Six days later, after a quiet and uneventful journey, Gorbett and the French envoys landed at Boulogne-su-Mer. Corbett was accompanied by an ever-grumbling Ranulf, angry at being snatched away from the pleasures and joys of London's low life. Another Englishman accompanied them, William Hervey, a small, mouse-like man, a scribe by profession and timid by nature. He was used to working in the Court of Common Pleas and was totally overawed by the company in which he now travelled. The French left them alone. De Craon and Corbett exchanged pleasantries but, in the main, the relationship, if one could call it that, was one of mutual distrust. Actually, Corbett felt safer with the French than he had since his return from Wales: they had guaranteed the safety and security of his person; awesome oaths sworn over sacred relics and the Bible that he would be allowed a safe return to the English court.
Lancaster had also given him a stream of verbal instructions; what to say, what not to say, what to offer, what not to offer, when to leave and when to stay. Corbett ignored most of them. He realised that the Earl was telling him to seek the best offer he could get and accept it. It was openly agreed at the English court that Philip, now faced with war in Flanders brought about by English agents, could not contemplate similar action in Gascony if Edward took his army there.
Consequently, the French king would probably agree to return Gascony, but on terms beneficial to himself. In more leisurely moments Corbett had studied some of the memoranda and documents written by Philip IV's clever lawyers, particularly the writer, Pierre Dubois, who saw Philip as a new Charlemagne in Europe. Dubois recommended that Philip extend his power through a series of judicious marriage alliances. The French King seemed to agree with this, marrying his three sons to members of the powerful French nobility in the hope of annexing the independent Duchy of Burgundy.
On his journey to Dover and during the peaceful sea voyage Corbett had reached the conclusion that Philip would offer such a treaty to Edward. The English King's son was now six or seven years old and already there were rumours that Edward was looking for a bride amongst the powerful dukes in the Low Countries. Someone he could bring into his own circle of allies against Philip.
Philip would counter this: his wife, Joan of Navarre, had recently given birth to a young princess named Isabella. Corbett wondered if Philip intended to return Gascony on condition that Edward marry his heir to the young Princess Isabella? The more the clerk thought about such a plan, the more feasible it became and he only hoped that he would negotiate as skilfully as possible and not incur the anger of his ever irrational royal master.
Corbett had other instuctions. He was to continue to seek out the traitor on Edward's council. He considered the information he had garnered and believed Lancaster and the King would not disagree with it. Although Waterton was guilty of suspicious activities, he was not the traitor they were hunting. Corbett turned the matter over and over again in his mind, half-listening to Ranulf's grumbles about the French, the lack of food and the hostile company.
Corbett still missed Maeve, still loved her yet he felt a quiet surge of excitement over his present task; the traitor, whoever he or she might be, must surely become over confident? In all his previous investigations Corbett had discovered it was at such a moment that the culprit could be detected and brought to justice. As the envoys left Boulogne and began the long journey to Paris, Corbett felt that stage was fast approaching.
The journey was pleasant enough. A glorious summer and a golden sun had turned the barren Norman countryside into a vision of loveliness. Elm, sycamore, oak trees, majestic in their summer growth, the orchards and cornfields, full and ripe for the reaping. The prospect of a good harvest and an easy winter had relaxed the attitudes of the usually hostile peasants and taciturn manor lords, and they were shown hospitality at every place they stopped. Of course, Corbett attempted to open conversation with the French but he sensed de Craon's deep distrust of him which was reflected in the eyes of the rest of the French escort, even the elderly Count Louis of Evreux, whenever Corbett spoke they were watchful, suspicious, almost respectful as if they feared Corbett as animals might a skilled hunter.
Eight days after they had left Boulogne, they entered Paris, now a seething mass of people as the late summer fairs began. The streets were thronged with beggars, tinkers, pedlars, men and women of various nationalities, merchants who had drifted south from the Rhine or Low Countries in the hope of selling and buying goods. Even the execution ground, Montfaucon, was deserted despite the bodies swinging from a makeshift scaffold and the poor wretches locked in the stocks. Corbett and the French envoys crossed the River Seine, went through a maze of winding streets, past Notre Dame Cathedral and into the Louvre Palace.
Corbett paid his respects to Evreux and de Craon and, after receiving little thanks, was led off by a chamberlain, Ranulf and Hervey in his wake, to their quarters, three small garrets at the top of the palace. Corbett swore they were under the very eaves. Ranulf squeaked in protest and urged Corbett to remonstrate with Philip's chamberlain but the clerk, on reflection, thought differently. He was an envoy, but not in the usual sense, and the French would only delight in a fresh opportunity of provoking him. They were masters of protocol and courtly etiquette and Corbett sensed that he had been given this dingy garret and tawdry furniture in the hope of inciting him to some surprising outburst.
Moreover, the rooms were on one floor and Corbett knew he could come and go as he wished and be able to give the slip to the usual spies de Craon would feel obliged to send his way. Corbett instructed Ranulf and Hervey that on no account were they to leave the royal palace and to report to him immediately any suspicious occurrences or happenings. Hervey looked relieved at this but Ranulf sulked for hours when he realised he had been refused permission to run wild in the fleshpots of the city. The brothels and bordellos of Paris were famous for their whores, Ranulf had tasted some of these delights on his last visit and was disappointed to learn he would not be able to renew old acquaintances.
They settled down to the court routine, Corbett realising that the French would only receive him in an official audience when the time was ripe. They drew food from the buttery and kitchens, sometimes dining in the great hall beneath the silken canopies and arras bearing the White Cross of Lorraine or the Silver Fleur de Lis of France. Corbett constantly tried to learn what was going on; items of gossip, pieces of information, snatches of news which could be sewn together to form a mental tapestry.
He soon accepted this would be harder than he thought, de Craon or perhaps someone even higher, had issued the strictest instructions; the English envoys were to be treated kindly, afforded some hospitality but to be given no concessions and certainly not any gossip. Corbett found his witticisms and attempts at intelligent conversation rapidly brought to nothing, while even Ranulf's quick and easy tongue, subtle flatteries and droll humour made little headway with the serving girls who worked in the palace.
They also knew they were observed, which reduced Hervey to such constant agitation and nervous tension that Corbett tired of trying to allay his fears. Despite the colour, the pageantry, the glorious gaudy costumes of the household knights and the different ranks of servants, there was a sense of malice, of quiet menace in the palace. Corbett knew this atmosphere was not caused by de Craon but came direct from Philip, a king who prided himself on knowing every turn, every occurrence in his realm.
The days dragged on. Corbett spent most of his time either listening to the choirs in the royal chapel or browsing greedily amongst the rare books and manuscripts of the palace library. King Philip prided himself on being a man of culture and Corbett was delighted to find that royal French gold had purchased works of Aristotle from the Islamic writers of Spain and North Africa. His pleasure was marred by having to keep an ever-vigilant eye on Ranulf whose restless roaming about the palace could pose a threat to their security. Corbett knew that they were safe as long as they obeyed the strict protocol of the envoys. If that was broken, the French would rightly claim that they had usurped their rights and were subject to any punishment the French King thought fit.
One day, about a week after their arrival, Ranulf returned breathlessly to their garret to announce that he had discovered other English people in the palace. At first, Corbett thought he was mad, dismissing his words as mere fantasies, the result of too much wine or enforced loneliness. Yet, as Ranulf described what he had seen, Corbett sensed his servant was speaking the truth and had probably met some of the hostages Philip had demanded after the English army surrendered in Gascony. He decided that perhaps these were worth a visit and Ranulf gladly took him back. They were all in one of the small herb gardens which lay at the back of the palace, a fairly unprepossessing group of elderly men, women and a few children.
Corbett remembered the letters he had brought and was pleased to hear they had received them. He chatted for a while, giving them news of England and the royal court, trying to do his best to allay their anxieties and reassure them that their homesickness would soon be at an end. He met Tuberville's sons, two sturdy boys of eleven and thirteen who resembled their father as closely as peas out of a pod. Corbett found their youthful enthusiasm and constant questions about their father and home as a welcome relief to the gloom and despondency of the other hostages. They spoke of the letters they had received and the eldest, Jocelyn, openly confessed that sometimes he did not know what his father was writing about. Corbett laughed, promising to tell their father to write in a more clear and lucid fashion.
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.