Hugh Corbett 14 - The Magician's Death

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Ranulf,’ Bolingbroke turned beseechingly, ‘we have shared the same chamber . . .’

  ‘We also shared the same friend,’ came the reply. ‘The same master, the same oath.’

  ‘Louis Crotoy was next.’ Corbett patted Bolingbroke on the arm, making him turn back. ‘Louis was much more careful and prudent, but of course he never realized that de Craon had a spy in my retinue. Like Destaples, he would be wary of de Craon but not one of my clerks. Late that afternoon, the day he died, Louis heard a knock on the outside door. He came down, opened the squint hole and glimpsed William Bolingbroke, trusted colleague of his friend Sir Hugh Corbett.’ Corbett kept his voice even. ‘The rest was so simple. You were invited in. You’re a strong man, William, Louis was fairly frail; you broke his neck and threw his corpse down the steps. You then loosened the heel of a good boot – I can prove it was cut – and rearranged his cloak, creating the illusion that Louis had tripped and fallen. To all intents and purposes an accidental death, an impression heightened when you placed both keys in his wallet. You locked the outside door using one of the devices you had taken from Le Roi des Clefs.’ Corbett paused as if listening to the sounds of the castle. ‘You made a number of mistakes, William. Most importantly, just after Louis was killed, you raised the possibility of it not being murder by pointing out how both keys had been found in his wallet.’

  ‘Someone told me.’

  ‘Was it de Craon? You weren’t present when the corpse was found. I kept that information strictly to myself. Then it was Vervins’ turn. What are you going to say, William? That you were here with me and Ranulf when he fell to his death? Well of course you were! But Vervins liked that parapet walk. It had become something of a routine. What happened was that, using one of the instruments from the Roi des Clefs, Bogo de Baiocis, de Craon’s henchman, was given a free hand. The door into the side of the tower is hidden from public view. It would be easy for Bogo to slip through and up the steps with an arbalest and blunted bolt. He opened the small slat in the locked door leading on to the parapet; this provided an excellent view. The arbalest was well oiled, the bolt placed in the groove, the catches released. Vervins stumbles and falls to his death. The assassin slips down the steps out of the tower, quickly locking the door behind him. Nobody would dream of looking for a blunted bolt, and any bruise on Vervins would be considered as a result of the fall.’

  ‘You asked him to search for it,’ Ranulf declared.

  ‘Oh yes, I did. If he’d found it he wouldn’t hand it over. You’re responsible for a number of murders, William. Magister Thibault; your good friend Ufford, a colleague of mine, a trusted English clerk. You have the blood of those three Frenchmen on your hands, in particular that of my good friend Louis Crotoy. Finally,’ Corbett moved quickly and slapped Bolingbroke across the face, ‘you tried to murder me! At first I thought it was the killer of those young women, but when I trapped Mistress Feyner I realised that though she could loose a crossbow bolt up close, she could not fire through the darkness with such accuracy and speed. On the night I was attacked only three people knew where I was going: me, Chanson and you. No, don’t,’ Bolingbroke had opened his mouth to protest, ‘don’t lie, William, don’t say that I must have been followed. Mistress Feyner would never have done that. De Craon?’ Corbett shook his head. ‘That’s not the Frenchman’s style; he wouldn’t want to be caught attacking the King’s clerk on English soil.’

  ‘But why?’ Chanson, standing behind Corbett, listened to these accusations against a clerk he had grown to like, even admire.

  ‘Why, Chanson? Well, now we come to the real business in hand. It wasn’t the writings of Friar Roger Bacon but something much more serious. The Secretus Secretorum was written in a cipher. De Craon knew that our King’s appetite had been whetted. This meeting was proposed,’ Corbett waved his hand, ‘to make it more palatable to our King, whilst the French insisted it should be in some castle along the southern coast, well away from any town or city. Corfe may be impregnable but there’s not a castle built which can’t be taken by stealth and treachery. The Flemish pirate fleet was hired, paid good gold and silver as well as offered the prospect of wholesale plundering. They appeared in the Narrow Seas and ravaged the coastline further to the west. De Craon also sent agents into England: those Castilians pretending to be wool merchants. They took up residence in the Tavern in the Forest; others took the role of pedlars, tinkers and chapmen. I’m not too sure if they were taken directly to England or landed by the pirates; they could even have been Flemings themselves. Philip and de Craon are very cunning. It’s wintertime, the roads are deserted, Corfe is surrounded by forest, and so the game begins. De Craon acts all innocent, but that fire at the edge of the forest, on the night I was attacked, was a signal that all was ready. The accidental fire which later occurred in the castle was de Craon’s reply that the assault was to continue as planned. De Craon, of course, sent a message to his agents at the tavern giving them the time and place. He also arranged that banquet the night before, hoping the Corfe garrison would be caught unawares.’

  ‘If you hadn’t trapped Mistress Feyner?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Corbett agreed. ‘For all her evil, some good did come out of it.’

  ‘But why?’ Chanson repeated.

  ‘Oh, a number of reasons. First, I’m sure de Craon and his party would have escaped unscathed, but me? The Keeper of the Secret Seal, de Craon’s mortal enemy? The nemesis of his master? I would be killed along with Ranulf-atte-Newgate, principal clerk of the Green Wax, and Chanson, Clerk of the Stables; perhaps Sir Edmund and his family would have been taken for ransom.’ Corbett snapped his fingers. ‘Yes, that’s it, the same fate would befall de Craon, though he would be tended to gently enough and later released under some fictitious arrangement.’

  Ranulf watched Bolingbroke carefully. He had attended the King’s Bench in Westminster and seen men sentenced before the justices in eyre or the justices of oyer and terminer. Condemned men always acted as if they were drunk, unable to accept what was happening. The same was true of Bolingbroke. He hadn’t even touched his face where Corbett had smacked him, but sat, half turned in his chair, lips slightly parted, only the occasional blink or twitch of a muscle showing he was awake and listening.

  ‘It wasn’t just murder, was it?’ Corbett continued. ‘But also my destruction and that of Ranulf. On the morning of the attack I locked my chamber. You opened it. You hoped that the pirates would storm the Salt Tower, force that great coffer behind me—’

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in.’

  Sir Edmund stepped through the door. Chanson, who had gone to answer, was handed a small leather sack.

  ‘I found it, Sir Hugh, not in his chamber but in a crevice further up the steps. Keys, instruments you would use to pick a lock.’ Sir Edmund’s face was wary. ‘Sir Hugh, what is going on here? I’ve tried one of the devices myself, it can turn a lock as quickly as any key.’

  ‘If you could wait outside, Sir Edmund? I do apologise, I will tell you in due course.’ The Constable made to refuse. ‘Please, Sir Edmund.’ The Constable sighed, shrugged and went out, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘The attackers were after the Chancery box, weren’t they?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘Yes, they were. Can you imagine, Ranulf, what a great prize that would have been? The death of the Keeper of the Secret Seal whilst his ciphers, the ones we use to communicate with our spies abroad, the different codes, the variety of symbols, the tables and the keys, all falling into de Craon’s hands. What a great achievement! The secret doings of the English Chancery would be ruined for months, even years. De Craon would be given access to every agent and spy from Marseilles to beyond the Rhine. He knew that I would bring them with me, not to a meeting in France but to a place in England. Of course, Bolingbroke would confirm this, especially as I was attending a meeting about secret ciphers and codes. They may have picked something up from my dialogue with Sanson, but that would be nothing to compare to the
looting of this chamber and the removal of our own secret books and manuscripts. Philip would truly become the master. Edward of England, already bound by the Treaty of Paris, would have all his secrets laid bare. Philip and de Craon would act the innocent, publicly bewailing what had happened but privately rejoicing at their great triumph. It was never,’ Corbett concluded, ‘a matter of Friar Roger, just a continuation of the old game of who wields power in Europe. But why you, William?’

  Bolingbroke’s lips moved.

  ‘Do you want to deny it?’ Corbett asked. ‘I can go and see de Craon, tell him what I know. I will wager that he will act the Judas and betray you for less than thirty pieces. Or I can have you bound and sent under guard to Westminster. You can stand trial before King’s Bench; the charges will be high treason and homicide. The evidence against you is pressing, William. You will be lodged in the Tower and dragged from there on a hurdle to Smithfield, where they will hang you. Just before you choke to death they will cut you down for the disembowelling. Once you are dead your head will be severed, your body quartered and placed on spikes along London Bridge.’

  ‘Gold.’ Bolingbroke’s hand went to the weal on his face. He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Gold and silver.’ He stretched out his fingers to the fire. ‘Last summer, just after the Feast of the Baptist, Sanson asked to meet me in his chambers. De Craon was there. They said they had evidence that I was a spy. They could arrest me and hang me at Montfaucon. They promised me life, wealth and honour in France. I was tired, Sir Hugh, tired of the rotten food, of the rat-infested garrets, of acting the poor scholar. It was so simple, so easily done. I was trapped.’ He blinked away the tears. ‘In the twinkling of an eye.’ He talked as if speaking to himself. ‘And once trapped? Well, it was like when I was a child running down a hill; once you begin your descent you can’t stop. I thought, what did it really matter, serve this king or serve that king?’

  ‘Would you point the finger at de Craon?’ Corbett asked.

  Bolingbroke snorted with laughter.

  ‘What proof do I have? You can’t play that game, Sir Hugh. You would have to confess that Ufford was a spy and de Craon would simply listen and laugh. The only proof you have is the evidence you laid against me. Not enough to hang him.’ He shrugged. ‘But certainly enough to hang me. I do not want to take that journey to Smithfield.’

  ‘Do you confess?’ Ranulf asked.

  ‘In this chamber I confess. In your presence I admit to the truth. I have innocent blood on my hands, and of all the deaths it’s Walter’s I feel most bitter about. De Craon promised he would be taken prisoner, perhaps exchanged for one in England.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘But what’s the use? You have the power of a justice, Sir Hugh.’ Bolingbroke pleaded with his eyes. ‘A swift death, a chance to be shriven by Father Andrew? Let it finish here.’

  Corbett gestured at Ranulf. ‘Take him outside, inform Sir Edmund of what we have learnt, let Bolingbroke admit his guilt. He is to be taken under guard to the chapel. Father Andrew can hear his confession, and whilst he whispers the absolution ask Sir Edmund to have the executioner prepared. Make it swift, a log and an axe. William, I do not wish to see you again.’

  Ranulf seized Bolingbroke by his arm and pulled him to his feet. The clerk was unresisting; he even loosened his own belt, throwing it to the floor. He then took off his Chancery ring and let it fall at Corbett’s feet. Chanson made to accompany Ranulf but Corbett pulled him back.

  ‘No, no,’ he whispered when they had left. ‘You stand by the door, Chanson.’

  Corbett took out his Ave beads and began to thread them through his fingers. He tried to concentrate on the words but let his mind drift, willing the time to pass as swiftly as possible. He heard shouts and cries from outside, the sound of running feet and the bell of the castle chapel tolling long and mournful.

  ‘Chanson.’ Corbett called the groom over. ‘Go and tell Monsieur de Craon,’ he spoke over his shoulder, ‘that William Bolingbroke, Clerk of the Secret Chancery, has been executed for treason and murder. Tell him that one day our noble King will explain to the Holy Father in great detail what happened here. Oh, and Chanson, do tell de Craon that it is not the end of the matter; for me it’s just another beginning.’

  Author’s Note

  This novel reflects very important strands of English history at the beginning of the fourteenth century. The peace treaty of 1303 was forced on Edward I, and he spent the last four years of his life desperately trying to escape it. His son, the future Edward II, continued this policy but then had to succumb to French wishes. In January 1308 Edward II married Princess Isabella at Notre Dame de Boulogne. The marriage did not bring the lasting peace Philip had hoped for. Some eighteen years later Isabella led a civil war against her husband and deposed him. More importantly, Philip IV never dreamt of the nightmare possibility that his three sons would die without a male heir and so expose the throne of France to the claims of Isabella’s son, Edward III. The consequent Hundred Years War plunged France and England into a savage, prolonged conflict which cost both countries dear in men and resources.

  The outlaws described in this novel are an accurate reflection of those poor men and women who had to flee the King’s peace and live out their lives deep in the forests of England. They were not Robin Hood and his Merry Men but desperate individuals living on the fringes of society with everyone’s hand turned against them. The staple weapons of these outlaws were the crossbow and the dagger. The longbow had yet to make its impact on the battlefields of Europe. Edward I had learnt the terrifying possibilities of this powerful weapon during his Welsh wars. The use of the longbow as described in this novel was as important an innovation in military technology at that time as the submarine, tank or aeroplane was in ours.

  The writings of Roger Bacon are also faithfully described in this novel. The quotations are from his Latin works. He did acquire the secret knowledge from the mysterious Marincourt. No one has ever explained Bacon’s wealth or discovered the fate of his favourite disciple, ‘John’. The Book of Secrets could well be the Voynich manuscript, discovered by the American Wilfrid Voynich in an Italian villa near Frascati in 1912. This manuscript comprised over two hundred semi-illustrated pages with an almost incomprehensible script. William Newbold, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania, declared that this was the secret manuscript of Roger Bacon. Since then controversy has raged over this find, which no one has successfully deciphered. Some claim it is Bacon’s, containing his prophecies and discoveries; others stoutly maintain that it is the work of John Dee, the Elizabethan occultist and astrologer, a contemporary of Elizabeth I. What cannot be denied, however, is that Bacon had an enquiring mind and did imagine inventions such as the aeroplane and the submarine which are, of course, a part of our reality.