by Paul Doherty
"Oh, Ranulf, " Corbett asked. "What did you do when you broke into a house? Go barefoot?"
The reformed housebreaker grinned. "You are dull in some things, " he replied. "We wore mufflers. Rags tied round our boots. Everyone knows that!"
"Except me, " Corbet smiled. "Well, you had better go!" Ranulf went carefully down the stairs, cursing and muttering but secretly wondering at the strange habits of Master Corbett. Behind him he could hear the faint notes of the flute, soft and sad, telling of dreams gone, lost or shattered.
Twelve
Ranulf did not return that day nor the next morning when Corbett, washed, barbered and dressed in his best robes left to see Alice at The Mitre. Corbett thought and dreaded that she might not be there, but she was, fresh as a May morning in a dark blue dress, with a copper chain slung low round her narrow waist and a simple gold necklace round her throat. Her hair was as soft as silk and he smelt the perfume as she flung her arms round his neck, her body soft and sinuous against him. He was relieved to see that the burly threatening Peter was not about and would have taken her directly upstairs but she protested most demurely, saying that she was busy, it was not the right time. So he accepted her excuses and sat in the kitchen while she served him wine and sweetmeats, chattering all the time, fending off his eager hands and parrying his questions. Instead, she asked how his investigations were going and laughed when he grimaced, digging his face deep into the winecup. "I hear you have a bodyguard?" she pouted. "Should I be jealous?"
Corbett stared at her and then laughed. "No, he is just a boy, " he replied. "A messenger, a carrier of goods. " Alice smiled and passed on to other matters. Corbett watched, aching for want of her as she busied herself about the kitchen in everyday chores. He sensed, for all her happiness, a tension as if her gaiety was forced. He was also puzzled, troubled by something she had said or left unsaid, but could not decide what it was. At length, he decided to leave; Alice was evidently too busy and he began to feel that he was impeding her. So he rose, embraced her passionately and left the tavern for the sunlit street of Cheapside.
Restless and ill-at-ease, he pushed his way through the crowds down past Cheapside and into Poultry to the house of his banker, the goldsmith. The front of the shop was down and the stall pulled out to display a fine range of products. Apprentices busied themselves about, taking privileged customers within to view more precious objects while others kept an eye on the not so privileged. The goldsmith was inside but came out when Corbett sent a message in with one of the apprentices. He looked troubled and evasive. "You want me, Master Corbett?"
"Yes, and some information, Master Goldsmith. "
Guisars looked round to see if anyone had heard Corbett before beckoning him into the shop. "What is it?" he whispered. "What do you want?"
Corbett stared into the frightened man's eyes. "Duket? Crepyn?" The man's eyes fell away.
"Crepyn, " he answered slowly, "was a well-known member of the Populares party. He kept the coffers of the party and often asked us for money. Protection money to safeguard our houses. Some paid, many did not. Duket may well have refused. "
"But it was Crepyn who was murdered, " Corbett pointed out and the merchant looked at him.
"Was it, Master Clerk?" he replied hoarsely. "Crepyn deserved what he got but Duket? Suicide?" he shook his head. "Never!" he said emphatically.
"Is there more?" Corbett asked softly. The goldsmith again shook his head and pleaded with his eyes for the clerk to go.
It was late by the time Corbett reached his lodgings to find that Ranulf had returned, exhausted, dirty and fast asleep on the floor wrapped in his cloak. Corbett let him sleep a little longer while he lay on his bed and thought about Alice's lovely, naked body, her long, black hair flowing round her like a veil. If only he could search out and lay to rest the anxiety in his heart. Corbett heard Ranulf stir, so he swung his legs off the bed and shook him awake.
Ranulf yawned and woke, scratching his head as he peered at Corbett through puffy, sleep-laden eyes. "Master Clerk, " he yawned, stretched himself and shook himself fully awake. "Master Corbett, " he urged. "You must be careful. You must not go out by yourself as you did today!"
Corbett looked at him. "Tell me why, Ranulf! Tell me now!"
"Have you ever heard of the Pentangle?" Ranulf asked.
"No, nothing, except the drawing you brought to me a day ago from Crepyn's house. Why?"
"I know very little myself, " Ranulf replied, "except that it's a secret society here in London involved in the Black, er Black… "
"Arts? Magic?" Corbett testily interrupted.
"Yes, that's right. There's many here in London. Usually a few fools but this is different. Very secretive. Very powerful. They are led by someone called 'The Hooded One'!" Ranulf stared pityingly at Corbett.
"Anyway, they are the ones who have marked you down. Those assassins who almost did for you the other evening. They were hired by this group. You were very lucky. It's because you not only escaped but killed one of them that has provoked a lot of interest in what you call the criminal frat…, criminal… "
"Fraternity!" Corbett impatiently interrupted.
"Yes, fr… fraternity. Anyway, they may well try again. "
Ranulf looked quizzically at his master expecting to see fear, even terror and secretly marvelled at the man's composure. Ranulf had no illusions about what he would do in Corbett's place, a swift journey to the docks to buy an even swifter passage abroad.
Corbett's equanimity, however, was only superficial. He was frightened, more than he had ever been in the thick of the fighting in Wales. Killers were stalking him here in London and they could strike at any time. He looked up at Ranulf. "And the other business?" he asked.
"Much better, " Ranulf replied. "There are a number of places, usually outside the city limits. I found a few but one in particular where Duket himself went. He evidently liked young boys and his favourite works there. Should we go tonight?" Corbett shook his head.
"No, go back to sleep, " he ordered wearily. He then extinguished the candle and rolled himself up in his robe like a fearful child, brooding on the nightmares around him.
The next morning, exhausted after a restless night's sleep, Corbett gave Ranulf a message to be taken to Burnell and made the youth repeat it till he had learnt it by rote, before going down the stairs and into the street. Ranulf went first and Corbett was about to follow when Ranulf suddenly pushed him, sending him sprawling back into the passageway, the door slamming in front of him. Corbett heard a series of dull thuds on the door, drew his dagger and waited for it to open. He heard Ranulf shouting, the door opened and Ranulf re-entered.
"In the name of the Good God, what is the matter?" Corbett yelled at him.
Ranulf shrugged, opened the door and pointed to the ugly squat crossbow bolts deeply embedded there. "I saw them up on the roof of a house where it sloped down to meet the next building, " Ranulf replied. "I don't know why I looked. I heard a noise and stared up. They had the sun at their backs, I could hardly see but I saw their crossbows so I pushed you back and dropped to the ground. " He looked down at his mud-spattered tunic. "I cannot understand your wish to be clean!"
Corbett smiled at the young man's pathetic attempt to amuse him. He suddenly felt wearied, tired of this task, weak with relief at the death he had so narrowly escaped. He sat slumped on the stairs, head in his hands as Ranulf watched him anxiously, not knowing what to do. Corbett felt the same. He knew that he would have to move out of Thames Street if he wished to survive. They, the Pentangle, or whatever other nonsensical name they called themselves, wanted him dead! They knew where he was and twice had attacked him here. Corbett thought of asking Alice for shelter but that was too close, it might put her under risk. Burnell had placed him in this danger, then Burnell could assist him. He looked up at the still waiting Ranulf.
"Go upstairs, " he said softly. "You will find a set of saddlebags behind the chest. Put the contents of my chest into diem and whatever else y
ou may think we need. I will settle accounts with our hostess. "
While Ranulf clattered back upstairs, Corbett went to see the owner of the house, explaining that he would be away for a while but handed over money to keep his lodgings. He did not inform her where he and Ranulf were going but told her to keep any messages sent to the house. She looked anxiously at him but his face forbade any questions so she shrugged and accepted his words. Corbett then left, taking wry amusement from the thought of how the lady would react when she found two crossbow bolts embedded in her front door. He went nervously into the street but it was deserted as were the surrounding rooftops which would
have provided his assassins with the perfect escape route. Ranulf was waiting there with bulging saddlebags. Corbett made him repeat the message he had given him earlier, then added a brief few words which Ranulf, eyes closed and face tight with concentration, faithfully repeated to Corbett's satisfaction.
At the end of Thames Street they parted, Ranulf for the river and Westminster, Corbett north to Cheapside and Saint Mary Le Bow. Despite his tiredness, Corbett decided to walk and the fresh morning air revived him. He felt better, stronger in himself and angry at the secret killers who stalked him through the streets. Corbett now made sure he was in or near a group for he knew that he was most vulnerable when he was isolated in some lonely place. He had decided to go to Saint Mary Le Bow for it was here where the trouble had begun. Those who had tried to kill him, wanted to stop his investigations into Duket's death. So, if he was to prevent his own murder, he would have to solve the mysteries of that man's death. Moreover, Corbett sensed he would be safe in or near the church. His attackers had murdered Duket but they would certainly baulk at committing a similar crime in the same place. Such an act would bring the whole power of the Crown and Church crashing down about them.
The thought comforted Corbett as he pushed open the gate to the overgrown churchyard and made his way to the main entrance. It was locked, so Corbett strode over to the priest's house and hammered on the door. The Rector answered and the astonishment on his narrow face told Corbett that this man expected him dead and he felt the anger and fury rise like bile in his throat. "Priest!" he had to restrain himself from shouting. "I need the keys to the church!" The priest, flustered and concerned, said he would open the door but Corbett thrust out his hand, snapping his fingers as a sign that the keys should be handed over. Nervously, Bellet removed them from the cord which hung from his belt, Corbett grabbed them and, turning on his heel, strode over to the church.
Once inside, Corbett began to look for secret entrances, doors or passage-ways. House of God or not, he spared nothing in his search. He tried the disused side door and realized it had been blocked up for years. He checked the walls, windows and jabbed with his dagger between the sandstone pavement slabs. He could find nothing, so, he moved into the sanctuary, ignoring the protests of the priest who had joined him, and poked beneath and behind the altar. He went down into the crypt, dark, smelly and cold, to examine the floor, walls and thick granite pillars, but there was nothing.
Corbett, hot and tired, then went outside walking around the perimeter of the church looking for signs of forced entry. There were none, no break in briar, bramble and rank weeds, except beneath one small window, Corbett found strands of cloth hanging from a thorn bush which he picked and rubbed between his fingers. They could have come from anywhere and, as he had surmised in his report, the window above could have only been entered by a young boy and. only then, with Duket's permission. Corbett put the fragments of cloth into his purse and walked back to the main door of the church where the Rector was still waiting.
Bellet had regained his composure and was standing with a smug, slightly sardonic expression on his face. He did not say "I told you so" but his whole stance and bearing seemed to proclaim it. The clerk was about to leave when he remembered something he had seen as he walked past the church's cemetery. "Your burial ground?" he asked. "It has many fresh graves, judging from the newly turned mounds of earth?"
The priest shrugged. "A bad winter brings many deaths, " he replied. "Why, do you wish to investigate them as well?" Corbett ignored the jibe, gave a slight bow, and turned away out of the church into Cheapside.
He found Ranulf at the appointed meeting-place in a tavern on the corner of Walbrook and Candlewick Street. The reformed housebreaker was busily gawking at every woman in the place when Corbett joined him and the clerk had a difficult time making him concentrate on handing over the information he had. Surprisingly, Burnell had seen Ranulf immediately, and told him to return late that afternoon with his master. "Did he say anything else?" Ranulf shook his head and buried his face into a tankard.
"No, " he replied, "except to say that when you come, he would have something for you. Oh, he did say that we should leave Thames Street and go to the Tower. " Corbett groaned inwardly, though he realized that the Chancellor was right. He could no longer stay in the city where he was so vulnerable. Sometimes he felt that he was being followed, being watched, but whenever he looked around, he saw no one and dismissed his suspicions as the fantasies of a fevered brain.
Corbett wearily urged Ranulf to his feet, ensured he was still carrying the saddlebags, left the tavern and, passing by the church of St. Stephen, went down Walbrook. This was where the skinners plied their trade with their tubs, shears, knives and threads. Animal skins were pegged to wooden frames outside every shop or beside every stall while the skinners, knives in hand, scraped away the dry fat from the inside of the skins before throwing the finished piece into a tub of water to soak. In other places, the skins were being tanned, or fully finished, being sewn together into rectangular shapes of standard size.
Corbett watched all this, trying to divert his mind and calm his frayed nerves. He wished he could scrape away the lies and fashion the truth from the many deceits he had discovered. Was there a finished product he wondered, or would he stay floundering in a morass of doubt until the assassins reached him or, until Burnell dismissed him ignominiously from his task? If only he could find out why Duket stabbed Crepyn. If only he could discover how the murderers, for there must have been more than one, had gained access to the church and then so easily escaped. There was one other problem. Why was Bellet so confident? Why did it always appear that the priest knew he was coming, even more, almost sensed that Corbett was stumbling around in the dark? Like some jester in a mummer's play, put there for the quiet laughter of the onlookers?
Thirteen
Corbett was still trying to solve the problem, almost talking aloud, arguing with himself when, their long walk was over, and Ranulf and he found themselves on Bridge Street walking down to the river with the fortified gate and mass of London Bridge rising ahead of them. They did not approach the bridge but turned off down an alleyway which led to the river where they secured passage on a boat to Westminster. Corbett was not looking forward to the coming interview with the Chancellor and wished he could go back to The Mitre, the soft, calming embrace of Alice's body and be done with this matter once and for all.
Yet, like a man in a dream, he left the boat when it docked and followed the well-worn path to the Great Hall, envying the clerks writing quietly in their stalls or scurrying about on some important business. He reached Burnell's room and, taking a deep breath, asked the clerk outside to announce him. The man went ahead but returned followed by the pompous Hubert, who dismissed Ranulf with almost a girlish flicker of his eyes and thrust a leather chancery pouch into his hands. "The Lord Chancellor has had to leave, " he loudly proclaimed. "He has gone to join the King at Oxford. He asked me to leave you this and, " he extended a sealed writ, "these orders. "
Hubert glared at Corbett. "Well, " he snapped. "Aren't you going to open the letters?"
Corbett smiled, realizing that Hubert did not know what was in the document and was probably dying with curiosity to find out. "No, " Corbett replied slowly. "The Lord Chancellor gave me specific instructions not to open these in the presence of any juni
or clerk!" He then turned away and walked down the Great Hall, Ranulf trotting behind, with Hubert rooted to the spot, looking as if he was suffering from an attack of apoplexy. As he walked, Corbett opened the writ and found that it was simply a licence to reside in the Tower and have the right to leave and enter whenever he wished.
Ranulf, walking behind, quietly groaned at the weight of the saddlebags, tired of the aimless walking about and wondering where he would spend the night. He wished, despite the crossbow bolts, that he could go back to Thames Street. He thought of the lady of the house and almost groaned with pleasure. She was sulky and arrogant but he had seen the way she had looked at him and knew he could possess her. She might be a grand merchant's wife with her swaying hips and gartered hose but, on a feather bed with those legs about him, he would make her happy. Yet, not now and he almost cried when he followed his inscrutable master into the boat and instructed the oarsman to take them to the Tower Wharf.
Despite his mood, Ranulf decided to enjoy the journey, exchanging ribald insults with the boatman while Corbett sat and stared moodily into the water. The boat passed the Baynards Castle, the Steelyard and other craft, long and small, still making their way along the river. Eventually, the boat sped under London's house-laden bridge with its nineteen arches each protected by starlings, wooden boat-like structures which prevented boats crushing into the hard stone arches. Then on, past Botolph's Wharf,
Billingsgate and the Wool Quarry until they berthed under the soaring stone mass of the Tower.
The formidable rings of walls, fortresses and towers dominated the south-east corner of the capital and overawed both Ranulf and Corbett as they crossed the moat and went through successive towers, many of them in the process of being redeveloped, into the inner ward which surrounded the four-square, central donjon or White Tower. Corbett and Ranulf were challenged as they approached each gateway but, on producing Burnell's writ, Corbett and his companion were allowed to proceed. In the inner ward, a burly Yorkshireman, a serjeant from the garrison, told them to stay, while he went looking for the Constable, Sir Edward Swynnerton. He was gone a while, leaving both men in the freezing cold to stare about them and take in their surroundings.
