Death's Dark Valley

by Paul Doherty

  ‘He was furious,’ Matilda agreed. ‘He physically attacked Joanna, tearing at her face and head. He even threw the silver crown she wore into the fire. Lord Ralph tried to intervene, but he too was pummelled and kicked. Nurse Eleanor, holding the baby, offered it placatingly to the king, but he was so deep in his rage, he drew his dagger and slashed at her. Eleanor moved back, but the knife sliced the baby’s ear. The infant shrieked. Joanna and Eleanor were beside themselves. The king, overcome by what he had done, collapsed to his knees, sobbing and cursing. Princess Joanna and Lord Ralph thought it best to flee. Locking the solar door, they left the king to his anger and grief, took horses from the stables and fled for their lives. The only place Eleanor considered safe and secure was my cave in the Valley of Shadows.’ She fell silent, stretching her hands out towards the heat.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Oh, we gave them comfort. My mother was as skilled as any leech, more learned than any apothecary when it came to the knowledge of herbs and their properties. She could not save the infant’s ear, but she cleaned away the scraps of flesh and kept the wound clean and the baby as comfortable as possible. Joanna and Lord Ralph knew they could not stay in hiding forever. They decided to return to court, but to leave the child with us, in Eleanor’s care. They would give out that he had died. The latter was not too difficult to believe; the hideous wound he had suffered at the hands of the old king was proof enough. We also hoped that Edward, deeply ashamed at what he had done, might be reconciled with his daughter, which is what eventually happened. A conspiracy of silence over the old king’s murderous attack on his own grandson ensured that Lord Ralph and Princess Joanna suffered no further punishment. They would be kept safe, as would the full truth about their child.

  ‘Joanna thought it would be best if her son was entrusted to Eleanor, though both she and Lord Ralph conducted secret visits to see the boy. Of course the princess is now dead, whilst Lord Ralph is grievously ill, suffering from some disease that will eventually take his life. The years passed. Eleanor raised the child as her own. She married a valley man, as I did, but he died.’ Matilda smiled grimly. ‘As the seasons turned, the rumours and gossip began. Chatter about Eleanor’s strange boy and how he had the look of the old king. Nothing serious until the riders came, a cohort of mailed men sweeping into the valley. By then, I was a widow, a virtual recluse in my parents’ house. However, when the riders appeared, I sensed that life had taken another savage twist.

  ‘I suspect you know what happened. The riders belonged to a coven of magicians who called themselves the Black Chesters. Apparently such malignants gather both in this kingdom and beyond. You see, I was trusted and respected by many of the valley people. I was one of them, a wise widow; consequently I was party and privy to all kinds of rumours and gossip. I also heard about you, Lord Corbett. It is common knowledge that the king’s special envoy to these parts fought in Wales. You know the result of that conflict. The tribes might have been defeated, but they were not shattered. There were many who would resist the English Crown, especially back then, when the deaths of Wales’s princes, Llywelyn and David, were still fresh in people’s minds and hearts. Many of the valley dwellers were of that persuasion, so they joined and supported the mercenaries, the Black Chesters or whatever other nonsense they called themselves. The old king was also alerted. Rumours about the child had spread, but this was different. Like the old fox he was, Edward sensed a growing danger. He brought his power into the valley, and you know the outcome.’

  ‘The fierce battle of the caves,’ Corbett replied. ‘Yet I thought, as do my masters in London, that the battle settled the matter.’ He made a face. ‘Of course, the prisoner, the man who now calls himself Edmund Fitzroy, was captured in that struggle though not executed. He was brought to the old king, who could only stare at a grandson he thought he’d murdered. Perhaps the realisation that the child had survived comforted him, and he could not bring himself to try again; hence the prison he is lodged in at Holyrood.’

  ‘As I said, I am respected, I listen to the chatter. The gossip has grown that Fitzroy is here.’

  ‘But not for long,’ Corbett replied tersely. ‘And I shall tell you why after I have reflected. Now, as for the present troubles?’

  Matilda shook her head. ‘Sir Hugh, the abbey of Holyrood has always been fiercely resented. Situated on an ancient site, it dominates the valley entrance. True, once the battle of the caves was over, the troubles receded and peace and harmony returned. Over the last month or so, this has changed. Mercenaries, wolfsheads, outlaws and members of the coven have crept back into the valley. Someone calling himself Paracelsus is organising them, enticing them to come here and fight. I also believe that the French have a hand in this. There’s gossip about French gold and weapons.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes, Sir Hugh! Nothing talks more eloquently than money. Just as importantly, this Paracelsus is not of the valley. From the little I have learnt, he resides like some spider in the dark here in Holyrood, spinning his web both here and beyond.’

  ‘And how does he communicate with his followers?’

  ‘Why, until very recently, people could come and go as they wished.’

  ‘True,’ Corbett agreed. ‘People could slip in and out through the postern gates.’ He sighed. ‘That’s how the assassins were allowed in, probably one or two at a time. You have heard rumours about what has happened here?’

  ‘Yes, men have been killed, others have disappeared. Holyrood is now as dangerous as any battlefield.’

  Corbett stared at Matilda; he chewed the corner of his lip and wondered where all this was leading. Deep in his heart he was convinced that the present troubles were a deadly charade to hide something else.

  ‘What proof?’ Ranulf demanded, pointing at Matilda. ‘What evidence do you have for your tale?’

  ‘For the truth?’ Matilda retorted. ‘I speak the truth! Fetch me my sack.’

  Ranulf rose and dragged across the battered leather bag Matilda had pulled on the sledge. She rose, opened it and sifted among the contents, bringing out a dagger in a brocaded sheath boasting the colours and arms of the royal family, then a thin leather chancery tube and a square bejewelled casket. Corbett inspected the dagger, and then shook out the contents of the tube. The scroll was of the finest white vellum, a letter to all royal officials and servants of the Crown proclaiming ‘the widow woman Matilda Beaumont’ to be a faithful and loyal retainer of Princess Joanna, daughter of the king, and declaring that all servants of the Crown should provide her with any help or sustenance she required. The princess had signed the letter and sealed it with her own personal signet ring. The small casket contained items of jewellery, all bearing the royal insignia, together with copies of the signet seals of Joanna and Lord Ralph.

  ‘The letter,’ Matilda tapped the parchment, ‘as well as the keepsakes were given to me just before the princess died. She had journeyed to Tewkesbury for one final meeting with her beloved son, but . . .’ Her voice faltered and her eyes filled with tears. Corbett took her by the hand and gently guided her back to the chair.

  ‘All this is proof enough,’ he reassured her, ‘of your close ties to the princess.’

  ‘Is there any chance I can see Edmund?’ she pleaded. ‘He will recognise me, which is proof enough of what I say. I used any pretext to visit Eleanor, who pretended to be his mother till her dying day. Indeed, I was regarded as her closest friend. I watched the boy grow and mature; it was the principal reason I stayed in the valley. I wanted to do what I could to oversee and protect him. After Eleanor’s death, he told me the tale she had shared with him: that he was the son of the king and had been exchanged for a peasant’s child after a sow attacked him in a royal courtyard.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Even on her deathbed, she refused to give the true story, to betray the trust Princess Joanna had placed in her.’

  She paused. ‘Oh, I had concerns. Sometimes Edmund could appear weak-witted. However, I remained deep in the shadows,
watchful, ready to help him if I could. I grew frightened and concerned as the stories spread about his true parentage. Sometimes I would visit the tavern, the Glory of the Morning, and give him some coins, but apart from that, what more could I do? Tell me, Sir Hugh, is he well? Is he in good health? Does he suffer? I would dearly love to see him.’

  ‘Oh, he is robust enough, and kept most comfortable.’ Corbett paused and closed his eyes. He wondered whether he should inform Matilda about the Ravenmaster, but decided that would do little good. She might well panic and share such information with the prisoner, who could do nothing to protect himself.

  ‘Sir Hugh?’

  ‘Stay here.’ He opened his eyes. ‘Stay here with Ranulf.’ He pointed to the far corner. ‘There is a garderobe over there, a lavarium to wash at, a bed to sleep in, whilst Ranulf of the Red Hair, as you call him, will ensure you are given good food and drink. On no account leave this chamber. You said as much yourself when you first arrived, and I think it for the best.’

  Corbett gathered Ap Ythel and four of his bowmen in full battle harness, their bows strung, and demanded to see Abbot Henry and his two henchmen in the refectory immediately. Once gathered, with the archers guarding the door, the clerk rose from his bench and confronted the three men sitting on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘The keys, Lord Abbot.’ He stretched out his hand. ‘I want all the keys to the prisoner’s cell and the gates leading to it, as well as those that undo his mask. Indeed, I insist that all keys connected with our prisoner be handed over to me immediately, along with any copies. I am demanding this because I think it is the right thing to do at this time. No,’ he rapped the table at their cries of protest, ‘I will suffer no opposition to my demands. In addition, I shall place a close guard on the approaches to the prisoner’s cell, both within and without. Ap Ythel’s archers will be under strict orders to kill anyone who tries to enter that passageway beneath Falcon Tower without my permission. I am the Keeper of the Secret Seal, the king’s special envoy. I carry all the necessary documentation and warrants. Lord Abbot, I will have my way on this.’

  Maltravers, urged on by Jude and Crispin, reluctantly agreed. The keys were handed over by all three and assurances given that Corbett’s wishes would be followed. The clerk brusquely thanked them and left, ordering Ap Ythel and his archers to keep close.

  The day was now drawing on. Corbett moved swiftly. He returned to his own chamber to collect Ranulf and Matilda, and led them across to Falcon Tower. Devizes’ armed lay brothers clustered around the entrance and in the stairwell. Corbett peremptorily dismissed these and posted his own guards under Ap Ythel’s supervision. Once satisfied, he led Matilda and Ranulf down the tunnel through the various gates to that of the prisoner.

  Fitzroy was sitting at a chancery table, poring over a manuscript, which he cheerfully declared was a chronicle from Holyrood’s library recounting the ‘Tales of the Great Hound of Ulster’. Corbett greeted him, then produced the keys to remove the mask, throwing this into a corner and adding that it would never be used again. Fitzroy did not recognise Matilda at first, but when she pulled back the hood of her gown, he cried out in delight. Corbett urged him to remain calm. He showed Matilda how to use the keys to the cell door, insisting that this remain locked.

  ‘Even when I leave?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘You are not leaving.’ Corbett smiled. ‘You will stay here for a while with Edmund; there’s room enough. You have a garderobe in the corner, a lavarium, and a recess for food to be stored. The braziers are primed and they’ll provide both heat and scent. You will stay?’ Matilda nodded. ‘Ap Ythel’s bowmen,’ Corbett continued, ‘will keep strict watch. Only two people will be allowed down here, myself and Ranulf. Our Clerk of the Green Wax will bring food, drink, oil and all other necessities.’

  Once he was assured that both of them understood, Corbett wished them goodnight and he and Ranulf left Falcon Tower. Outside, darkness had fallen, yet despite the gathering gloom, Corbett felt it was getting warmer, and the thaw had definitely broken the power of the blizzard. The cobbled baileys were now free of snow, leaving only a rain-soaked sludge over slivers of ice.

  ‘What now?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘We have other matters. Ranulf, you visited the blacksmith Brother Dunstan?’

  ‘I certainly did. He promised to inspect all the weaponry seized from our assailants.’

  Corbett nodded and gazed up at the sky. ‘God calm the weather,’ he murmured, ‘and God speed Chanson’s return. Let’s visit our blacksmith.’

  They reached the smithy in the main stable yard, a great open shed with a roaring furnace close to a huge anvil resting on a stone. The walls were decorated with the usual tools, whilst the place smelt of scorched horsehair, tar, pitch and the pervasive odour of burning wood. Logs piled upon logs blazed fiercely in the furnace; close to this stood a great cauldron of icy water where the molten metal was plunged to freeze it firmly into shape. Brother Dunstan looked the part. Despite the cold, he wore nothing but breeches pushed into sturdy boots under a great leather apron, which hung down to just above his knees and protected both his front and back. Above the hem of the apron were deep lined pockets bulging with nails, pliers, prongs and other tools of his trade. A jovial giant of a man, he welcomed his guests to his ‘fiery kingdom’, waving both clerks to a wall bench and picking up a battered stool to face them, his round, bewhiskered face wreathed in a smile.

  ‘Stirring times, eh, Sir Hugh? Battle royal here in Holyrood, both above and below.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Conflict in heaven and hell. Well, I understand that the demons have been exorcised and dispatched to their proper place, whilst we have their weapons.’ He pointed to a large chest. ‘They are all there waiting for you.’ He leant closer, as though he was a fellow conspirator. ‘They were definitely forged in France, that is a fact, but that does not mean that Frenchmen wielded them. Remember, Sir Hugh, the king of France and his minions like de Craon draw heavily for their soldiers on the cities of northern Italy: Venice, Milan and especially Genoa. So if allegations are made, the envoy will wash his hands and claim he knows nothing of such dreadful mercenaries.’

  Corbett smiled at the clever mimicry in the blacksmith’s voice. He excused himself, rose and walked over to the chest, opening it and sifting through the contents. In a heap of rubbish piled beside the chest was an unfinished arbalest, a small hand-held crossbow. He studied this curiously, then put it back and was about to return to the bench when the abbey bells began to toll the tocsin, the harsh sound clanging threateningly across the abbey.

  The three men left the smithy. Ostlers and grooms were already gathering in the cobbled yard, panicked from their duties by the constant tolling. They were all staring up. Corbett followed their gaze and watched the fire arrows curve across the darkening sky, seeming to come from all directions. Streaks of flaring flame, they scarred the night before dipping to disappear into the blackness. Dunstan exclaimed noisily at this impudent threat, but Corbett now realised that such mischief was rooted in a desire to demonstrate that Holyrood Abbey was not safe.

  Ranulf tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sir Hugh, shouldn’t we dispatch riders?’

  ‘No, no.’ Corbett shook his head. ‘This is a Yuletide masque, maypole mummery. Why loose such arrows? What harm can they do? No, the great killer, the assassin behind all this, is preparing a way forward, and God be my witness, Ranulf, I intend to trap him. Don’t worry about arrows burning the sky. Stay calm and reflect. Ask yourself: how many archers would you need for such a show? Three or four on each side of the abbey, no more than a dozen in all. So let this matter rest. Keep an eye on the prisoner and let us prepare. In the meantime,’ he passed Ranulf a piece of parchment, ‘read that and ask Brother Dunstan if he can do what I ask.’

  ‘And what will you do?’

  ‘What I do best, Ranulf: sit and plot.’

  Corbett spent the rest of that day and the following one locked in his chamber. He divided his time betw
een analysing the murders committed in Holyrood and pondering those things he had seen, heard or felt that seemed illogical and out of context. To clear his mind, he wrote list after list, setting out his thoughts in brief, terse notes, in a cipher that made sense only to him, talking to himself as he wrote.

  ‘Item. The coverlets on a bed, the state of the bolsters. Item. Loosed, not driven. Item. The game of the five peas. Is this a solution to the missing casket? Item. The rule of St Benedict and the declaration of Holyrood. Item. Fire arrows in the night sky. Item. Why confusion for the sake of confusion? Item. Why the murders of Anselm and Richard? What reason? Revenge? To silence them? To seize what they knew? Item. Why was Brother Mark killed for seeing something that disconcerted him? What was this? What do his words signify? Item. The murder of that beggar man, Mortimer’s spy from the Valley of Shadows? Item. Immolation? Warriors offering themselves to be killed? The consequence of some blood oath amongst those mysterious assailants in the Valley of Shadows? Item. Who would know about the secret maze of tunnels, and how? Item. How and why is de Craon so deeply immersed in this murderous mischief? Item. Lord Mortimer. What is the real reason for his presence in Holyrood? What does he know, and how? Something Matilda said. Item. Those assassins who slipped into Holyrood. Why? What was their purpose? To take the abbey fortress from within? To seize both the casket and the prisoner? Item. What is to be done about Edmund Fitzroy? The Ravenmaster will soon be here carrying fresh authority from the king that even I cannot ignore. Item. Can Matilda Beaumont be fully trusted? Item. How can all this be resolved?’