Corbett chewed his lip to stop himself smiling: the more he watched Claverley’s confrontation with Ranulf, the more his visitor reminded him of the small fighting mastiff that Uncle Morgan, Maeve’s kinsman, always had trotting behind him. The mastiff didn’t like Ranulf and the feeling was warmly reciprocated.
‘Get our visitor some wine, Ranulf,’ Corbett said, studying the letter closely. ‘He’s a very important official and, if this letter is correct, he can provide us with valuable information about the gold coins as well as other matters.’ Corbett put the parchment down on the table and came forward, extending a hand.
Claverley clasped it in a bone-crushing grip.
‘You are very welcome, Roger,’ Corbett said, trying to hide his wince.
The under-sheriff relaxed, his ugly face breaking into a warm smile.
‘I am really the city thief-taker,’ he declared grandly. ‘I know all the villains of the city and they know me. A bit like the good shepherd, only in reverse: where they go, I follow.’
Corbett waved him to a seat, warning Ranulf with his eyes to stand off. Claverley looked first at Maltote who, as usual, was staring open-mouthed, and then at Ranulf.
‘I’ll wager a month’s provisions you have seen the inside of a gaol, my lad. Even across a crowded room, I know a felon when I see one.’
‘Yes, I have been inside Newgate.’ Ranulf replied tartly. ‘I ran wild with the rufflers, the foists, the palliards, the upright men. But tell me, Claverley, were you just born this discourteous? Or does it come with the office you hold?’
Claverley suddenly leaned forward, hands extended, that charming smile back on his face. Ranulf clasped his hand.
‘I didn’t mean to give offence. I have been there as well,’ Claverley remarked. ‘After all, the best gamekeepers were once poachers. Now, Sir Hugh, I have been told to assist you, so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be honest: if I help, would you mention my name to the king?’
Corbett grinned at this ambitious little man’s blunt honesty.
‘Master Claverley, I will not forget you.’
‘Good,’ the under-sheriff replied. ‘First, we’ve found the remains, the decomposing bottom half of that man’s corpse. Do you remember, the good sisters’ guide, Thurston, glimpsed it as the horse careered by them. Some of our young merchants went hunting and their dogs unearthed it.’
‘And the horse?’
‘Neither hide nor hair has been seen.’
‘Anything else?’ Corbett asked.
‘Well, the Templar crossbowman: I was responsible for having him gibbeted on the pavement. Hung him up in a nice metal cage I did. With a placard, proclaiming this to be the fate of traitors and regicides, tied to it.’
‘And?’
‘Well, this morning the placard was removed. This was attached by a piece of wire to the gibbet cage.’ Claverley handed over a piece of parchment.
‘Oh Lord!’ Corbett groaned as he read it.
‘KNOWEST THOU, THAT WHAT THOU POSSESSES SHALL ESCAPE THEE IN THE END AND RETURN TO US.
‘KNOWEST THOU, THAT WE GO FORTH AND RETURN AS BEFORE AND BY NO MEANS CAN YOU HINDER US.
‘KNOWEST THOU, THAT WE HOLD YOU AND WILL KEEP THEE UNTIL THE ACCOUNT BE CLOSED.’
Corbett held the parchment up. ‘The verses are slightly changed but it is the Assassins’ warning.’
‘But the Templars could not have done that,’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘They are confined here at Framlingham on the king’s orders.’
‘They can climb a wall as easily as anyone,’ Maltote declared.
‘I doubt it,’ Claverley intervened. ‘We have our orders in the city. No Templar is allowed in.’
‘He might have gone disguised,’ Maltote added.
Claverley shrugged. ‘The guards at the gates have been doubled. Strangers have been stopped and searched but, I suppose, it’s possible.’
‘There might be an assassin in York,’ Corbett replied, and described the masked horseman the cook had seen.
Claverley scratched his chin. ‘An assassin hiding along the Botham Bar road?’ He pulled a face. ‘I’ve heard nothing about that. Anyway,’ Claverley indicated with his head, ‘what’s happening here? There are no servants, just Templar soldiers and squires.’
‘They have all fled,’ Corbett retorted. ‘There was a death here last night.’
He paused at a knock on the door and Legrave came in. ‘Sir Hugh, we are ready in the refectory. The grand master. .’ He paused and glared at Claverley. ‘Your visitor from the king?’
‘Yes,’ Corbett replied. ‘Ranulf, you stay here and tell our guest what we know. Sir Ralph, I’ll join you now.’
Corbett followed the Templar out of the guesthouse and across into the refectory. De Molay was seated at the head of the table, his companions on either side. De Molay indicated for Corbett to sit at the far end facing him. He noticed the leather bag of writing implements which Corbett laid out on the table, together with parchment, pen and ink-horn.
‘Sir Hugh, this is a formal occasion.’
Corbett agreed.
‘You will interrogate us on behalf of the king. So you will not object if we, too, keep a fair record of what is said. Sir Richard Branquier will be our clerk.’
‘Grand Master, do what you wish, but time is short, so I’ll be blunt. If I give offence then I apologise. And you’ll forgive me if I repeat what I have asked before?’
De Molay nodded.
‘Grand Master, are there divisions in your Order?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are there those, amongst your principal commanders, who are bitter at the lack of support from the Western Princes?’
‘Of course, but that does not mean we are traitors!’
‘Have you ever heard,’ Corbett continued remorselessly, ‘of a high-ranking officer in the Templars who carries the nickname of Sagittarius, the Archer?’ He watched the rest but they remained inscrutable.
‘Never!’ de Molay snapped. ‘Though some of the knights, indeed all, are accomplished archers, with the arbalest, the Welsh longbow and even with Saracen weapons.’
‘Have you heard any news about the Templar interrogated by the Inquisition?’
‘No, but we expect news daily. We do not even know his name.’
‘But you knew Murston?’
Corbett watched as Branquier, holding his pen in his left hand, conscientiously scribbled what was being said.
‘Murston was my retainer. A weak man, not liked by his colleagues. He drank a lot. He had become bitter.’
‘But not a traitor?’
‘No, Sir Hugh, I think not.’
‘Wasn’t he missed from his quarters? After all, he hired the garret in that tavern the night before the attack on the king?’
‘You must remember, Sir Hugh, all of us had met the king at St Leonard’s Priory the previous day. My companions and I then went into York. It could have been some days before Murston was missed.’
Corbett paused to write down what he had learnt. His quill skimmed across the soft parchment, writing in a cipher known only to himself.
‘And on the day the king entered York?’ he asked, placing the quill down.
‘We left the priory of St Leonard,’ de Molay replied, ‘and entered York. Legrave and I visited our bankers, goldsmiths in Stonegate.’
‘What are their names?’
‘Coningsby,’ Legrave replied. ‘William Coningsby and Peter Lamode.’
‘And you stayed there all the morning?’
‘There is no need for this,’ Branquier broke in. ‘We are knights of the Cross, not felons seized by the Crown!’
‘Hush!’ De Molay raised his hand. ‘All we are telling, Brother, is the truth. Legrave and myself were in Stonegate well into the afternoon. I inspected our accounts, then journeyed up Petergate and through Botham Bar. The king’s procession was in the grounds of York Minster. I would have liked to have visited the place.’ The grand master smiled thinly. ‘But I let it wait for another day.’
‘And you, Sir William?’ Corbett asked.
Not a muscle moved in Symmes’s scarred face, though his good eye looked threateningly at Corbett.
‘For a while I was with the grand master, but then I visited merchants in Goodramgate and journeyed to see a friend, a priest who serves the church of St Mary. I arranged to meet the grand master just outside the parchmenters’ house within sight of Botham bar. I journeyed back with him.’