Murder Wears a Cowl

Chapter 12

Corbett ensconced himself in one of the many taverns along Thames Street as he waited for Ranulf and Cade to arrive. He also hired five fishermen, who had been celebrating a successful night’s catch, to hunt amongst the wharves and docks for a French ship preparing to leave on the morning tide. Over an hour passed before his spies returned, saying there was a French cog, the Grace a Dieu, berthed at Queenshithe, which was a veritable hive of activity. One of the fishermen accurately described de Craon, and Corbett became alarmed when another reported how the ship was well manned, bore armaments and was guarded by soldiers.

‘Supposedly a wine vessel,’ the fellow concluded sourly. ‘But you know the French, Master? It’s a merchant ship turned man-of-war.’

Corbett cursed, and paid the fellows their due. If the ship slipped its mooring he did not want it to become involved in some sea fight on the Thames or, even worse, out in the Narrow Sea where it might give any pursuer the slip and make a quick dash for Dieppe or Boulogne. He left the tavern and paced restlessly up and down. By all rights he should be on the way to Sheen, but the King would have to wait. Corbett just hoped his guess would prove correct.

At last Ranulf returned with Cade, one of the sheriffs and troops of city archers and men-at-arms. They thronged the streets and narrow alleyways causing consternation amongst the early morning shoppers, seamen, traders, hucksters and costermongers. The under-sheriff, still looked peakish and nervous, realising his dishonesty about Judith had not yet been fully resolved.

‘Any news from the Tower, Master Cade?’

The under-sheriff shook his head.

‘Brother Richard has been released and Adam of Warfield keeps repeating his story but what’s this fracas about, Sir Hugh?’

‘This fracas,’ Corbett snapped, ‘is about treason!’ He looked at Ranulf. ‘The harbour master has been warned?’

Ranulf nodded.

‘Two men-of-war have been alerted,’ Cade added. ‘The Thames below Westminster has been sealed but a ship on this tide could force its way through and make a run for the open sea. I take it that our quarry is a ship?’

Corbett nodded. ‘A French merchant ship turned man-of-war, the Grace a Dieu. It’s berthed at Queenshithe. I want no nonsense. Forget about protests, protocol and diplomatic ties. I want the ship seized, the soldiers disarmed and the place searched from poop to stern.’

Cade blanched. ‘Sir Hugh, I hope you know what you are doing? If you are wrong, and I suspect we are looking for the stolen treasure, the King’s cup of wrath will spill over on us all!’

‘And if I am right,’ Corbett soothingly replied, ‘then we shall all dance round the maypole.’

He led the archers and men-at-arms into the narrow alleyway leading down to the wharves and quays. Instructions were whispered and, at last, they reached the riverside. Corbett glimpsed the Grace a Dieu; its ramps were still down but the sailors were already scaling the masts to prepare the ship for sail.

‘Now!’ Corbett shouted.

He, Cade and Ranulf led the charge across the cobbled stones. The ramps were stormed. Two men-at-arms, wearing the royal livery of France, tried to block their progress but were knocked aside as English archers and men-at-arms swarmed all over the ship. Sailors caught unawares in the rigging were ordered down, soldiers found between decks were disarmed.

In a few minutes the ship was secured and the French soldiers reduced to mere bystanders. The door of the small cabin in the poop opened and de Craon, followed by de Nevers, stormed across the deck to where Corbett and Cade stood at the foot of the great mast.

‘This is outrageous!’ de Craon yelled. ‘We are the accredited envoys of King Philip, this is a French ship!’ He pointed to the large banner jutting out from the poop. ‘We sail under the royal protection of the House of Capet!’

‘I don’t care if you sail under the direct protection of the Holy Father!’ Corbett replied. ‘You have been up to mischief again, de Craon. I want the King of England’s gold back. Now!’

De Craon’s eyes flickered with amusement. ‘So, we are thieves?’

‘Yes. You are!’

‘You’ll answer for this!’

‘Either way, monsieur, I’ll answer!’ Corbett turned to Cade. ‘Search the ship!’

The under-sheriff turned and rapped out orders and, despite de Craon’s protests, the English soldiers fell to with a will. The cabin was ransacked but the searchers came out grim-faced, shaking their heads. A troop was sent down to the hold. Corbett just stared at de Craon, who stood arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently on the deck. The English clerk deliberately did not look at de Nevers but whispered to Ranulf where to stand. The soldiers came up from below.

‘There’s nothing,’ they said. ‘Just cloth and sacks of food stuff.’

Corbett controlled his panic as he sensed the dismay of Cade and the other officers. He knew the gold and silver were on board; but where?

‘Master.’

‘Shut up, Ranulf!’

Ranulf grabbed Corbett by the arm. ‘Master, I used to run along these wharves. This ship is ready for sea, yes? There are sailors in the rigging preparing to sail. They are looking for a speedy departure.’

‘So?’

‘Master, the ship’s anchor is down. It should be up!’

Corbett turned his back on de Craon. ‘Ranulf, what are you saying?’

‘Master, they haven’t raised the anchor!’

Corbett smiled and turned to Cade. ‘I want three swimmers to make sure that the anchor of this ship is fine. Perhaps check the hawser chain?’

De Craon’s face paled, his jaw fell open. De Nevers began to move to the rail but Corbett seized him by the arm.

‘Master Puddlicott,’ he hissed. ‘I insist you stay!’

‘Puddlicott!’ de Craon snapped.

‘Yes, monsieur, an English criminal wanted by the sheriff of this city and other counties for a list of crimes as long as this river!’

De Nevers tried to break away. Corbett clicked his fingers and indicated to two men-at-arms to hold him fast. Meanwhile, Cade had selected his volunteers. Three archers stripped off their helmets, sallets and sword belts, kicked off their boots and slipped like water rats into the scum-covered river. They dived out of sight and resurfaced, shouting triumphantly.

‘Sacks!’ one of them yelled, spitting out water and shaking his head. ‘There are heavy sacks of coins tied to the anchor chain!’

‘Bring a barge round,’ Corbett ordered. ‘Have the swimmers retrieve the sacks, place a strong guard and order carts to take the sacks to Sheen Palace!’

Cade hurried away, shouting orders. Corbett looked at his opponents.

‘Monsieur de Craon, I will leave you now. I will take Master Puddlicott; for it is Richard Puddlicott, not Raoul de Nevers, isn’t it? He’s an English subject owing allegiance to our King and will undoubtedly answer for his terrible crimes.’

De Nevers yelled at de Craon but the Frenchman just shook his head and the white-faced prisoner was hustled away.

‘We knew nothing of this,’ de Craon protested. ‘We accepted de Nevers for what he claimed to be.’

Corbett grinned at the blatant lie and pointed to the anchor chain. ‘And I suppose,’ he replied, ‘as you raised anchor and set sail you would have found sacks tied by strong cords to the chain. Of course, you would claim it was treasure trove and take it home to your royal master as a fresh subsidy for his armies in Flanders. Naturally, when the time was ripe, you would whisper about what you had done and turn Edward of England into a laughing stock, a prince who lost his gold so his enemy could use it to attack his allies.’ Corbett shook his head. ‘Come, come, monsieur. Our Chancery will lodge objections with yours. You will protest your innocence but you are still a liar and a bungling fool!’

Corbett, followed by Ranulf, walked to the rail.

‘Did you send them?’ Corbett shouted back over his shoulder. He turned and stared into the hate-filled eyes of the Frenchman.

‘Did I send whom?’ De Craon snapped back.

‘The assassins who attacked us?’

De Craon smiled and shook his head. ‘One day, Corbett, I will!’

Corbett and Ranulf strode down the ramp where their prisoner waited, now securely chained between two guards. Behind him the clerk heard the whistles of the officers ordering their men off the French ship and the hurried cries of the French captain, eager to get the Grace a Dieu to sea as swiftly as possible.

‘Where shall we take the prisoner, Sir Hugh?’

Corbett looked at the officer, then at Puddlicott.

‘Newgate will do, but he is to remain chained between two guards.’ Corbett stepped closer and stared into the bland face of this master trickster. ‘Puddlicott, the actor,’ he whispered and touched the man’s blond hair. ‘How often was this dyed, eh? Black, red, russet? And the beard? Grown and shaved, then grown again to suit your purposes?’

Puddlicott stared back coolly. ‘What proof do you have, Master Corbett?’

‘All I need. You know Adam of Warfield has been taken? He puts the blame squarely on you. Oh, I know about the disguises; the beard, the different coloured hair, the cowl and the hood, but they won’t save you from the hangman’s noose. I take no enjoyment in this, Puddlicott, but you are going to hang.’

The arrogant coolness slipped from Puddlicott’s face.

‘If you make a confession,’ Corbett continued. ‘And answer certain questions, then perhaps something can be done.’

‘Such as what?’ Puddlicott sneered.

‘You committed treason. You know the new laws. To be half-hanged, cut down, disembowelled and quartered.’

Corbett flinched at the fear in the prisoner’s eyes.

‘Well, Master Clerk,’ he slurred. ‘Perhaps we should talk.’

Corbett stared along the quayside. There was nothing he could do for this man except make his captivity a little easier.

‘Bring the prisoner!’ he ordered.

The soldiers, with Puddlicott in between them, followed Corbett and Ranulf into a small ale house. Corbett demanded that the room be cleared.

‘Release him!’ he ordered the soldiers. ‘Let him keep his chains. You can guard the door outside.’

The soldiers, disappointed — their hopes of a free meal being dashed — released Puddlicott but rearranged the gyves of his chains so he could shuffle and still use his hands. Corbett pushed the prisoner over to a corner table.

‘Make yourself comfortable on that stool. Landlord, your best dish. What is it?’

‘Fish pie.’

‘Is it fresh?’

‘Yesterday the fish were swimming in the sea.’

Corbett smiled. ‘The largest portion for my guest here and some white wine.’

Puddlicott, a half-smile on his face, watched the landlord bustle off to serve them as if he was some important guest of state rather than a doomed malefactor. They waited in silence until the landlord returned. Puddlicott ate the food eagerly enough and Corbett had to admire the man’s cool nerve. When he had finished, Puddlicott drained his wine cup and held it out for more.

‘Make hay whilst the sun shines.’ Puddlicott grinned, then he became serious. ‘I do have a favour to ask, clerk.’

‘I owe you nothing.’

‘I have a brother,’ Puddlicott persisted. ‘He’s been witless since birth. The Brothers at St Anthony’s hospital look after him. Give me your word he will be well looked after. A royal stipend, and I’ll tell you what I know.’ He half-raised his cup. ‘If I am to die I want it to be quick. Richard Puddlicott was not put on God’s earth for the amusement of the London mob!’

‘You have my word on both matters. Now, you stole the gold and silver?’

‘Of course. Adam of Warfield and William of the palace were involved. William is just a toper but Adam of Warfield is a malicious bastard. I hope he hangs beside me!’

‘He will.’

‘Good, that will make it all the more enjoyable.’ Puddlicott sipped from his cup.

‘Eighteen months ago,’ he began, ‘I was in France after a short stay at Westminster where I helped William of Senche remove some of the abbey treasure from the monk’s refectory. Now, I am not a thief,’ he continued with a grin, ‘I just find it difficult to distinguish between my property and everyone else’s. I tried the same ruse in Paris at the house of the Friars Minor. I was arrested and sentenced to hang. I told my gaoler that I knew a way of making the French king rich at the expense of Edward of England.’ Puddlicott blew his lips out. ‘You know the way of the world, Corbett? When you’re in a corner you’ll try anything. I thought it would be forgotten but, the day before I was due to hang, de Craon and the Keeper of the King’s Secrets, William Nogaret, visited me in the condemned cell. I told them my plan and heigh-ho, I was released.’

‘You could have gone back on your word,’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘Shown them a clean pair of heels.’

‘And fled where?’ Puddlicott asked. ‘To England? As a ragged-arsed beggar? No,’ he smiled and shook his head. ‘De Craon said if I broke my word he would hunt me down. Moreover, I had my own grudge against Edward of England. Oh, by the way, Corbett, de Craon hates you and one day intends to settle scores.’

‘So far, you have told me nothing I didn’t know already,’ Corbett snapped.

‘Ah, well, I returned to England. I grew a beard, dyed my hair black and arranged the festivities at the abbey.’

‘Why?’

‘Adam of Warfield has his brains between his legs. He has a weakness for whores, heady drink and good food. William of the palace can be bought for a good jug of wine, so I had them both. I told them my plan; the cemetery was declared unuseable; I thickened the undergrowth by sowing hempen seed — it sprouts quickly and covered my activities.’

‘You made the tunnel at night?’

‘Usually. But sometimes I dug during the day. It was a brilliant plan, Corbett. No one likes cemeteries by night, or day, and, with the protection of Warfield and William, I could make all the progress I wanted.’ He shrugged. ‘You know the rest. I was after the coins. Warfield took some of the plate, the silly bastard! I moved and hid the sacks in an old dung cart. You guessed that, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Corbett replied. ‘Both Ranulf and I saw it there. Yet, strangely, the street seemed no cleaner.’

Puddlicott smiled. ‘What else did I do wrong?’

Corbett seized Puddlicott’s hands and turned them palm up. ‘When I shook your hand in de Craon’s lodgings I sensed something was wrong but didn’t realise what it was until later. You were a nobleman, Puddlicott, or supposed to be, yet your hands were calloused and rough. The legacy of a misspent youth as well as digging in the abbey graveyard.’ Corbett filled his prisoner’s wine cup. ‘Now the murders.’

Puddlicott sat back. ‘What murders?’

‘The whores! Father Benedict! Lady Somerville! We believe the whores were killed because of the midnight revelries, whilst Lady Somerville and Father Benedict were murdered because of what they knew.’

Puddlicott threw his head back and laughed. ‘Corbett, I am a thief and a rogue. If I thought I could kill you and escape, I would. But some poor girls, an old priest, a grey-haired old lady? Oh, come, come, Master Corbett.’ He sipped from the wine cup and his expression hardened. ‘A comfortable cell in Newgate and I’ll tell you something extra!’

Ranulf snorted with laughter. ‘Any more, Master, and he’ll be bargaining for his release.’

‘I agree to your request,’ Corbett snapped. ‘But no more. Well, what is it?’

‘Something I saw the night Father Benedict died. I was in the abbey grounds resting after hours of digging. I saw a tall, dark form slip through the grounds. I was intrigued so I followed. The figure stopped outside Father Benedict’s house, crouching before the keyhole. The figure, nothing more than a mere shadow, came round to the open window and threw something in. I saw a tinder struck, I guessed what was happening so I fled.’

‘And you know nothing more?’

‘If I did, I would tell you.’

‘Then, Master Puddlicott, I bid you adieu.’ Corbett rose and called for the guards even as Puddlicott grabbed the wine cup and drained it.

Corbett stood and watched the soldiers carefully secure Puddlicott’s chains to their own wrists.

‘Take him to Newgate!’ Corbett ordered. ‘He is to be lodged there as the King’s guest. The most comfortable room, everything he desires. The Exchequer will pay the bill.’ And, turning on his heel, Corbett left the tavern with Puddlicott’s fond farewell ringing in his ears.

Edward of England knelt on the window seat and stared out over the gardens of Sheen Palace. Corbett and de Warrenne, Earl of Surrey, sat watching him guardedly. Of course, the King had been pleased. The Barons of the Exchequer were already counting the coins from the sacks, and high-ranking clerks had been despatched to the treasure house to carry out a full audit. Searches had been made in the London markets for any of the King’s plate, and royal troops were now garrisoned in the abbey grounds. Edward had already sent a note of furious protest to his good brother, the King of France, in which the English King declared that Monsieur Amaury de Craon was persona non grata and if he set foot on English soil would face the full rigours of English law. Corbett had been thanked: a silver chain with a gold Celtic cross for Maeve; a silver goblet stuffed with gold pieces for young Eleanor. The King had clapped Corbett on the shoulder, calling him his most loyal and faithful clerk; but Corbett was vigilant. Edward of England was a consummate actor: the rages, the tears, the false bonhomie, the role of the courageous general and the stern law-giver. All of these were masks that Edward could don and doff to suit his pleasure. Now, Edward was cool, calm and collected and Corbett sensed the genuine fury in what the King saw as treason, breach of faith and blasphemy.

‘I could hang Cade,’ the King muttered over his shoulder.

‘Your Grace, the man is still young and inexperienced.’ Corbett said. ‘He has proved to be a great asset. He was the only official in London who helped me. A reward rather than a reproof would make him more loyal.’

Edward laughed to himself. ‘Agreed. I knew Cade’s father. He began life as a yeoman bowman in my households. Cade was his thirteenth son. Do you know that even as a child Cade was forever lifting girls’ petticoats? He has to learn the hard way that a royal official must be careful with whom he sleeps, as well as those he does business with.’

‘And the girl, Judith?’

‘She will have her reward.’

Corbett shuffled his feet and glanced sideways at de Warrenne.

‘And Puddlicott and the others?’

‘Ah!’ Edward turned and Corbett did not like the look on the King’s face. ‘They will hang!’

‘Warfield is a priest, a monk!’

‘He’s got a neck like any other man.’

‘The Church will object.’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll point out that the monks of Westminster not only betrayed their vows but also their King. Can you imagine old Winchelsea of Canterbury?’ Edward smiled to himself. ‘Good Lord, sometimes I love being King. I am looking forward to telling our venerable Archbishop of Canterbury and his brother bishops how lax they have been in their pastoral care. They should keep a sharper eye on their vineyards and what they sanctimoniously call “their flock”.’

‘I gave my word to Puddlicott,’ Corbett interrupted. ‘That he would hang but die quickly. No mutilation. And there is the business of his brother. .’

The King slouched in the window seat. ‘I have no quarrel with witless men; the lad will be looked after. But Puddlicott. .’ The King shook his head.

‘Your Grace, I gave my word.’

The King made a face.

‘I gave my word,’ Corbett repeated. ‘Knowing, your Grace, that you would respect it.’

Edward made a sweeping movement with his hands.

‘Agreed! Agreed! Puddlicott will stand trial before the Justices at Westminster. He will be given a fair hearing then he will hang.’ The King rubbed his hands together and smiled evilly at de Warrenne. ‘A pretty mess, eh, Surrey?’

‘As you say, your Grace.’ The Earl looked squarely at Corbett. ‘But there’s the business of the murderer still roaming the streets and not yet laid by the heels. That was your task, Corbett.’

‘I was distracted, your Grace!’ Corbett snapped back.

‘You have no idea?’ Edward asked.

‘None whatsoever. Vague suspicions, but that’s all.’

‘And the Sisters of St Martha are being co-operative?’

‘Of course.’

The King grinned. ‘Especially the Lady Neville?’

‘Especially the Lady Neville!’

‘And old de Lacey is still frightening the wits out of everyone?’

‘I deal more with the Lady Fitzwarren.’

‘Ah, yes.’ The King narrowed his eyes. ‘I remember when her husband died. We were in Wales, near Conway, the Feast of St Martin, pope and martyr. A good man Fitzwarren.’ The King rose and clapped his hands. ‘Well, in which case, Corbett, it’s back to London for you.’ Edward extended his hand for Corbett to kiss. ‘I shall not forget, Hugh,’ he murmured, ‘your loyalty and commitment in this matter.’

Edward closed the door behind his clerk and leaned against it, waiting till the footfalls faded. De Warrenne smirked.

‘You’ll keep your word, Edward?’

‘About what?’

‘Cade and the woman, Judith.’

Edward shrugged. ‘Of course. You know Edward of England’s motto. “Keep faith”.’

‘And Puddlicott?’

‘Of course,’ Edward smirked, ‘I will keep my word. But now I have a task for you, Surrey. You are to join Corbett in London, present my compliments to the Lord Sheriff, publicly praise Cade, supervise Puddlicott’s execution, make sure he dies swiftly.’

‘And then, your Grace?’

‘I want the bastard’s body skinned!’ the King hissed. ‘Do you understand me, de Warrenne? I want the skin peeled off and nailed, like that of a pig, to the abbey door so everyone knows the price for robbing Edward of England!’