‘One of the early popes,’ the priest replied. ‘I think he was a martyr who died for the faith. Sir Hugh, what’s the matter?’
‘Damsons,’ Corbett replied enigmatically. ‘Damsons,’ he whispered, ‘which a Pope could eat before singing his dawn mass.’
Devices could be constructed to emit poisonous and infectious emanations wherever a man may wish.
Chapter 12
Corbett tried to remain calm as he sat at the high table. He pretended to eat and drink but his mind was a blizzard of ideas, notions, excitement and fear. The anxiety which had gripped him crumbled in a release of emotion. At any other time he would have gone for a vigorous walk, saddled his horse for a ride, or even taken his song sheets out to chant some carol or psalm. The conversation at high table swirled round him like a breeze. What did it matter? It was all pretence. De Craon could sit there, stuffing his maw with the delicacies from the kitchen, preening himself and listening ever so graciously to Lady Catherine’s chatter. You’re an assassin, Corbett thought, steeped in wickedness. He almost exclaimed with relief when the banquet ended. Sir Edmund rose and volubly thanked de Craon, who gave some simpering reply. Corbett winked at Ranulf and pretended he was in his cups, lounging in his chair, legs sprawled as if half asleep. Once the rest were gone, however, he insisted that he, Ranulf and Sir Edmund meet in the Constable’s private chambers. Corbett offered Lady Catherine his most profuse apologies.
‘No, no,’ she murmured, picking up a small bejewelled psalter from the table. ‘I was watching you during the meal, Sir Hugh; there is something very wrong, isn’t there?’
Ranulf, picking at a spot on his jerkin, looked up quickly. He had been so immersed in Lady Constance he had hardly given Sir Hugh a second glance, but now he could see the Keeper of the Secret Seal was not drunk or tired but tense with excitement.
‘What is it?’ the Constable asked, closing the door behind his wife.
‘Sir Edmund, Corfe Castle is about to be attacked!’
‘Nonsense,’ the Constable scoffed. ‘It would need a siege train, battering rams, scaling ladders-’
‘I don’t mean that way.’ Corbett sat down on a quilted stool. ‘It’s to be taken by treachery.’ He turned to Ranulf. ‘For days we have talked about secret signs, ciphers and codes. Ranulf, remember the one I taught you? I told you to pick a coin from a pile on the table and concentrate hard. Which king was on the coin? I asked you to reflect carefully.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Ranulf smiled, ‘and we astonished everyone because I always picked up a coin you could name.’
‘What’s the point of this?’ Sir Edmund loosened the cords of his shirt. He had scoffed at Corbett’s declaration but he knew this dark-faced clerk was both a soldier and a shrewd plotter.
‘Sir Edmund, you remember that piece of parchment you found on Mistress Feyner about bread to fill the largest stomach, and damsons for a Pope to eat before his dawn Mass? De Craon has confessed that he wrote it. It’s a secret cipher. When I taught Ranulf our trick I would use a certain word to denote a certain king. When I asked him to reflect, he would reply, “Yes, I’ve considered,” or “Yes, I’ve reflected,” or “Yes, I’ve remembered.” Each word stood for a certain king. “Reflected” could be Henry, “remembered” could be Edward, “considered” could be Richard. It’s a cheap fairground trick, but one which can be made more complicated. Now, de Craon knows that we are suspicious. We should never have found that message. At first he denied it until he realised that, by admitting to it, he can continue with his plot.’
‘Which is?’ Sir Edmund asked testily.
‘To storm this castle by stealth. The message gives the time, the place and the method. Consider his message carefully. Bread to fill any belly; the word for belly in French is ventre; it can also mean, used loosely, the entrance to a castle. They aim to seize the gates.’
‘When?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Ah, now we come to the damsons. De Craon is out of season; true, there may be some wizened plums, damsons preserved since autumn. However, he is not alluding to this. Damson means Damasus. He was one of the early popes. Tomorrow we celebrate his feast, and the reference to the dawn Mass names the time, before daybreak, when Father Andrew usually summons us to the first Mass of the day.’
Sir Edmund sat down in a chair and absentmindedly sipped from his goblet.
‘But how?’ Ranulf asked. ‘Whom can de Craon use? Has he hired the outlaws?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Suborned the garrison?’
‘Impossible,’ Sir Edmund declared.
‘The Flemish pirates,’ Corbett put in. ‘Sir Edmund, we have good intelligence that Flemish pirates have been seen in the Narrow Seas, cruising close to our southern shore.’
‘True, true, and they do land, though it’s villages they sack.’
‘This time it is different,’ Corbett declared. ‘They have the weather on their side. Corfe stands on the Island of Purbeck; to the south there is the sea, to the east the estuary. These Flemings are the most accomplished sailors; they have charts, maps and information they have collected. They can beach their ships in a lonely inlet or cove, assemble and move inland.’
‘But they would be seen.’
‘No, Sir Edmund, it’s the dead of winter. When was the last time you left this castle? They would enter the forest, and God help anyone they met. I would wager a bag of gold that corpses now litter the woods: charcoal burners, chapmen, peddlers, tinkers.’
‘The outlaws!’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘Poorly armed, weak, they wouldn’t stand a chance against such ferocious fighters.’
‘It’s possible,’ Corbett conceded, ‘which is why our outlaws did not meet us as agreed. God help the poor souls, they must be dead. In fact, Ranulf, we are most fortunate for I’m sure we almost met the Flemings ourselves.’
‘Where?’ Ranulf couldn’t believe his ears. He often confessed to Chanson how old Master Longface could surprise him, but now he was truly astonished.
‘We’re talking about two to three hundred men,’ Corbett closed his eyes, ‘and they have approached the castle as close as they can.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘I don’t think Father Matthew is ill at all. On the day we visited him the church was locked and barred. If we had forced the doors we would have seen a sight which would have terrified us just before the air became thick with arrows.’
‘You’re saying they were there, in the house and church?’
‘Yes, Ranulf, and even closer, perhaps in the tavern itself. They are going to use Master Reginald’s cart, as they probably plotted to use Mistress Feyner’s. When de Craon visited the tavern I’m sure he went to leave that same message which you, Sir Edmund, found on that woman’s corpse.’ Corbett shook his head. ‘It could be done so easily, a piece of parchment dropped to the floor.’
‘But the priest would have told us.’ Ranulf spoke up. ‘So would Master Reginald.’
‘Both their lives are threatened,’ Corbett explained. ‘I’m sure that in the tavern, above stairs or in its cellars, lurk men with crossbows primed, or blades to the throats of Master Reginald’s servants, and the same in the church. In fact, the priest did try to warn us. Do you remember, Ranulf, Father Matthew claimed he hadn’t eaten, but we smelt the odour of cooking, and water had been drawn from the butt. Also there was that expensive brass bowl lying out in the garden. No poor priest would have thrown out something so costly.’
‘What bowl?’ Sir Edmund asked. ‘What is this, Sir Hugh? How do you know de Craon is behind this? Why?’
‘I don’t know why, Sir Edmund, not yet, but the Flemings are mercenaries; they can be hired by the French King, or his brother, or a member of the royal council. Everything is done in secret. A sum of money is given to some banking house; more is promised when the deed is done. Do you remember that fire, Sir Edmund? Don’t you think it was strange that your guards glimpsed a fire on the edge of the forest? And within a short while a similar fire started in the castle. De Craon was receiving and sending messages; like a chess game, all the pieces were moving into place.’