Spy in Chancery

NINE

The following day, Corbett sent a surly Ranulf to make enquiries around Westminster. It was almost dark when his servant returned, his temper greatly improved. 'The Earl of Richmond,' he boldly announced, 'was in the Midlands, he had been a member of a diplomatic mission to meet certain Scottish envoys for secret negotiations and would be back in Westminster by tomorrow evening.' Corbett, satisfied, spent the next two days on his own affairs: he needed certain clothes: an indenture was drawn up with the goldsmith who banked his monies and he took Ranulf to a bear-baiting in Southwark but left, sickened at the sight, and moved on to watch a miracle play, 'The Creation', staged on a huge raised platform, fashioned out of long planks thrown across a dozen carts.

Corbett felt bored by the story but admired the strange devices; the massive inflated pigskins filled with water for the great deluge, the ark moving across the stage, the flaps of metal waved to create thunder and the voice of God. Corbett stood and marvelled though he kept one hand on his purse and half an eye on the pickpockets and cutpurses who gathered like locusts on occasions such as these. The crowd was packed, students, clerks in russet gowns, the beaver hats of the merchants, the gauze veils of the ladies, the ermine-trimmed cloaks of the courtiers and gallants.

Corbett moved along, not too concerned that Ranulf had disappeared, he bought a hot pie from a baker and walked slowly through the crowd, enjoying its warmth and colour while the meaty spicy juices filled his mouth. He visited a few shops, stopped to hear a pedlar sell his wares which, to the surprise of his incredulous audience, contained the asp which bit Cleopatra of Egypt, Moses' foreskin, a strand of Samson's hair and a glossy rack which bore the image of the Archangel. Corbett always revelled in such foolery, the direct opposite of his own cold and logical life.

Darkness had fallen by the time he reached his lodgings and slowly made his way upstairs. He paused at the door, astonished by the cries and shrieks from within. He gently pushed the door ajar, stared in through the crack and saw Ranulf, naked as the day he was born,, cavorting with a young girl whose red hair covered her like a veil as she twisted and turned, her white body wrapped around Ranulf, her face filled with pleasure which closed her eyes and formed her mouth into an 'O' of constant pleasure.

Corbett withdrew, angry at himself as well as Ranulf. He quietly tiptoed downstairs and went out into the street and the warmth of a nearby tavern. He chose a table near the great pine log fire and tried to dismiss what he had just seen. He felt guilty, angry and strangely envious; he was frightened of women, he had loved two and both had gone. One taken by the fever, the other, the lovely Alice, a traitor to the King. He dug his face deeper into the tankard, hoping no one else would see the tears which scalded his eyes. God knew he missed both and mourned the gap they had left. Corbett, he thought, the cold, calculating clerk, like some device from a stage, efficient, capable but lacking in warmth.

He eventually returned to his lodgings slightly drunk on ale and self-pity. He looked suspiciously at Ranulf but was too embarrassed to mention what he had seen, instead he instructed his sleepy-eyed servant to take a message to the Earl of Richmond at Westminster, to await the Earl's pleasure and bring back any reply.

The following evening Corbett, at work in his small office at Westminster Palace, was disturbed by his servant who brought a verbal reply from Richmond. The Earl,' Ranulf announced with malicious glee, 'was usually too busy to talk to clerks, but on this occasion he would make an exception. He would meet Corbett in the Great Hall of Wesminster just before the courts broke up. He stipulated an exact time and asked Corbett not to be late "as pressing affairs of the state" still awaited him.' Corbett immediately dismissed the still, smirking Ranulf, tidied his desk and wearily made his way along to the Great Hall. Beneath the great oaken ceiling, its timbers draped with the blue-gold standards of England, the different courts of Exchequer, King's Bench and Common Pleas, were still busy: Serjeants, plaintiffs, ermine-caped lawyers, soldiers, peasants and merchants thronged in the questionable pursuit of justice. Along the tapestry-draped walls were small alcoves for lawyers and clerks to meet and Corbett went straight to the one chosen by Richmond.

He was disconcerted to find the Earl waiting for him pacing up and down, his gorgeous fur-trimmed robe wrapped about him, fastened at the neck by a cluster of pearls, set in a golden brooch. Corbett had never liked Richmond with his blond hair, watery blue eyes, red-tipped nose and mouth turned down like a landed fish. In France, he had avoided him for the Earl seemed an arrogant, waspish man full of his own honour and neglectful of everybody else's. The interview did not improve matters: Richmond described his Gascon campaign as the result of a series of unfortunate incidents. 'There was nothing I could do,' he snapped peevishly. 'The French were all over Gascony. If I had marched out to meet them I would be defeated so I stayed in La Reole, hoping his Grace would send the necessary help. He did not. So I surrendered.'

'There was no chance of withstanding a prolonged siege?'

'None whatsoever.'

'Why?'

'I had a town full of citizens, men, women and children. I could scarcely feed my own men, never mind them.'

'You objected to Tuberville's sortie?'

'Of course, the man was a fool, he was captured by the French and was lucky not to be executed by them.'

'Why should they?'

'Because he attacked them during a sworn truce. He broke the rules of war.'

'Is that why the French demanded both his sons?'

'Exactly,' Richmond stopped pacing and studied Corbett. 'Why do you ask that?'

'Oh,' Corbett replied, 'Nothing really, just that they took Tuberville's sons but only your daughter. Why?'

'None of your business.'

'Do you miss your daughter?'

'Don't be impudent, Corbett!' Richmond snarled, 'His Grace the King will know of your insubordination.'

'Then I apologise,' Corbett coolly replied, 'But one last question. Waterton, the royal clerk, he was in your household?'

Corbett almost stepped back in fear at the look of real anger which suffused the Earl's narrow, sallow face. 'Do not,' the Earl muttered softly, 'even mention that name in my presence. Now, Master Corbett, we are finished, so go! Wait!' the Earl scrabbled beneath his cloak and pulled out a small scroll. 'The King's warrant,' he sardonically commented, 'You are off to Wales, Master Corbett. I informed His Grace of your insolent request for an interview. He handed me this which is the reason О agreed to meet you. You are to travel to Glamorgan, Master Corbett. The King wishes you to pry amongst the affairs of the Lord Morgan.'

Corbett avoided the Earl's malicious smile and took the warrant. The Earl strode off in a flurry of cloak and cape while Corbett, sitting on a wooden window seat, unfolded the commission. He studied it closely but it only confirmed his worst fears: he was to bear the King's greetings to Lord Morgan but secretly gather as much information as possible about the situation in South Wales.

Corbett groaned. Wales! He had been there ten years earlier, as a member of Edward's armies as they fought their way up the narrow river valleys, cutting Wales into sections, bringing each portion under English rule. A cruel bitter war and now Corbett dreaded his return there, mixing with Welsh lords, openly obedient but secretly seething at having to accept Edward's writ, fierce fighters with their wicked daggers and long yew, bows unleashing silent death along misty valleys.

Corbett rose, sighed and made his way home, his only consolation being the shouts of outraged horror when Ranulf was informed about where he was going. As matters turned out, Ranulf became strangely acquiescent and Corbett wondered if his servant had his own personal reasons for leaving the capital. He did not probe but ordered Ranulf to hire horses and sumpter ponies from the royal stables: bags and panniers were packed and, four days after receiving the warrant, Corbett and his servant were riding north-west through Acton, Gloucester and across the Severn into Wales.

Corbett and Ranulf followed the old Roman road west as it cut through the shires. It was a soft, late spring, the vast, brown open fields being put under harrow and plough. Oxen trudged, great yokes across their shoulders, the deep, sharp plough knife cutting the ground for the sowers who followed. Above them whirled flocks of angry crows, cawing steadily at being driven from this feast by young boys who pelted them with sling stones. Villagers were coming to life after a savage winter and a cold, hard spring, so the roads were busy with carts, pedlars, huge dray horses with hogged manes and covered in black-greened leather straps.

Corbett and Ranulf stopped at taverns, houses with an ale-stick pushed under the eaves or the more welcoming luxury of the occasional priory or monastery guest house. About mid-May, the day after Pentecost, they crossed the Severn ford at Bristol and entered Wales. The clerk described to Ranulf during his journey how he had fought there ten years previously, depicting the savage beauty of the land with its dense forests, narrow valleys and wild independent tribes. Edward I had hammered the Welsh into submission, turning their petty principalities into English shires. Their great leader, Llewellyn, had been driven into the black fastness of Snowdonia and later killed; his brother, David, goaded into rebellion, had been captured, sent to London and sentenced to the abhorrent death of a traitor, hanged, drawn and quartered. Edward had then brought the Welsh to heel by appointing English officials and building huge, concentric ringed castles at strategic places in the country.

There was little sign of this forced occupation as Corbett and Ranulf made their way south, following the line of the Severn before turning inland. The countryside was noisy with sound and colour, rivers sparkled like silver as they rushed over dark crags and along winding river banks. The gorse and wild flowers were coining into colour and opening under the warming sun, so the green, mossy valley sides looked as if they were covered in costly drapes. Curlews, hawks, crows and buzzards whirled, flashes of black and white in the sky, their jubilant cawing a sharp contrast to the cool, liquid song of the thrush. The sun was warm and, at midday, both riders always stopped to rest in the cool shade of yew, oak or ash.

Ranulf acted slightly frightened, longing for the busy, narrow, noisy streets of London but Corbett loved the peace, the golden dappled colours of the woods and fields, the warm sun on his back. Sometimes, he would slump slit-eyed in the saddle feeling the cool breeze on his face and neck, listening to the bird song and the clatter of crickets and he would go back across the years to the downs of Sussex. If he concentrated, he could hear his wife, Mary, singing and the constant chatter of his baby girl. Paradise, Eden, the sun always seemed to shine there, the days were always warm until the fever came breaking into his private heaven, taking both Mary and his child. So quickly, he thought, like a cloud races across the sun, the shadow does not last long but, when it is gone, nothing is the same.