‘Which they are,’ Crotoy intervened.
‘We don’t know that. Now, Friar Roger actually lists seven ways of writing a cipher. First, behind characters and symbols; we all know that method. Secondly, in parables, stories which are known only to the writer and his chosen reader. There are other more technical ways, such as,’ Corbett ticked the next three off on his fingers, ‘the use of words where only consonants are deployed; or different alphabets. Friar Roger studied Hebrew and Greek as well as Latin, so he could have used any of these, or a language not known to anybody. The sixth method is the rejection of letters and the use of mathematical signs; and finally, much more subtly, the writer creates his own alphabet, his own language, consisting of different types of symbols and marks which are known only to him and those to whom he has revealed them. Now, as far as we know, the Secretus Secretorum was written by Bacon and a copy made. We are not too sure whether the English King owns the original or his Grace the King of France, but we are assured – are we not, Monsieur de Craon? – that these two manuscripts are identical in every way.’ De Craon nodded slowly. ‘So I propose,’ Corbett continued, ‘we compare the manuscripts one more time. We can spend the rest of the day doing this. I recommend therefore that Master Bolingbroke and Magister Sanson carry this task through.’
‘What if,’ Ranulf, who’d sat fascinated by the argument, tapped the table with his hand, ‘what if a key does exist?’
‘A great search has been made.’ Pierre Sanson shook his head. ‘There is not even a hint or a whisper that such a document exists. What we have to do here is understand the Latin words used as well as the different symbols and characters which separate them.’
‘As a gesture of goodwill,’ de Craon pulled himself up in his chair, ‘and by royal command from my master, I can reveal that Magister Thibault, before his unfortunate accident,’ de Craon glared at Bolingbroke, ‘actually found a key, and was hopeful that he could translate the entire manuscript!’
The French envoy revelled in the consternation his remark caused. Corbett glared in disbelief. Ranulf leaned over to whisper to him to keep calm.
‘Monsieur, you jest?’ Ranulf protested.
‘Monsieur does not jest. If you turn to the last page of the Secretus Secretorum,’ de Craon waited until Corbett had done so, ‘in the second line there is an apparently meaningless phrase “Dabo tibi portas multas”, “I shall give you many doors”.’
Corbett, staring intently at the last page of the manuscript, studied the particular line as the Frenchman explained how, if certain letters were removed and specified characters transposed, the words he had quoted emerged from the jumble on the page. Sir Hugh could clearly make out the word dabo.
‘I’m afraid,’ de Craon spoke again, ‘that that was all Magister Thibault was able to decipher.’
The manuscripts were passed round, all animosity forgotten, as the various scholars studied the letters and began to argue amongst themselves. Corbett sat back, puzzled. He had had the opportunity to look at the French copy, and even a glance at the first page, the colour of the ink, the shape of the letters and symbols, the texture of the manuscript, proved the two manuscripts were a fair copy of each other. At the same time de Craon had been most helpful; indeed, his remarks had surprised not only Corbett but also his own colleagues. Why, Corbett wondered, were the French being so co-operative?
The discussion continued for at least an hour, parchment and quill being used; de Craon, like a schoolmaster, moved round the table, explaining what Magister Thibault had done, though expressing ignorance at how he had reached such a conclusion.
The castle bell chimed for the midday Angelis and they paused from their discussions while Corbett led them in the famous prayer, ‘The Angel Lord declared unto Mary’. He noticed, with some amusement, that those clustered around the table fairly gabbled the words and returned immediately to the matter in hand.
Soon after, Sir Edmund announced that food would be served in the hall below, and Corbett brought the meeting to order. He and de Craon agreed that they would adjourn for the rest of the day whilst Bolingbroke and Sanson compared the manuscripts. Chattering volubly, de Craon led the rest of the group along the passageway into the hall. Corbett and Ranulf stayed to have a word with Sir Edmund. The Constable closed the door behind his guests and, plucking Corbett by the sleeve, took him over to the fireplace, gesturing at Ranulf to join them.
‘The snow’s ceased falling,’ he murmured. ‘A peddler has reached the castle; he came in from one of the coastal villages. He brought rumours of the Flemish pirates being seen much closer to the coast than normal.’
‘In this weather?’ Corbett exclaimed. ‘The seas are swollen, there will be few vessels leaving port. So what are they waiting for?’
‘What are they looking for, more like?’ Ranulf retorted.
‘I feel nervous,’ the Constable confessed. ‘This castle is well fortified and manned, but sooner or later you and the French envoys must leave. Think, Sir Hugh, of the disgrace if you or Monsieur de Craon, either on land or sea, were ambushed or captured by Flemish pirates. I would hear Edward’s roars from Westminster here, whilst Philip of France’s anger, well . . .’ He shrugged.
‘But there is no real danger, surely?’ Corbett replied. ‘The pirates are at sea; they are looking for plunder, a careless merchantman, or some unprotected village where they can slaughter fresh meat and retreat to their ships.’
‘I know, I know.’ The Constable shook his head. ‘You are a clerk, Sir Hugh, skilled in the matters of the Chancery. I am a soldier. It is rare for pirates to come in so close at such a time, with the weather so bad. Yet they could use it to their own advantage. They could beach their ships, teeming with men, desperate veterans. If they made a landing, it might take days, or even weeks, for a message to get through the snow to London or one of the Cinque Ports. I thought I should tell you.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘Will you join us in the hall?’
Corbett didn’t feel like eating; he made polite excuses and went out, slipping and slithering on the icy cobbles, to his own chamber in the Salt Tower. He waited before the fire until Ranulf and Chanson returned and, whilst the groom guarded the door, he tried to settle the chaos seething in his mind.
‘I understand none of it, Ranulf.’ The red-haired clerk sat at the small desk, and dipped his quill into the ink warmed by the fire. ‘It’s like being in the countryside when the mist comes down. Do we go forward or wait until it’s cleared? Anyway, let’s list the obstacles.’
Corbett walked up and down whilst Ranulf’s pen scratched the parchment, writing in a cipher only he and Corbett understood.
Primo – Why is our King so interested in Friar Roger’s secret manuscript? What has he discovered which so intrigues him yet he won’t even tell me? He has gone through all of Friar Roger’s writings and brought the Secretus Secretorum from his Treasury of Books at Westminster. Is it because he has heard that Philip of France is equally interested, or is the opposite true? Is Philip simply, like I am, deeply curious at Edward’s close interest in the writings of a long-dead Franciscan?
Secundo – Is the Secretus Secretorum a genuine manuscript? Does it contain a treasure house of secrets or is it mere babble? Is there a key to the cipher? A genuine key. Edward of England hasn’t translated it, but has Philip of France? According to de Craon, and he showed some proof this morning, one of the lines can be translated. But is that a mere accident?