by Paul Doherty
He was about to leave when he caught a glimpse of blond hair. He turned to gaze closer and his jaw fell open in surprise as he recognised the young woman he had last seen with de Craon and Waterton in that dingy Paris tavern so many weeks before.
'Who is that lady?' Corbett asked one of Tuberville's sons.
'Oh,' the boy replied scornfully, 'The Lady Eleanor, the Earl of Richmond's daughter. She keeps to herself and pines away in corners. She hardly ever talks to anyone.'
'Well,' Corbett murmured almost to himself, 'She is one person who is going to talk to me.'
He walked round one of the raised flower beds and approached the young woman, tapping her on the shoulder. She spun round, her blond hair swinging like a veil round her face. She was thin, pale, but her light blue eyes and perfectly formed features made her beautiful.
'What is it, Monsieur?' she asked.
'My lady,' Corbett replied. 'May I present my compliments. I am Hugh Corbett, senior clerk in the chancery of Edward of England. I am here on diplomatic business and also to present the compliments of your father as well as your secret admirer, Ralph Waterton.'
Of course it was all a iie but Corbett knew he had struck the truth, she blushed whilst her reply ended in an almost meaningless stammer.
'Ralph Waterton,' Corbett continued, 'is your secret admirer, is he not, my lady?'
'Yes,' she whispered.
'And you were sent by your father as hostage to France? To keep you out of Waterton's way?'
The young woman nodded.
'It was to keep you both apart,' Corbett continued relendessly, 'that your father had Waterton transferred to the royal service. It was both a ruse and a bribe was it not?'
'Yes,' Lady Eleanor whispered, her eyes downcast, 'we love each other deeply. My father was furious that I even looked at such a man.
'First, he threatened Ralph and then attempted to bribe him by recommending him to the King.'
'Did this work?'
The Lady Eleanor played nervously with the rings on her long white fingers.
'No,' she answered hoarsely, 'we continued to meet each other. My father threatened Ralph, who in turn replied that he would appeal direct to the King.'
'So,' Corbett interrupted brusquely, 'when your father had to send a hostage to France, he chose you? I also gather,' he continued, 'that Monsieur de Craon found out about your affair, or should I say liaison, and when Waterton came to Paris, he arranged secret meetings between you did he not?'
'Yes. Yes,' Lady Eleanor replied. 'Monsieur de Craon was most kind.'
'What price did de Craon ask?'
The young woman looked up in alarm and Crobett saw fear in her eyes and the slight tremble of her shoulders.
'There was no price,' she snapped back, 'Ralph is a loyal servant of the King. Monsieur de Craon did not even ask.'
'Then why did Monsieur de Craon extend such kindness to both of you?'
'I do not know,' Lady Eleanor replied, hiding her nervousness behind an assumed air of haughtiness, 'If you wish to know, why not ask him.'
And, without further ado, the lady spun on her heel and walked quickly away.
Corbett watched her go. His questions had sprung from a wild guess but the surmise had proved correct. Another missing piece was placed in the puzzle. Ends were matched. Slowly but surely the picture was emerging. De Craon had used both Waterton and the Lady Eleanor, but for what purpose? And if he was so concerned about the young lovers why had he not informed Lady Eleanor about Waterton's imprisonment? De Craon must surely know about that. The only reason could be that de Craon did not want to alarm the Lady Eleanor and Corbett was now fully aware of the logic behind that. Corbett sighed and walked slowly back into the palace buildings. He must be careful; if Lady Eleanor informed de Craon about what Corbett knew, envoy or not, Corbett would be far too dangerous to be allowed a safe passage back to England.
SEVENTEEN
Three days later Corbett was summoned to a meeting of Philip IV's council, held in the great hall of the palace; every care and attention had been taken to transform the place into a majestic and regal setting. Huge cloths of gold had been draped over rafter beams, pure white velvet arras hung from the walls depicting the insignia of Philip's famous and sainted ancestor Louis IX.
On the dais a row of chairs had been placed, each draped in a silver cloth except for the large central throne covered in purple velvet fringed with gold. Before this was a low stool and Corbett had no illusions about who was to sit there. The hall filled with various officials, men in the different striped robes of Philip's household, black and white, red and gold, green and black: household knights in silver-plated Milanese armour took up position around the hall, their drawn swords placed point down between their mailed feet, hands resting on the jewelled cross-hilts. Heralds in the gallery above the dais flourished their trumpets and a shrill, braying blast silenced the clamour of the hall. A side door opened, two thurifers, dressed in white robes with gold girdles round their waists, entered, their slowly swaying censers sending puffs of fragrant incense up into the hall. They took up positions at either end of the dais as the heralds followed, each bearing huge banners. Corbett only had eyes for the one carrying the Oriflamme, the sacred pennant of the Capetian kings usually kept behind the high altar in the royal chapel of St. Denis.
The heralds were followed by members of Philip's family, sons, brothers and cousins, all resplendent in purple and gold. There was a pause, silence and then the trumpets brayed another long thrilling blast and Philip entered, brilliant in cloth of gold, his gown fringed with the costliest lambswool. A pair of golden spurs clanked on his black leather riding-boots which peered incongruously from beneath • the long court gown. Corbett smiled to himself. Philip IV was a master of protocol and court ceremony but, even here, he could not hide his great love of hunting. Corbett suspected that the King had recently returned from one of his hunting lodges in either the Bois de Boulogne or the forests of Vincennes.
Philip sat on the throne, his family and entourage also took their seats. De Craon appeared as if from nowhere and beckoned Corbett and his party forward to the stools, Ranulf and Hervey sat down, overawed and open-mouthed at the gorgeous panoply of splendid power around them. Corbett slowly took his seat, carefully arranging his robe, taking time with all his movements before schooling his features to become the experienced diplomat prepared to receive messages on behalf of his royal master.
He stared at Philip but the French king's face was impassive as carved alabaster, though Corbett was quietly pleased to see a flicker of annoyance cross de Craon's face. Clerks scurried about, documents were unrolled and once more Corbett had to listen to the Process of Gascony, a long list of French grievances over the duchy. He had heard it before and sat half-listening as the clerk droned on, only becoming attentive when the clerk paused to intone a new passage, 'Autem nunc Regi Franciae placet', 'However it now pleases the King of France'.
Corbett listened carefully, trying to control his excitement as the clerk began to unfold Philip's offer of peace. The French king was prepared to submit all grievances to His Holiness, Pope Boniface VIII -Philip's creature Corbett thought: the French would restore the duchy in the hope that Edward would agree to a marriage between the Prince of Wales and Philip's daughter, Isabella, and that Gascony would eventually be ruled by one of their offspring. So, Corbett mused, he had been correct: Philip could not hold the duchy for ever but might restore it on a binding arbitration guaranteed by the Pope. At the same time he would limit Edward's own diplomacy whilst ensure that one grandson would sit on the throne of England while another ruled Gascony.
The clerk stopped talking. Corbett was aware that the French, including Philip, were staring at him, awaiting his reply but he had already decided, Lancaster had given him one instruction:
'Agree to anything, anything which will give us time. Once we have the duchy, we can think again about Philip's terms.'
Corbett cleared his throat.
&n
bsp; 'Placet,' he stated, 'Hic Regi Angliae placebit – this pleases, will please the King of England.' Corbett sensed the deep relief of the French. Philip almost smiled, his entourage visibly relaxed, while de Craon's glee was more than apparent. Corbett shifted uneasily: he had overlooked one thing: as long as Philip's traitor was on Edward's council, the French would always know of any attempt by Edward to subvert or ignore the terms of the arbitration.
Nevertheless, it was too late now: Philip rose, the meeting was at an end. De Craon left the dais and walked over to Corbett, he made little attempt to hide Ms pleasure over the proposed settlement. The Frenchman nodded benevolently at Ranulf and Hervey before turning to Corbett.
'Well, Monsieur. You think your King will accept these terms?'
'There is little reason to doubt he will,' Corbett replied.as non-committal as possible.
De Craon rubbed his chin and smiled.
'Good. Good.' He was about to turn away when suddenly, almost as an afterthought, he spun round. His Grace, the King is holding a banquet here tonight. He would like you/ he smiled expansively at Ranulf and Hervey, 'all of you to be his guests. Till then, adieu.'
He sauntered off as if his every problem had been resolved. Corbett watched him go, trying to suppress the fury welling up inside him, making his heart pound harder and his throat constrict, Hervey expressed mild enjoyment at such a gracious invitation and recoiled in horror at the anger which blazed in Corbett's face.
By the time Corbett and his party returned to the palace that same evening, the clerk's temper had cooled. He had accepted Philip's proposals on Edward's behalf but the English king was only vulnerable if the spy was allowed to remain free. Corbett now accepted that Waterton was not the traitor and hoped the over-confidence of the French would provide some sign, some due about whom they had bought on Edward's council.
The French were certainly determined to show the full splendour of their power. The great hall shimmered in silks, velvet, multi-coloured tapestries: the tables were covered in white lawn fringed with gold. Silver plates, diamond-encrusted cups and gold flagons gleamed and winked in the light of thousands of
beeswax candles in huge bronze candelabra placed in rows along the hall. Philip and his family, resplendent in purples, whites and golds, sat at the high table almost hidden by a huge pure gold salt cellar. In the gallery musicians with rebec, flute, tambour and viol competed desperately with the growing clamour as the wine circulated and servants brought in course after course of lampreys, eels, salmon, venison garnished with tangy spices, a huge swan cooked and dressed, it seemed to swim on the great silver serving plate. Corbett and his party sat at a table just beneath the great dais, de Craon opposite them a smile on his face as he stared directly across at Corbett.
The English clerk did not relish the enjoyment on his opponent's face and sat there, moodily playing with his food and sipping gently from his cup. Beside him, however, Ranulf and Hervey were eating like men who had been starved of food for months. De Craon watched them. His supercilious smile infuriated Corbett but the clerk had enough sense to realise that any outburst would only increase the Frenchman's enjoyment. It was evident that de Craon believed that he and Philip had achieved a diplomatic coup. Edward's heir would be married to Philip's daughter. Philip's grandson would one day sit on the English throne and, if Edward made any secret attempts to outflank the French manoeuvres, their spy on the English council would promptly inform them and to be forewarned was to be forearmed. Corbett pushed his plate away and rested his elbows on the table.
'Monsieur,' he said softly, 'You must be very pleased by today's events.'
De Craon idly picked his teeth with his finger, totally ignoring the look of disgust on Corbett's face.
'Of course, Monsieur,' he said slowly, at the same time dislodging a piece of chewed meat from his teeth which he looked at before popping it back into his mouth. 'We do not see it as a victory,' he continued, 'but merely the restoration of Philip's rights in France and in Europe as a whole.'
'And the hostages?' Corbett said carefully; 'They will be returned?'
De Craon smirked. 'Of course. Once the processes have been sealed formally by your master, we will ship them home as quickly as possible. They are a burden on ihe royal expenses.'
'All of them?' Corbett sharply enquired. The smile on de Craon's face vanished.
'What do you mean?' he asked suspiciously.
'Does that include the Earl of Richmond's daughter?'
'Of course.'
Corbett nodded. 'Good! And Tuberville's sons?'
'Of course,' de Craon snapped.
The French clerk sipped slowly from his flagon. Corbett had watched him throughout the meal and realised that the Frenchman had drunk often and deep. His face was now flushed, his eyes glittering, a mixture of self-satisfaction and rich red Bordeaux.
'Tuberville's sons,' de Craon continued expansively, 'will go home. That poor father and his letters which tell them all the details about St. Christopher medals and life in some rugged little manor house in Shropshire would touch the heart of any man. Naturally, the Earl of Richmond's daughter will be the first to go. Our King will insist on that.'
Corbett nodded understandingly though he could hardly believe his good fortune. He schooled his features, continuing to look as if he was miserable and deeply unhappy for, if de Craon sensed he had been trapped, then Corbett would not be allowed to leave France alive. Corbett put his cup down, yawned and turned to Ranulf.
'We should be gone,' he said quietly. Ranulf, his mouth full of rich food, nodded and promptly began to fill his pockets with the sweet pastry which the chef had laid on the table before him. Hervey was almost asleep he had drunk so much and Corbett had to shake him roughly awake. De Craon leaned across the table.
'You are going now, Monsieur?'
'Of course,' Crobett replied. 'In fact, О would like to leave for London tomorrow.'
De Craon's eyes narrowed. 'Why? Why the haste?'
Corbett shrugged. 'Why not. We have your master's terms. They are not to be written down but to be conveyed verbally to Edward of England. There is no reason for us to stay. Besides, there are matters in London which require my attention."
De Craon nodded slowly. His eyes searched Corbett's face as if trying to find any reason why the clerk had decided to leave so quickly.
'You are sure, Monsieur?'
'Of course,' Crobett replied, still acting the role of the depressed diplomat. 'These terms are not advantageous to Edward. The sooner we return to England and inform his Grace, the better. I would be obliged, Monsieur, if you would arrange for the safe conducts to be given to us with a suitable military escort to take us to Calais.'
De Craon shrugged. He knew he could not keep this English clerk if he wished to return. But de Craon was suspicious. Had Corbett discovered something? He wanted this English clerk to make a mistake, just one and so de Craon could revenge himself for previous insults inflicted by this insufferable Englishman. Nor had de Craon forgotten that Corbett was responsible for the recent death of one of his best agents. The Frenchman tried to clear the intoxicating fumes from his head as he concentrated on what he had said to Corbett since the Englishman had arrived in Paris. There was nothing. Nothing had been given away. De Craon rose.
'Your safe conducts will be ready tomorrow morning. О wish you a safe journey,' and, having said this, he spun on his heel and walked up to the high table to whisper softly in the ear of his royal master. Corbett did not bother to see if Philip objected but, half dragging Hervey and pushing Ranulf, left the hall for their chambers.
EIGHTEEN
De Craon was true to his word, the warrants were ready, as was a small military escort hand-picked by de Craon himself.
Throughout their journey across the early autumn Norman countryside Corbett was careful to keep his thoughts to himself and continue to act as if he was the bearer of bad news. Ranulf and Hervey were delighted to be returning to England but Ranulf knew enough about his
master's moods to remain silent and not try to vex him with idle chatter. The captain of the escort, a burly Breton, watched the English envoy carefully, being secretly instructed to do so by de Craon himself. De Craon believed that Corbett knew something but could not fathom what it was. However, throughout the journey, the clerk's sad demeanour and apparent agitation made the escort relax and at Boulogne the captain sent a courier back to de Craon with a verbal message that the English envoy continued to behave as if he dreaded the coming meeting with his royal master in England. They were put aboard a merchant cog bound for Dover and from there Corbett was able to secure horses to travel to London.
If his journey back had been quiet and uneventful, the subsequent interview with Edward of England was a stark contrast. Hervey and Ranulf were not allowed into the royal chamber but Corbett attended the meeting, grateful at least that the King had decided to have Edmund of Lancaster also present. Edward heard Corbett out, before bursting into one of his famous royal rages. Tables and stools were overturned, manuscripts thrown and rushes kicked as Edward stormed around the room calling Philip of France every filthy name Corbett knew and a few he did not.
'That man,' Edward roared, 'is a danger to Europe and threatens our very crown. He would like his own misbegotten grandson on my throne! He intends to build an empire which rivals Caesar's or even Charlemagne's, but he will not.' The King's rage lasted for an hour before he eventually calmed down.