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 point 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.
When the King finished talking, Eleanor turned, her face radiant with happiness, and extended a slim be-ringed hand for Corbett to kiss. The clerk did so, realizing that anyone responsible for saving the King's life would have Eleanor's complete protection and gratitude. He smelt the faint fragrant perfume of the Queen, immediately thought of Alice and felt a momentary stab of anger at what both these royal personages had cost him.
He looked up in astonishment as the Queen burst into peals of laughter, her hand pointing beyond him to where Ranulf sat. Corbett turned and almost laughed himself at the young man's white face, his wide eyes and slack jaw revealing his awe and trepidation at being in the royal presence. Corbett touched him reassuringly on the knee while the King talked to Ranulf in English which almost parodied the voice of a Londoner. Ranulf stammered a short reply then lapsed into silence, head bowed, as the King summoned Boudon and asked his steward to pour the wine that the servants had eventually brought. Only then Corbett was questioned carefully on all he had discovered in connection with Duket's mysterious death.
Twenty
The King listened to Corbett carefully, now and again interrupting to ask a question or make him repeat a statement to clarify a point. Occasionally, the Queen broke into the conversation with a blunt question or stark observation. Time passed, more wine was brought, this time with sweetmeats which clogged Corbett's mouth and made him feel slightly nauseous. Eventually, Corbett's story ended, he had circumvented Alice, telling slight lies to soften her participation in the plot against the King. Nevertheless, he was uncertain whether the King was ignorant of the full facts. He seemed well briefed, his shrewd eyes assessing Corbett seemed to sense that something was missing. Yet, he appeared pleased and, when Corbett had finished, there was silence as the King stared into the fire, one hand stretched across the table to caress his wife. He got up, his huge bulk towering above Corbett.
"You have done well, Master Clerk, " he rasped. "Very well. I shall not forget. Take this, " and he dropped two full purses into Corbett's lap "as a mere token of our gratitude. There will be more, " he added softly, looking at both Corbett and Ranulf. "But that will come later. " The King tapped Corbett on the shoulder. "Enjoy yourself here, Master Clerk. You are a loyal, faithful servant of the Crown who has chosen the better part. Whatever you may think now. " Then he was gone, his wife following in a billow of silk and perfume almost before Corbett and Ranulf could rise to their feet.
Corbett sat and thought about what he had said to the King. He sighed, turned and grinned at the still awestruck Ranulf. "Come, Ranulf, " he joked. "The King has told us to enjoy ourselves. Let us begin. "
Corbett stayed at Woodstock for over a week, enjoying and participating in the ritual and festivities of the Court as it celebrated Easter and the ending of Holy Week. Gradually Ranulf relaxed and a cynical Corbett watched him flirt in his open, vulgar way with the ladies of the Court. The young man's blatant sexuality and infatuation with the opposite sex both fascinated and repelled Corbett. The sophisticated court ladies thought differently, a few of whom found themselves in Ranulf's bed, turning and working to pleasure a young man who, by rights, should have been dangling on the gallows weeks ago.
The days passed. Corbett felt the frantic routine of the Court soothe his anxieties and regrets about Alice though the scraps of news from London were ominous enough. There had been raids on houses both in the city and the surrounding countryside, arrests had been made, followed by summary trials before the King's Justices and then brutal executions at the gallows or in chains at Smithfield. The King, for all his calm demeanour, was secretly furious at being kept from his city by rebels, secret sympathizers of the dead but still hated de Montfort.
Corbett would have stayed at Woodstock immersed in the Court routine carrying out minor tasks assigned to him by the King but, of course, Burnell changed all that. About ten days after arriving at Woodstock, Corbett received a letter from the Chancellor, and he opened it with trembling hands, recognizing the bold firm script of the Chancellor's own hand.
"Robert Burnell, Bishop of Bath and Wells, Chancellor of England, to our well beloved clerk, Hugh Corbett, greetings. The information you sent us has proved most valuable in the apprehension and arrest of traitors in the city. The tavern known as The Mitre in St. Mark's Lane was surrounded by soldiers the King had sent into the city. All persons in that tavern were arrested and taken to the Tower for questioning. There was, however, no sign of the owner, the woman known as Alice atte Bowe. Nevertheless, others were not so fortunate in their escape and once confined in the Tower were put to the question and interrogated for days regarding the murder of Lawrence Duket A number of them died under this questioning but one, a huge fellow, the protector of Alice atte Bowe and former public hangman called Peter, eventually made a full confession. It would appear that the revolutionaries or Populares party in the city, those known supporters of the dead de Montfort, were infiltrated and controlled by an even more dangerous faction, a secret black magic coven called the Pentangle
"This group rejected the cross of Christ and saw the heretic, Fitz-Osbert, as a saint espousing theories which would have done away with the authority of the King, the church and any vestige of authority in this realm. They practised Satanic ceremonies and abominable rites in deserted churchyards or, more commonly, in the chancel of a disused church in Southwark. The leader of this group, known as The Hooded One, was, Peter abjectly confessed, the woman, Alice atte Bowe, who owned The Mitre tavern. Some others in the group were wealthy merchants, even officials in the city government. One of them, Ralph Crepyn, had the specific task to raise money, by whatever means he could employ, to assist the Pentangle and the Populares party in the city with their plot to kill the King, as his Grace moved from Woodstock through Cheapside and down to Westminster.
"The King's murder was to be followed by a general revolt. The drawing you found in Bellet's bible showed that the assassins would have used the church of Saint Mary Le Bow, the same place they used to store their arms, which explains poor Savel's riddle which you mentioned in your report to me. We have found stores of such arms concealed in the church cemetery. Crepyn's death and Duket's later murder changed everything for they brought you into this matter and so alarmed the rebels that they hired special assassins to track you down and kill you
"It would also appear, and I do not blame you for this, that Alice atte Bowe attempted by other means to divert you from your task Fortunately, neither tactic succeeded. This self-confessed criminal, Peter, also admitted that he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of Alice atte Bowe, who had mysteriously fled the day before her comrades were seized. However, Peter did supply us with other names and the royal Serjeants have been busy in arresting numerous people throughout the city One group did contrive to make a stand, barricading themselves in a house off the Walbrook Royal archers fired the dwelling and cut down any who tried to escape. London has now been purged of these vermin and safely returned to its loyalty to our Lord the King Consequently, I urge you to return here with all possible speed God save you. Written at Westminster – June 1284. "
Corbett heaved a sigh of relief. So, Alice had escaped. He agreed with Burnell, he wanted to return and immediately ordered a disgruntled Ranulf to pack their belongings. Corbett took leave of the King and that same day they were on the road south. It was strange to be free of the bustle and noise, riding through the summer countryside. However, Corbett felt his anxieties and fears crowding in on him again, a feeling of deep panic which made him ride faster, making Ranulf forget his grumbles about leaving the new-found luxuries of the Court.
It only took them a few days to reach the outskirts of London. Corbett decided to leave Ranulf and the horses at a riverside inn while he hired a skiff to take him to Westminster. He arrived there about noon on the fourth day after he left Woodstock and, as he walked through the Great Hall, sensed danger and excitement. It was always the same after a crisis, Corbett reasoned. Warrants had to be issued; letters drawn up, judgments recorded, recognizances and testimonies witnessed and sealed. All meant an increase in the work load for the clerks who caught some of the fear, tension and excitement from the documents they handled. Corbett tried to ignore any salutations or attempts to drawn him into conversation. He wanted to see Burnell immediately, not be drawn into desultory chatter. He did note that certain of the senior clerks looked at him strangely, their eyes slipping away when he stared back.
Burnell was in his chambers but Corbett was told to wait and had to stand around for hours until the Chancellor sent for him late that afternoon. He found Burnell, still swathed in robes, almost immersed in a sea of documents which lay curled, spread and heaped across the great table. The Chancellor stared as Corbett came into the room, his dark hooded eyes carefully scrutinizing the clerk before he waved him to a stool and poured him a goblet of heavy red Gascon wine. Corbett sat down and sipped the wine, waiting for Burnell, who sat, gazing closely into his own cup, to begin.
"Master Hugh, " Burnell said, putting his cup down. "The work that you did was good, very good. That nest of traitors has been netted, some were tortured and so many more have been hanged. A few, " he smiled evilly at Corbett, "will be hanged by the purse. Huge benevolences. Loans to guarantee their future good behaviour. Your part in this will never be forgotten. Oh, " Burnell added, almost as an afterthought. "Master Hubert Seagrave. Do you know his whereabouts?"
"Seagrave, " Corbett flatly replied, "was a traitor and I have executed him. He was giving information to the highest bidder. He deserved to die!"
The Chancellor was going to speak but stopped and shuffled amongst the papers on his desk. "There was the woman, " Burnell said slowly. "Alice atte Bowe, her maiden name was Fitz-Osbert. She was arrested on the Dover road by a mounted patrol and brought back to the city. "
"And, " Corbett heard his voice interject like ice snapping, a sound from far away.
"And what?" Burnell asked.