De Craon lifted a gloved hand, waggling his fingers. Ranulf hastened to open the door and mockingly bowed as the henchman strode out, then slammed the door shut, drawing the bolts across. De Craon became alarmed.
‘Sir Hugh, you seem in a temper. I truly object, as will my master, to the hideous attack launched on this castle,’ de Craon gabbled. ‘Perhaps, Sir Hugh, our two kings can meet and discuss the dangers posed by these marauders. At the same time I must remind you that I am an accredited envoy. I no longer feel safe here. I wish-’
‘Oh shut up!’ Corbett sipped from his wine cup. ‘Monsieur de Craon, why don’t you just keep quiet? Do you know, sir,’ he continued, ‘if I could prove who hired those pirates I would build a special scaffold outside the gate and watch him hang. However, I have no such proof.’
‘Are you saying they were hired?’ De Craon’s eyes rounded in surprise. ‘Sir Hugh, you have proof of this?’
‘I said if,’ Corbett retorted. ‘The man who hired them is a murderer and assassin. He has the blood of innocent men and women on his hands. I call him a misbegotten knave, a cruel-hearted bastard who is not even worthy to wipe the arse of one of Sir Edmund’s dogs.’ Malevolence and anger began to seethe in the Frenchman’s eyes. ‘However, monsieur, you have made a very good point. Well, three, to be precise. First, we must gather as much information about this attack as possible, and you were witness to it. Secondly, you are an accredited envoy, and the King of England is personally responsible for your safety. Thirdly, there are still outstanding matters between us. So, to cut to the chase, I think it will be very unsafe, even with a heavy escort, to journey to Dover. These pirates may still be hiding along the roads.’
Corbett sipped from his cup, watching de Craon over its rim.
‘Who knows, they may even launch another assault. Your person, Monsieur de Craon, is very special, I mean, very sacred to me. I must keep you close and safe.’
De Craon flushed as Ranulf sniggered.
‘By the power given to me,’ Corbett raised his left hand, ‘I must insist that you be kept safe here at Corfe, given every comfort until we are assured that this danger is past.’
‘And?’ De Craon’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.
‘My sovereign lord the King,’ Corbett continued, smiling with his eyes, ‘will insist on reassuring you personally. He will want to know as much about this attack as possible.’ He leaned forward. ‘Within the week you will be escorted to London and given comfortable lodgings in the Tower. You can join the court’s Christmas festivities.’
‘I protest!’ de Craon broke in. ‘I must return to France.’
‘Amaury, Amaury!’ Corbett got to his feet, put his hand gently on the Frenchman’s shoulder and squeezed tight with his fingers. ‘We must make sure you are safe. We must show the Holy Father at Avignon the cordial relationship which exists between our two courts. Surely, Amaury, you are not going to refuse my royal master’s invitation? I mean, he would take grave insult.’
Corbett’s hand fell away. De Craon’s face was a picture, a mass of controlled fury, white froth bubbling on the corner of his mouth. The Frenchman was breathing rapidly through his nose.
‘You must be safe, Amaury, I would die a thousand deaths if anything happened to you.’
‘I,’ de Craon stepped back, ‘I must think about your offer.’ Ranulf was quietly laughing. This proved too much. At the door de Craon turned. ‘One day, Corbett . . .’
‘Aye, de Craon, one day, but for now, do make yourself available. Perhaps I may have other questions for you.’
De Craon drew back the bolts and disappeared through the doorway. Ranulf, laughing loudly, kicked the door shut.
‘Can you do that?’
Sir Edmund came away from the wall, eyes watchful.
‘I don’t want him to leave,’ Corbett declared, ‘and I want to keep him in England as long as possible. He’ll enjoy the Tower. He shouts he is an envoy; then he should at least present his letters to our lord. Perhaps the snow will return and, with a little luck, King Philip will have to do without his Keeper of Secrets until the spring.’
‘You will accuse him of the murders?’ Ranulf asked.
‘He is a murderer,’ Corbett replied. ‘A malevolent black spider who spins his webs in dark corners. He hired those pirates. He tried to fill our bellies with food and wine and I think I know why. Sir Edmund, whatever happens, keep the drawbridge raised. Apart from myself, nobody must leave this castle. Now I believe we have other business to do.’ Corbett roused himself, blew out the candles and strapped on his war belt. ‘Ranulf, fetch Bolingbroke. Sir Edmund, where will the court be held?’
‘In the council chamber in the keep.’
‘Tell Bolingbroke to meet us there,’ Corbett ordered. ‘He is skilled in languages. Let these miscreants know why they are going to die.’
Any educated person may listen with profit to this boy, John. No one is so learned that this boy may be dispensable to him in so many ways.
Chapter 13
The corpses, all bloodied, were stretched out on the cobbles, row after row like slabs of bloody meat on a flesher’s stall. Corbett followed Sir Edmund as the Constable inspected each corpse on what was proving to be a dark, freezing morning, the sky threatening more snow. The pirates, even in death, still looked sinister and ferocious. Corbett had heard of their exploits in the Narrow Seas. The Flemish fleet comprised all the scum, cutthroats and murderers from the ports of Flanders, Hainault, France, even from Genoa, Venice and further east. They were dressed in a motley collection of gaudy robes and filched armour, hair grown long, faces almost hidden by thick moustaches and beards; here and there lay the occasional youthful, clean-shaven one. Their corpses were already plundered of jewellery; this lay piled high on a table brought out from the tower, and Sir Edmund’s scribes were busy making a tally. The air reeked of blood and iron, and the sight of such corpses had tempered the rage and resentment of the castle folk.
‘At least one hundred,’ Ranulf whispered. Death had been inflicted in a variety of ways. Many still carried the feathered, barbed shafts of the longbowmen; others had hideous wounds to their head, face or chest; a few had been speared in the back; one had lost his head and this had been placed as a macabre joke under his arm.
‘Did they have horses?’ Corbett asked.
‘No,’ Sir Edmund replied. ‘Only some sorry mounts they managed to steal from a farmstead.’
Once he had finished his inspection, the Constable climbed a barrel and gave a pithy address extolling the castle folk for their bravery, gesturing at the prisoners now bound and gathered in a huddle, promising that the King’s justice would be done publicly and swiftly.
Once Sir Edmund had climbed down, he, Corbett and Ranulf, with Bolingbroke acting as interpreter, crossed to the council chamber in the keep. This had been transformed, lit by a myriad of candles and warmed by the many capped braziers lined up against the walls and placed in every corner. The great table had been turned round to face the door. Sir Edmund sat in the middle chair, beneath the crucifix, Corbett on his right, Ranulf to his left, with a worried-looking Bolingbroke at one end of the table and a castle scribe at the other. In front of Sir Edmund lay a sword, a small crucifix, and a copy of the chapel breviary. Corbett took out his own commission and unrolled it, using four weights to hold down the corners. At the bottom of the document were his seal and those of the King and Chancellor.
The prisoners were brought in, and pushed and shoved to stand in front of this crudely devised King’s Bench. Sir Edmund declared that they were pirates, invaders, with no rights and subject to martial law. As he spoke Bolingbroke quickly translated. Sir Edmund then listed the charges against them.
‘That they maliciously and feloniously invaded the noble King’s Realm of England, causing devastation by fire and sword, pillaging and killing the King’s good loyal subjects contrary to all usage and law . . .’ Every so often he would pause for Bolingbroke to translate. At the end he asked if they wished to say anything in their defence.