Death's Dark Valley

by Paul Doherty

  Corbett felt like a physician drawing poison from an abscess, a truly malignant abscess that must be brought to fullness before being pierced. But how and when would this take place? He returned to his list.

  ‘Item. The tangle of weapons kept by Brother Dunstan, and that unfinished crossbow with its strange grooves. Item. Above all, when will Chanson return, and will Mistletoe faithfully carry out his orders?’

  Corbett’s speculation about Chanson was resolved two days later. The thaw was complete, helped by a watery sun, when the gatehouse bell rang proclaiming an approaching rider, and Chanson, grasping the reins of his little garron, trotted into the outer bailey to be greeted by his comrades. Safely ensconced in Corbett’s chamber with Ap Ythel guarding the door, he handed across Mistletoe’s letter. Corbett broke the seals, read the contents and smiled.

  ‘Sir Hugh?’

  ‘Ranulf, Chanson, I have reflected prayed and fasted. I have at last reached certain conclusions that must be the truth. Now I must set the trap, bait the lure and entice our enemy forward. Ranulf, go tell Lord Mortimer I need urgent words with him here, by himself. I trust you, but Mortimer won’t. Chanson, spread the news that de Craon’s galleymen are close by, marching on Holyrood to escort their master back to his boats moored along the Severn.’

  The marcher lord seemed only too pleased to be closeted with Corbett.

  ‘You sent for me, Sir Hugh, and here I am.’

  ‘So you are.’ Corbett leant closer. ‘And why are you really here?’

  ‘I am the king’s—’

  ‘Oh, stop that nonsense! Let me hazard a guess. You are a kinsman, are you not, of Ralph Monthermer, who now lies mortally ill, dying of some malignant disease. A weak old man who has confided in you about what happened years ago. How his beloved Princess Joanna, daughter of the old king, sister of the present one, fell in love with him and conceived, giving birth to a boy child whom the old king grievously wounded. The child survived and spent years in the Valley of Shadows, until he was captured at the bloody battle of the caves. He has been caged and held prisoner ever since. Yes? You look surprised, Mortimer, but I am right, am I not?’ The marcher lord simply nodded. ‘Good, now I will tell you something else. The Ravenmaster . . .’ Corbett watched Mortimer visibly pale, ‘the Ravenmaster has been dispatched to Holyrood to execute the prisoner kept here. As you know, he has the legal authority for this, because the prisoner claims to be the old king’s true son and heir, and that—’

  ‘Is treason,’ Mortimer interjected. ‘Even to say it once, to claim to be this kingdom’s true prince, is a rejection of our sovereign lord, and thus high treason. The prisoner has convicted himself out of his own mouth.’

  ‘Which is my conclusion also.’ Corbett rose, took the crucifix off the far wall and returned to his chair. ‘Mortimer, you must have heard the news about de Craon’s galleymen advancing on Holyrood to escort their master back to his ships?’

  ‘Yes, your Clerk of the Stables told me the same in the bailey below. Why do you mention this?’

  ‘Time will tell, but in the meantime, it is important for me to distinguish my friend from my enemy. Indeed, it is quite simple. Are you with me or are you not? Will you do what I ask and obey the royal writ I carry? Yes or no? The choice is stark, clear, but yours to make. If yes, give me your oath on this cross. If no, get out of this chamber and take whatever comes. Well, my lord?’

  Mortimer grasped the cross in both hands and gave his solemn oath, then kissed the figure of the crucified Christ and handed it back.

  ‘Me and mine,’ he whispered, ‘are at your disposal. So what now?’

  ‘As a reward, a token of my gratitude, you shall see the prisoner and tell your kinsman that he is still alive and well protected.’

  Mortimer nodded his agreement and got to his feet. ‘How did you know?’ he demanded.

  ‘I didn’t.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I simply guessed. There’s a likeness between your names, and you and Lord Ralph are both marcher lords. I also received information from Mistletoe, a clerk of the Secret Chancery whom you will undoubtedly soon meet, that Lord Ralph is so ill he has been moved to the abbey of Wigmore, which lies at the heart of your estates. My lord, time is passing. Let us keep to the business in hand.’

  Corbett took Mortimer and Ranulf down along the passageway beneath Falcon Tower, now closely guarded by Ap Ythel’s bowmen. He paused to give Ap Ythel instructions to steal or borrow a brown robe like those worn by members of the community. The captain of archers was also to discreetly order the buttery to prepare food and drink for two people who were about to go on a long journey. He was to put all this, together with a knife, an arbalest and a short stabbing sword, into a leather pannier and bring it to the prisoner’s cell. He must also ensure that the battered sledge Matilda Beaumont had hauled close to Osprey Tower remain here.

  As Ap Ythel hurried away, Corbett led Ranulf and Mortimer to the prisoner’s cell, where Fitzroy and Matilda were deep in conversation. The door was unlocked, and the clerk entered, introducing Mortimer as his friend and henchman; he had insisted that the marcher lord not tell the prisoner the full truth, as it was neither the time nor the place to reopen the past. Mortimer kept his promise, clasping Fitzroy’s hand and assuring him of his good will.

  ‘Why all this?’ Matilda demanded, hurrying forward. ‘Sir Hugh, what do you intend?’

  ‘That you both leave now. Edmund Fitzroy, your days as a prisoner are over. If you stay here, you will be executed.’ Corbett paused, deeply sorry at the shock and consternation he had caused both the prisoner and Matilda. ‘I must tell the truth,’ he insisted. ‘I will not lie or underestimate the danger you face. The Ravenmaster is on his way here. He has the authority to execute you. You claim to be the old king’s son, and therefore implicitly assert that our present monarch has no right to wield the authority he does.’

  ‘But Sir Hugh, you know—’

  ‘Hush, Matilda. It’s too late now to change the verses of the hymn; it has already been sung and there are those utterly determined that it will not be sung again. You must go. You must leave now.’

  ‘Where shall we flee?’

  ‘I would advise you to go back into the Valley of Shadows and hide there as deep as you can. Wait for this storm to pass, then plan again.’

  Matilda stared hard at the clerk. ‘It is as bad as this?’ she asked.

  ‘Worse, mistress. Death, sudden death, brutal and sharp, is only a brief horse ride away.’

  Fitzroy made to object, but Matilda grasped his hand, whispering heatedly that the danger facing them was grievous and present.

  ‘You’d best go now,’ Corbett declared. ‘My lord Mortimer will escort you to a postern gate. My captain of archers will supply you with a robe and ensure you have all the necessities for your journey.’ He took from his belt wallet a pouch of coins he’d filled before leaving his chamber and thrust it into Matilda’s hands. ‘Go,’ he urged quietly, ‘go now.’

  Corbett left the cells. Mortimer and Ranulf would take care of Matilda and Fitzroy, with Ap Ythel trailing behind to protect their backs. As he crossed the inner bailey, he sensed a subtle change. Chanson’s report about the fast-approaching galleymen was now well known and having its effect. Corbett glimpsed Abbot Henry, no longer with his walking cane, directing ostlers and grooms, who were bringing horses into the bailey before Falcon Tower. Chests, coffers and caskets were being carried out. Carts were being prepared, whilst the abbey’s hobelars were all harnessed and armed.

  Corbett returned to his own chamber and waited. Devizes came up to complain that the entrance to the tunnel beneath Falcon Tower was still guarded and sealed by Ap Ythel’s archers, who would allow no one access to the prisoner. Father Abbot now demanded this. Corbett, leaning against the half-open door, simply shrugged and smiled at the handsome master-at-arms, promising to look into the matter before he slammed the door shut.

  Ranulf eventually rejoined his master to report that Matilda and the prisoner had slipped out of
Falcon Tower, pulling the sledge to a postern gate, where Mortimer had ensured that the two were safely allowed through. Ranulf, standing on the parapet along the great curtain wall, had watched them disappear into the icy green vastness of the valley. He also reported how Chanson had stayed with Ap Ythel’s archers, who continued to guard the passageway down to the prisoner’s cell as if Fitzroy was still being held there. Mortimer, Ranulf added, was growing increasingly apprehensive about what was happening in the abbey. Rumours were circulating that Maltravers and his principle henchmen, tired of the constant dangers Holyrood faced, were seriously considering joining de Craon: they would ask for the envoy’s protection on their journey to Tewkesbury.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Corbett murmured. They would do, wouldn’t they? Indeed, I am certain they will try and force us to do likewise.’

  The tension in the abbey deepened. Corbett saw how matters were developing. Abbot Henry was becoming increasingly assertive. Devizes now had the abbey hobelars in full battle harness guarding the main gateway. Corbett was quietly relieved that Matilda and the prisoner had slipped out just in time. Ranulf kept asking what was happening. He had approached a postern gate only to discover a close guard over it.

  ‘Can’t we force the issue?’ he pleaded.

  ‘For what purpose? To go out into the open countryside? And, if we did, what strength can we rely on? Ap Ythel and a few bowmen, as well as a small number of hobelars wearing the Mortimer livery?’ Corbett grinned and patted his henchman on the shoulder. ‘No, no, Ranulf, what is happening is how I thought events might play out. Oh, by the way, you took my message to Brother Dunstan at the forge? He can do what I ask?’

  ‘Yes, he said he would.’

  ‘Good, so let’s wait on events.’

  Later that day, the gate bell began to toll and the abbey community climbed the steps to the parapet walk above the gatehouse, leaning against the crenellations to stare out at the two columns of men marching towards Holyrood. The blue and silver livery of the French king and his personal escutcheon of three golden lilies were very clear to see. Ranulf quietly cursed. Corbett just narrowed his eyes and smiled as he glimpsed the black-garbed Ravenmaster amongst the small huddle of horsemen. Orders were issued, Devizes acting very much as though he was in charge. The portcullis was raised, the drawbridge lowered and the horsemen clattered across, followed by the two columns of marching men. Corbett waited until the entire comitatus had entered the abbey, then he nudged Ranulf.

  ‘The maypole is up,’ he whispered. ‘Its ribbons are fastened. Let’s go down and join the dance.’

  By the time they had reached the cobbled yard, the surprise and consternation had spread, Abbot Henry, de Craon and even Mortimer exclaiming at what was happening. Despite the blue and silver livery of the arrivals, it was now obvious that the battle column consisted of English soldiers under the command of the ever-smiling Mistletoe, who slid off his horse clapping gauntleted hands, bowing and scraping to everyone as he pushed through the throng towards Corbett.

  ‘Sir Hugh, what do you think?’

  ‘I couldn’t have done better myself.’

  ‘The Sheriff of Gloucestershire proved most amenable,’ Mistletoe declared. ‘A good friend of yours, Sir Hugh, Miles Stapleton. He ordered his commissioners of array to summon up the entire comitatus of the shire, along with a cohort of men-at-arms camped close to Berkeley. As for the French livery, de Craon’s galleymen were only too willing to share it with us once I explained what a great honour was being bestowed.’ His smile widened. ‘Think of it, Sir Hugh, English soldiers donning French livery as a mark of respect to King Philip’s most august envoy. I also made sure no French courier tried to slip out of Tewkesbury to spread the news.’ His smile faded. ‘A shrewd suggestion. The swiftest and easiest way to get into Holyrood. If we had displayed royal colours, matters may have taken more time. So,’ he continued, ‘let us now inform our lord abbot and Monsieur de Craon exactly what is happening here.’

  ‘Sir Hugh!’ The Ravenmaster led his horse through the press, escorted by two burly ruffians. He stopped and bowed. Corbett responded, clasping the man’s black-gloved hands. ‘Pax et bonum, Sir Hugh. I have been dispatched by the king to carry out certain business here.’

  ‘Your business will have to wait, sir. Trust me,’ Corbett waved to where Abbot Henry, Devizes, Jude, Crispin and de Craon stood deep in conversation, their surprise and shock at what was happening clear to see, ‘we have more pressing business.’ He turned back to the Ravenmaster. ‘I would be most grateful, sir, if you could join me as a most trusted retainer of the king, a man who I know enjoys our prince’s favour. You are skilled and shrewd; your assistance would be deeply appreciated.’

  The Ravenmaster, mollified by such flattery, bowed and agreed, declaring that he would place himself and his small escort at Corbett’s disposal.

  ‘Good, good.’ Corbett raised a hand and summoned Ap Ythel, who was standing close by with four of his bowmen. The captain of archers was smiling slyly to himself as he pushed through the milling crowd.

  ‘Sir Hugh, a great surprise!’

  ‘The first of many.’ Corbett grasped Ap Ythel by the shoulder. ‘Deploy your men, Mistletoe’s comitatus and Lord Mortimer’s at every gate and door. No one is to move anything from anywhere. Bring this abbey firmly and securely under my grip. Make sure our new arrivals are given food, drink, warmth and rest. I also want you and Ranulf to set up a court in the nave of the abbey church, a special session of King’s Bench under my commission of oyer and terminer. We will need a broad table with three chairs behind it and two more facing. At my orders, you will deploy your archers and other men-at-arms around the church, both within and without. Seek out Chanson; he will also help. Keep a close – and I mean very close – eye on Falcon Tower, above and beneath. You have all that?’

  Ap Ythel, still smiling to himself, faithfully repeated in his soft sing-song voice what Corbett had asked.

  ‘Good. My friend, you are smiling, but believe me,’ the clerk whispered hoarsely, ‘what I intend is grim and final. Use Chanson to keep in touch with me.’ He patted Ap Ythel on the shoulder, bowed to the Ravenmaster and walked over to Maltravers and the rest. ‘My Lord Abbot, I believe we should meet, and the sooner the better.’ The abbot, glaring furiously, agreed, and Corbett invited Brothers Jude and Crispin, Mortimer, the Ravenmaster, Mistletoe and de Craon to attend as well. The French envoy was strangely silent, his usually ruddy face now white with either anger or fear at what was unfolding. Corbett also summoned Devizes, saying he could join his master.

  They gathered in the council chamber. Corbett insisted on taking the throne-like chair at the top of the table, with Ranulf sitting on his left, the Clerk of the Green wax laying out the royal commission as he whispered messages from Brother Dunstan. Corbett nodded his thanks and asked Ranulf to serve goblets of mulled wine. Once this had been brought from the buttery and the cups laid out, he insisted that the door be closed. Ranulf ensured that two bowmen stood on guard outside, with another in the far corner of the chamber, bow strung and arrow notched.

  ‘Well.’ Corbett tapped the royal warrants before him. ‘I am here to honour Monsieur de Craon.’ The French envoy forced a smile. Corbett continued blithely. ‘My colleague Master Mistletoe and I thought it would be a great privilege if you were escorted back to Tewkesbury by servants of the English Crown displaying the glorious livery of the French king.’ He tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. ‘Your galleymen have been told to relax and enjoy a well-earned rest. So keen were we to ensure that all this was a pleasant surprise, we allowed no courier to leave Tewkesbury to spoil the pageant now unfolding around us. However, since we first organised this celebration, certain – how can I put it? Certain anomalies have surfaced.’

  ‘Such as?’ de Craon spluttered.

  ‘Oh, we shall come to that by and by, but in the meantime, more pressing business demands my attention.’ Corbett abruptly rose to his feet and pointed at the abbot. ‘Henry
Maltravers, former Knight of the Swan, self-styled Abbot of Holyrood, I indict thee of high treason, murder and theft.’ He ignored the cries and exclamations as he turned slightly and pointed at Maltravers’ master-at-arms. ‘John Devizes, self-styled master-at-arms to the said Maltravers, I do indict thee of high treason, murder and theft. Both of you will be immediately taken into custody and brought before King’s Bench under a special commission of oyer and terminer, tomorrow morning at first light, in the nave of the abbey church. The justiciars who will hear the indictment will be myself, Lord Roger Mortimer and Ralph of Ancaster, popularly known as the Ravenmaster. I hold the right to convene such a court; to listen, judge and dispense justice. For the moment, I am finished. Take the prisoners away.’

  Corbett’s proclamation caused deep consternation. Abbot Henry banged the table. Devizes made to draw his dagger, but the men Ap Ythel had massed in the stairwell outside pushed into the chamber, and Ranulf, who’d hurried around the room, struck the master-at-arms a stinging blow so that he staggered back, dropping the blade. The tumult lasted a little longer until the two prisoners were held fast and hustled out of the room. Jude and Crispin continued their pleas that the pair must be innocent. Corbett refused to listen. He ordered that the chambers and the possessions of both men be rigorously searched, and shouted at de Craon to keep to his quarters or he would answer for it.

  He then made a swift survey of Holyrood. Satisfied that the combined cohorts of Ap Ythel, Mortimer and Mistletoe had now secured the abbey, its defences, doors and stores, he returned to his chamber. He refused to meet a delegation from the community, led by the prior, pleading for their abbot. Instead, he concentrated on his bill of indictment against Maltravers and Devizes. He revised it again and again. As he did so, he carefully reflected on what he had written, and the more he did, the more certain he became of one great weakness in his opponents. He quietly vowed that he would exploit this in the coming confrontation with the accused.