of the great, black mastiffs and, in between them, his neck broken and twisted, eyes protruding, the body of Gyrth, their keeper.

  Corbett dismounted slowly, ordering Ranulf to look after the horses as he went to meet the chamberlain, who had come out to greet him. The fellow treated Corbett as if he were a Prince of the Blood and took him swiftly into the had, whic
h an army of servants were now cleaning after the previous night's banquet. Corbett was led down a maze of corridors and into a chamber where the Prince of Wales and Gaveston, both white-faced and sober, stood waiting to receive him. Before Corbett could open his mouth, Prince Edward came forward and took him firmly by the hand.

  'Master Corbett – Hugh,' he said, his eyes pleading with the clerk, 'the dogs… it was a mistake. My profuse apologies. The beasts and their handler have been hanged.' The Prince swallowed nervously and looked away. 'It was a mistake, an accident, wasn't it, Piers?'

  'Yes, it was,' Gaveston replied. 'A terrible accident.'

  Corbett glanced at the favourite, noting how pale his face had become. An accident? the clerk thought. Perhaps some drunken jape which got out of hand, or perhaps a calculated act of attempted murder.

  'We found out this morning,' the Prince continued hurriedly. 'The Lady Prioress sent messages. Both the keeper and his hounds were instantly hanged. The fellow was drunk and released the dogs as you left the palace. They picked up your scent…' His voice trailed off.

  The Prince of Wales' concern was genuine. Was it remorse? Corbett wondered. Or even complete ignorance on the Prince's behalf? Had Gaveston acted on his own? Corbett understood their fear. He had no illusions about the King. If Corbett was killed in the royal service, the King would accept it. But a deliberate attack on one of his messengers? Edward would have hurried troops south and burnt Woodstock to the ground. Corbett was going to ask about his lost glove but decided not to. Gaveston would have a ready explanation.

  'Your Grace, I must see you alone.' Corbett ignored the look of annoyance on the favourite's face. 'Your Grace,' he persisted, 'you owe me that. I must talk to you. It is on your father's orders,' he lied.

  The Prince looked across at Gaveston. I agree,' he replied. He grinned sheepishly at Corbett. I have to change. The French envoy. Monsieur de Craon, has returned.'

  'You do not like the French envoy, Master Corbett?' Gaveston sardonically observed.

  'Monsieur de Craon does his job and I do mine,' Corbett replied drily. 'But, Your Grace, I insist you must not trust him. Monsieur de Craon could catch spiders in the webs he weaves.'