Corbett undid the pouch on the dead man’s belt. He drew out a square piece of parchment and handed this to Churchley. He searched again but, apart from some coins and a broken quill, found nothing.
‘This is yours.’ Churchley handed the parchment back. ‘It bears your name.’
Corbett took the piece of vellum, a neat square about four inches long, the corners expertly gathered and sealed with a blob of red wax. It bore his name, ‘Sir Hugh Corbett’, but he recognised the same clerkly hand that was behind the Bellman’s proclamations. He stood up, leaving the rest to gather round Langton’s corpse. Corbett broke the seal. The words written inside seemed to leap up in their cry of defiance.
‘The Bellman greets Corbett the King’s crow: the royal lap dog. The Bellman asks what the crow does in Oxford? The crow should be careful where he pecks and where he flies. This follower of carrion, this hunter of bloody morsels has been warned. Do not tarry long in the fields of Oxford or your beak may be bent, your claws broken, your wings pinioned, to be despatched back dead to your royal master. Signed ‘the Bellman’.
Corbett hid his fear and passed the proclamation around. Ranulf swore. Maltote, who could barely read, asked what it was? Lady Mathilda’s fingers went to her lips, and the rest of the Masters seemed to sober up.
‘This is treason,’ Ranulf hissed. ‘This is treason against the King’s clerk and against the Crown itself!’
‘It’s murder,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Horrible murder. Bring the cups here, all of you!’
They scurried about until all the cups were on the table in front of him: it was difficult to tell which had been Langton’s. Corbett and Ranulf, assisted by Churchley, sniffed tentatively at each. All bore the juicy fragrance of sweet wine except one: Corbett held it up to his nose and caught a sharp, acrid smell.
‘What is it?’ He passed the cup to Churchley who sniffed it, swilling it around.
‘White arsenic,’ he finally declared. ‘Only arsenic has that tang, particularly white arsenic: it is deadly in its effect.’
‘Wouldn’t Langton have tasted it?’
‘Perhaps,’ Churchley replied. ‘But, there again, if his palate was sweetened by what we have eaten and drunk, he might dismiss it.’
‘But how did it get there?’ Barnett bellowed. ‘Master Alfred.’ He grasped Tripham’s arm. ‘Are we to be poisoned in our beds?’
Lady Mathilda snapped her fingers and gestured to Master Moth who, throughout it all, had stood silently near the door. She made those strange, bird-like gestures and Moth hurried off. He returned accompanied by two sleepy-eyed servitors who had arranged the library and brought the wine down. Somehow the news of Langton’s death had already begun to spread and the servitors crept like mice into the library. Tripham interrogated them but their mumbled replies shed no light on what had happened.
‘Master Tripham,’ one of them wailed, ‘we filled the wine and put the goblets on a tray.’
Corbett dismissed them. ‘Did any of you see someone playing with the cups, moving them about?’ he asked the rest.
‘No,’ Barnett replied on behalf of them all. ‘I was next to Langton all the time.’ His voice faltered as he realised the implications of what he had said. ‘I did nothing!’ he gasped. ‘I would not do such a thing!’
‘Was Langton holding his cup all the time?’ Corbett asked.
Churchley flailed his hands. ‘Like the rest,’ he whispered, ‘he probably put it down on the table and then picked it up.’
‘But what I can’t understand,’ Barnett declared, ‘is why Langton should be carrying a message to you, Sir Hugh, from the Bellman?’
‘I know.’ Corbett sat on a stool, ‘Master Alfred Tripham. Bring the servants back, and have the corpse removed! The rest of you stay!’
The Vice-Regent hurried off. He returned with four servants carrying a sheet and Langton’s corpse was placed in it. Tripham told them to take it to the corpse house at the far side of the garden.
Corbett sat, head bowed. How could this have happened? He closed his eyes. Think! Think! Why did Langton have a letter addressed to me in his wallet? If Langton hadn’t died, would he have handed it over, and would he have been able to tell me who the writer was. The Bellman must have been taking a huge risk. What would have happened if Langton had suddenly handed it across during the meal or afterwards? And how did the poisoner know which cup to taint? He opened his eyes. Langton’s corpse had now been removed. The rest were looking at him strangely.
‘Sir Hugh,’ Lady Mathilda spoke up. ‘The night is drawing on, we are all tired.’
Corbett got up, trying to hide his confusion and fear at the menacing threats of the Bellman.
‘Little can be done now,’ he said. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’
‘I would like to have words with you before you go,’ Lady Mathilda said. ‘Sir Hugh, I am, with my brother of blessed memory, the founder of this Hall.’ She stared defiantly at Tripham. ‘I demand to have words with you!’
The Vice-Regent looked as if he was going to protest but instead, gesturing in exasperation, left the chamber. The others followed. Lady Mathilda asked Ranulf and Maltote to stand outside with Master Moth. She locked and bolted the library door behind them and then returned. She sat down at the table and flicked her fingers for Corbett to sit opposite her.
‘We can’t be heard here,’ she whispered, leaning across. ‘Sir Hugh, you must have been told that the King had a spy at Sparrow Hall?’
Corbett just stared back.
‘Someone who tells the King what happens here.’ Lady Mathilda pushed back the sleeves of her dress. ‘I am that spy, Sir Hugh. My brother was the King’s man in peace and war. This Hall, this callege — ’ her voice rose slightly, and spots of anger appeared high in her cheeks ‘- this place was founded for learning and now it has become a mockery!’
‘Did the King ask you to spy?’ Corbett asked.
Lady Mathilda’s sallow face relaxed, her eyes still glittered with anger.
‘No, I offered my services, Sir Hugh. Don’t you know my history? As a damsel, I played cat’s cradle with de Montfort’s knights.’ Her face softened. ‘In my day, Corbett, I was beautiful. Men begged to kiss this bony, vein-streaked hand. The King’s knights often wore my colours in the lists and tournaments.’ She grinned, her face becoming impish. ‘Even Edward Longshanks tried to enter my bed. I suppose I was the King’s in war and peace,’ she added wryly. She clasped her bejewelled fingers together. ‘Those were great days, Corbett. Days of war; of armies marching and banners flying, of spying and treachery. If de Montfort had won, a new king would have sat on the throne at Westminster and the likes of me and my brother would have gone into the darkness. You have heard the story?’
Corbett shook his head, fascinated by the intensity of this old but vibrant woman.
‘At Evesham, at the height of the battle, five of de Montfort’s knights tried to break through to kill the King. They hacked down his bodyguard and burst into the royal circle — but my brother Henry was there.’ She lifted her face, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Like a rock he was, so the King said; feet planted like oaks in the ground, his great two-handed war sword whirling like the wind: those knights never reached the King. My brother killed them all. Afterwards, that night in his tent, Edward swore a great oath.’ She closed her eyes, her voice thrilling, “‘I have sworn a great oath and I will never repent of it”, the King declared, his hand over a relic of Edward the Confessor. “Whenever Henry Braose, or any of his family, seek my help I shall not forget”.’ Lady Mathilda opened her eyes. ‘My brother did not kill de Montfort,’ she continued, ‘to see his great enterprise here overturned by pompous scholars. So yes, Corbett, I volunteered my services to the King.’
‘And what have you found?’
‘It’s not a question of finding,’ she retorted. ‘Sir Hugh, I have lived here for years, and I have seen Masters come and go but… this group!’ She sighed. ‘Old Copsale was a true scholar but as for the rest! Passerel was fat, living only for his belly. Langton was a mere ghost of a man, who won’t be missed in death just as he wasn’t noticed in life. Barnett’s a drunkard who likes pretty whores. Churchley’s so narrow-minded I don’t think he even knows there’s a world outside Oxford.’