‘Merde!’ a coarse voice shouted.
Sir Edmund asked again if any of them could claim innocence of the charges levelled against them. One of the pirates in the front hawked and spat. Corbett’s unease at such swift justice receded as he studied these invaders. They looked what they were, violent, murderous marauders who had no fear of God or man and would have shown little compassion to any of their victims. He thought of the lonely charcoal burners, poor Horehound and his coven, corpses stiffening under the snow. Staring at these scarred, cruel faces he wondered what other cruelties they were guilty of. He tugged at Sir Edmund’s sleeve and whispered quickly in his ear. Sir Edmund nodded in agreement.
‘Is there anyone here,’ he declared, ‘who can claim innocence of any of the charges? I’ve asked before and I’m asking again, for the final time.’
He was answered with a tirade of abuse in at least half a dozen languages. Despite their shackles the pirates were still dangerous. Corbett noticed how they were shuffling towards the table in front of them, so much so that Sir Edmund’s officers had to form a cordon between them, shields up, swords drawn.
‘Listen!’ Sir Edmund shouted. ‘I am empowered to offer free pardon and amnesty to anyone who can lay evidence on who hired you and why you came here.’ A deadly silence greeted his words. One of the pirates shuffled forward, almost pushing aside the guard.
‘We don’t know who hired us,’ he replied in guttural English. ‘Only our Admiral could tell you that, and he is frying in Hell or raping one of your women. You mean to kill us, why not get on with it?’
‘In which case . . .’ Sir Edmund stood and, one hand holding the hilt of his sword, the other his crucifix, intoned the death sentence: ‘That they are all found guilty of the terrible accusations levelled against them, being the perpetrators of divers hideous crimes . . . and by the power given to me of high and low justice, as Constable of this royal castle, I condemn you to be hanged, sentence to be carried out immediately.’
His words did not need to be translated and were greeted with a roar of abuse. The pirates surged forward, only to be beaten back by Sir Edmund’s guards. They were thrust out into the inner bailey and divided into batches of six. Corbett left the hall as the first prisoners were hustled up the steps to the parapet walk. The nooses had already been prepared, the other end tied round the castle’s crenellations. Father Andrew stood at the foot of the steps, quietly reciting prayers; many of the pirates cursed him as they passed. Once they had reached the parapet walk the noose was put round their necks and they were kicked unceremoniously over the edge. The castle folk had already left, standing in the frozen fields outside to watch one figure after another be thrown over the castle walls to dance and jerk at the end of a rope.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Corbett whispered. ‘Sir Edmund, I ask you again to make sure no one leaves this castle.’
‘Where are you going?’ the Constable asked.
Corbett smiled. ‘I need to talk to a priest.’
Corbett was relieved to put the castle behind him. The execution party was now moving round the walls, and as he looked back he could see those small black figures, some still, others kicking in their death throes. He turned away and whispered a prayer, patting his horse’s neck, then pulled up the edge of his cloak to cover his nose and mouth, turning his head slightly as the bitter breeze stung his face. He held the reins slack, allowing his mount to pick its own way along the frozen track. Behind him, huddled on his mount, sat Ranulf, deeply silent. Corbett knew the reason. Many years ago he had rescued Ranulf from a hanging, and the sight of such executions always provoked bitter memories.
The snow had turned to ice, and on either side of the track Corbett saw signs of the recent attack, wet patches of blood, a shattered club, a buckle or button. He paused as Ranulf pushed his mount towards a thick clump of gorse where the corpse of another pirate lay, sprawled crookedly in death, one hand turned as if trying to pluck the yard-long shaft embedded deeply in his back. They entered the line of trees; here again were more scenes of the bloody pursuit: a corpse half hidden by the snow overlooked by Sir Edmund’s men, and more and more of those dark bloody patches.
When they reached the tavern, its cobbled yard was deserted. Corbett dismounted, told Ranulf to wait and walked into the tap room. He was met by the chief ostler, who informed him that Sir Edmund had given the tavern to his care for the time being. ‘We are still looking for those who fled.’ His sad eyes held Corbett’s. ‘Young boys and maids out in the freezing forest. We’ve been out there and seen some terrible sights. Corpses, throats slit from ear to ear, tinkers and travellers, God’s poor men, only looking for a warm fire.’
‘The Castilians?’ Corbett asked.
‘Sir, we thought they were what they claimed to be. They would leave now and again; I always thought they were going to the castle. Then the others came, silently, just before dark, terrible men, Sir. They kept careful watch on the road. Some of the maids were cruelly abused.’
‘Well they are either dead,’ Corbett replied, ‘or about to meet their final judgement.’ He told the ostler to keep careful watch lest pirates who had survived the fight were hiding out amongst the trees.
‘Is it going to end like that?’ Ranulf asked as Corbett remounted. ‘Bodies dangling from the wall? Who, Sir Hugh, will answer for the hideous murders in the castle? Your good friend Louis-’
Corbett held up a hand. ‘I’m tired, Ranulf, of secret books and hidden ciphers, de Craon’s treachery and his lust for my blood. There’s still work to do.’ He smiled. ‘We have a priest to see. Always remember, the mills of God’s justice may grind infinitely slowly, but they do grind infinitely small.’
The trackway outside the church and the churchyard itself bore witness to the recent conflict. Some of the crosses and headstones had been overturned whilst a pile of bloody rags lay heaped against the cemetery wall. Father Matthew was standing on the church steps, busy sprinkling water in all directions.
‘I’m hallowing this place,’ he explained, as Corbett and Ranulf dismounted. ‘Well,’ he held up the holy water stoup and the small asperges rod, ‘it’s the least I can do.’ He sprinkled a little water in Corbett’s direction. ‘Sir Edmund told me about Mistress Feyner. You did well, clerk; another devil in our midst, though.’ Father Matthew sighed. ‘God rest the poor woman.’
Corbett stared at this kindly priest with his heavy peasant face, now unshaven, eyes red-rimmed, and realised how shrewd a man he was; just a glance, a movement of the lips proved the old proverb that still waters run very, very deep. Corbett rested one foot on the bottom step of the church.
‘I came to thank you, Father.’ He laughed abruptly. ‘And to congratulate you on your return to good health. When I came here last you were warning us, weren’t you? You could smell the odour of cooking and so could I. And what poor priest would throw a beautiful bronze bowl out amongst the rubbish near the rear door?’
‘I hoped you would see that.’ Father Matthew kept his head down. ‘God have mercy on me, Sir Hugh, I had no choice. They were in every chamber in the house and they held the hostages in the church; they were as fearsome as Hell. I thought I would never meet devils incarnate! Hell must have been empty, for all its demons came to Corfe.’
‘You escaped?’
‘A long story.’ Father Matthew smiled. Corbett noticed how clean and even his teeth were, whilst the ragged black mittens on his hands couldn’t hide the elegance of his long fingers. ‘The pirates were leaving, eager for more mischief. I simply escaped into the church and barred the Corpse Door. Thanks be to God, if I hadn’t I’m sure they would have slit my throat and those of the other people they brought in.’