Satan in St Mary hc-1

by Paul Doherty

  Nineteen

  Corbett arrived back in the Tower late in the evening to find Sir Edward Swynnerton frenetic and the Tower abustle with activity as if expecting attack. Sir Edward, Neville beside him, was ordering horses out and rooms refurbished. Ranulf was sitting against a wall, staring like a gargoyle, mouth open, face twisted with concern. Corbett called over to him and Ranulf's face broke into a cheery grin as he ambled over to join his master. "Well, Ranulf, " Corbett said, more pleased than he had expected to see his assistant back again. "You enjoyed the city?"

  "Yes, " Ranulf replied. "I went back to Thames Street to check on our lodgings. "

  "And all was safe?" Corbett interrupted.

  "As secure as the Tower itself, " Ranulf answered. He did not dare tell his master about his seduction of Mistress Grant, a fine lady, Ranulf mused, with her silken plump thighs and small rounded breasts. She went down like a drawbridge, Ranulf thought, all squeals and protests but obliging all the same.

  Corbett watched him suspiciously. There was something wrong though he decided it would have to wait, for he caught sight of Swynnerton out of the corner of his eyes, huffing and puffing his way across to him.

  "It must be you, Master Clerk, " he barked.

  "I beg your pardon?" Corbett said.

  "It must be you, " Swynnerton pressed home the point. "The city is full of soldiers and not just country bumpkins collected by Commissioners of Array but professional veterans, mercenaries hired by the King and usually kept at a far distance from the city. " The old soldier paused for breath before continuing: "They are going to be sent here. I also understand the King has summoned the Mayor and Aldermen to Woodstock and has issued writs to sheriffs ordering a levy of men in the shires. The ports are to be closed and… "

  "And you think it is all because of me?" Corbett abruptly interrupted. Swynnerton edged closer and Corbett smelt his stale breath. "Master Clerk, I know it is because of you. You're a very dangerous man, aren't you? You were right about that priest and God knows what else you have uncovered! I'll be glad when you're gone!" Swynnerton then dug beneath his cloak and drew out a sealed letter. "This arrived for you. " He dropped the writ into Corbett's hand and walked away.

  Corbett studied the personal seal of the Lord Chancellor and carefully opened the letter. It was fulsome. Burnell thanked Corbett, 'his dear and trusted clerk for his work in bringing to light the evil conspiracy which had flourished like a canker in the fairest city of the King's realm'. He then bluntly continued that Corbett was to proceed immediately to the royal palace of Woodstock outside Oxford to receive thanks from a grateful monarch.

  Corbett sighed, folded the letter and put it into his pouch. On any other occasion Corbett would have been delighted with such an order for a personal meeting with the King meant preferment and patronage in the arduous climb to high office. Nevertheless, Corbett reasoned, he would be glad to be free of London and the Tower whilst the hunt for the conspirators took place. He thought of Alice and anxiously wondered if she had escaped. He turned and walked back to his lodgings, his anxieties and worries gnawing at his soul, threatening to drown it in a fit of black depression. He had to move, keep actively involved in affairs, anything rather than be drawn into the savage whirlpool of regret and desperation.

  Within hours Corbett had organized Ranulf into obtaining two horses and a sumpter pony, on which all their baggage was piled and securely tied. Ranulf was so pleased to be going, to be leaving London where there seemed so much danger, for Ranulf had reached the private conclusion that it was safer to be a criminal or felon than be an officer of the law. In addition, as he proudly proclaimed to anyone who bothered to listen, this was the first time he had been out of the city. In his turn, Swynnerton was only too pleased to see the back of Corbett, who had severely upset the harmony of life and routine at the Tower, and eagerly supplied the enigmatic clerk with the necessary documents to get out of the city and travel to Oxford.

  Just before dark, Corbett and Ranulf bade their farewell to the garrison, led their horses through the postern gate and began their journey north. Corbett knew he would have to lodge at a tavern but he was determined to be out of the city as quickly as possible. At first, Ranulf was excited and talkative but his master's clipped answers, guarded looks and the sheer fascination of travel silenced him and he hung back a little, busily looking around him and trying to control the sumpter pony which seemed to have taken a savage dislike to him. Since they had left the Tower, which lay outside the city wall, they were free of interference from city officials, though the roads to and from London were being well patrolled and they eventually met a group of soldiers under a serjeant-of-arms.

  They were the same hardened professionals Swynnerton had mentioned the King was sending into the city: Corbett had served with such men in Wales and along the Welsh March. Hard-faced, their skin toughened and burnt by the sun and wind, hair closely cropped to make their helmets and caps easier to wear. They were stationed at a bridge that Corbett had to cross and quietly surrounded him and Ranulf. Their leader inspected Swynnerton's letters and warrants while the rest of the escort checked the horses and casually prodded bundles strapped on the sumpter pony whose wicked temperament ensured this was done with the greatest care.

  After a few questions, they were allowed to cross and continue their journey into the gathering darkness until Corbett decided to stay at a roadside tavern whose ale-bush, welcoming light and hot food were a welcome relief, despite the dirty rushes, ale-stained tables and the offensive smell of tallow candles and animal fat. Once again, they ran into a party of soldiers who were also staying there. The same questions were asked and the same answers given, before

  Corbett and Ranulf were left alone to their steaming bowls of soup and makeshift beds on the flea-ridden floor.

  So, their journey continued for four days. Sometimes they joined groups of other travellers; merchants, hawkers and pedlars, the occasional lawyer going up to the Halls of Oxford or groups of loud-mouthed students in their long patched robes returning to their studies. Corbett and Ranulf engaged in desultory conversation with these companions and all reported an increase in military traffic on the London roads.

  There was constant speculation on the reason why, though most welcomed it, for, despite the King's ordinances to cut back the hedgerows and keep the highways clear and well patrolled, outlaw attacks were common.

  Corbett wished to avoid company but Ranulf clearly relished every encounter, particularly the ladies in their ornate litters slung between two horses. Corbett had to intervene occasionally to ensure his servant, as he described Ranulf, did not give offence and provoke the wrath of the accompanying menfolk.

  When they were alone, their journey was pleasant enough through woods and copses of oak, juniper, box and beechwood. Sometimes the trees were so crowded together that their spring-freshened branches formed an intricate canopy above their heads, blocking out the weak sunshine. Only then did Ranulf fall silent, afraid of the forest, the eerie darkness beyond the trees, so different from the streets and alleyways of the city.

  Corbett, however, felt at home, for such scenes took him back to the heavy dark woods of West Sussex and the even more dangerous ones in Shropshire and along the Welsh March. At other times, as they crossed or went through the clear fertile valleys of the Cotswolds, they passed villages surrounded by their patchwork of fields. The cottages of the villeins, simple oblong buildings with a loft above and a shed or kitchen behind, sometimes dominated by the walled, square-shaped manor house of the lord or bailiff.

  Corbett would ignore such sights but Ranulf gawked at the space and openness of such dwellings, loudly comparing them to the rat-infested runnels of the city. At any other time Corbett would have snapped at Ranulf and urged him on, but he began to find the young man's obvious delight in his changing surroundings a pleasant diversion from brooding on his anxieties about Alice.

  Corbett also realized that Ranulf had never seen the countryside at work and began to p
oint out the common meadow where the villagers' cattle stood and the pigs rooting at the edge of a copse or wood. Once he stopped to explain and describe a field being ploughed, oxen pulling a two-wheeled heavy plough guided by a man who ensured the heavy-bladed coulter cut straight and deep. Behind him a man walked with a heavy bag slung round his neck from which he scattered seed into the freshly cut furrow, while young boys dispersed the voracious, diving crows with well-armed shots from their slings. Corbett realized that Ranulf understood very little of what he said but was moved by the intensity of his companion's childlike curiosity.

  Eventually, the countryside flattened out and they moved closer to the river on their approach to Oxford. Corbett had to patiently explain to Ranulf that London was not the only city in the kingdom, a fact Ranulf soon absorbed when he approached the town gates and, skirting the threatening castle, entered the city itself. It had been years since Corbett had been in Oxford but little appeared to have changed. The place was thronged with scholars, students, portly officials and learned lecturers, specialists in Theology, Philosophy, Logic and the Scriptures.

  Corbett decided to stay at New Hall and obtained, without much difficulty, a sparse whitewashed cell for himself and Ranulf with stabling for his horses at a nearby inn. Corbett, to Ranulf's astonishment, immediately asked for a tub in the Hall's wash-house to be filled with hot water and, when it was ready, stripped and immersed himself in it washing away the grime and dirt of his stay at the Tower and the journey to Oxford. He then insisted that the terrified Ranulf follow suit and by the time Ranulf had finished, the water was as black as charcoal. Corbett ordered the tub emptied, refilled and put the hapless Ranulf, who stood shivering wrapped in a robe, back into the water to finish the task as well as wash some clothes which Corbett flung at him before walking out to visit the Hall library.

  After a while, Ranulf, clean and scrubbed, joined him there and Corbett took him round, trying to mollify his companion's evident humiliation and anger at the enforced bathing by showing him the reading carrels and hundred precious books that the library boasted. Each of these was beautifully bound in the softest vellum, chained and padlocked to its stand. Corbett explained the value of each book and the precious care the Hall took over them, hence the warning written on each of their covers. "Wash, lest any touch of dirty finger, on these spotless pages linger. "

  Corbett then took him from the chapel where the library was housed to the large vaulted Hall for a simple dinner before returning to the sparseness of their cell to sleep and prepare for the following day's journey to Woodstock. By his snores, Corbett knew that Ranulf was soon asleep and could only envy his companion's carefree attitude while he tossed on his narrow cot agitated with anxiety about Alice, remembering the patrols he had encountered travelling to Oxford, going over, time and again, the evidence he had collected and built up against her and her coven. He was still torn between his love for her and his sense of duty to his task and was trying to resolve the dilemma when he fell into an uneasy dream about Alice, Burnell, the sardonic Bellet, the crackling fires of Smithfield and the gibbet at The Elms, tall stark and black against the sky.

  Just after dawn Ranulf shook him awake. He rose, splashed cold water over his face from the brass ewer fixed on the wooden stand of the laver and hurriedly dressed in his best robes brought for the occasion. Corbett inspected a neatly turned out Ranulf, grunted that he was satisfied and they then went down to the Hall's kitchen and buttery to break their fast on ale and rye bread.

  Their journey to Woodstock was uneventful; skirting the village, they followed the broad beaten track through a large man-made park to the royal palace of Woodstock. It was the first time that Corbett had been there and he was surprised to find it was no more than an enlarged manor house spilling over the brow of a small hill. The principal building was the main hall whose turret, clear against the skyline, stood over the other buildings, offices and chapels which had been later added to it. The building work had gone beyond the old wall and a new, crenellated curtain wall was in the process of just being completed. The place was almost frenetic with activity; carts full of produce fought their way from the main gate. Courtiers in silken clothes and ermine-topped cloaks strolled arm-in-arm, arrogantly surveying all the coming and going. Officials and clerks, messengers of the Court hurried along rapt in their own smug self-importance, while all around the parkland were the bivouacked knights and soldiers of the royal household and other noble retinues.

  Cursing and protesting, Corbett led Ranulf through the crowds to the main gate, the most effective aid being the evil-tempered sumpter pony whose sharp teeth and flailing hooves proved remarkably persuasive. At the huge gate, men-at-arms, spears crossed, blocked the entrance and, beyond, a group of knight bannerets from the royal household stood about in half-armour, swords drawn while Corbett had already noted the royal archers patrolling the parapets above him. Corbett had to use the combined warrants of Burnell and Swynnerton to gain entrance to the inner ward where his horses and any arms he and Ranulf carried were deftly taken away from them before one of the household knights reluctantly agreed to send a servant to look for the steward of the royal household. The latter eventually arrived, huffing and puffing with haste. A small, bald, overdressed man with his chest thrust out so that he waddled into view like some portly pigeon. He introduced himself as Walter Boudon and his little pebble eyes gleamed with recognition when Corbett introduced himself.

  "Come!" Boudon snapped his fingers.

  "Where to?" Corbett asked.

  "The King! The King!" Boudon looked surprised. "That is why you have come? Is it not?" His round smooth face wrinkled in astonishment, lips pursed with annoyance. "His Highness is waiting for you, " he stuttered, "you must follow me. " He turned and waddled off with Corbett and Ranulf in hot pursuit.

  Corbett was surprised, for he knew the routine of court and the royal household and had expected to be kept waiting for days.

  Boudon led them through a maze of small alleyways, up some steps, through a buttery, kitchen, a small chapel, then up another staircase into the Great Hall of the manor, long and spacious, with a high vaulted timber roof which soared up and over them. The room was unique with its dark red fire-glazed tiles and the large trefoiled window through which the morning sun shone down on a large oaken table on the dais at the far end. Ranulf gawked and even Corbett was astonished at the hall's luxury. The walls were covered in woollen and velvet drapes, whilst costly and richly decorated carpets covered the floor. Aumbries or cupboards with beautiful wrought-iron scroll work on their boarded doors stood in corners and niches. Against the left wall was a large chimney piece with logs spluttering in the grate while before it, seated in large, elaborately carved chairs, sat a man and a woman, both wrapped in furs, leaning across the table between them quietly studying a chess-board.

  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.