Hugh Corbett 14 - The Magician's Death (34 page)

‘That’s why that bastard held his banquet,’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘He hoped we would all be fuddled with wine, deeply asleep. Sir Hugh, isn’t there anything we can do?’

Corbett run a thumbnail around his lips. ‘Continue, Sir Edmund.’

‘They also cleared the forest.’ The Constable joined his hands together. ‘Poor Horehound and his coven were massacred. I sent riders into the trees. The pirates killed indiscriminately: Horehound and his group, foresters, charcoal burners. Good God, Sir Hugh, it’ll be summer before we find all their corpses.’

‘And Master Reginald?’

‘They forced him to drive the cart this morning. He was killed just by the gateway, whether by design or accident I cannot say.’

‘And Father Matthew?’

‘Ah, we expected to find him dead. However, our priest has more nimble wits than they thought. He and the hostages managed to escape to the church and barred themselves in, just as the outlaws began to mass for their attack on the castle. Obviously the pirates hoped to deal with us first. The priest is shaken and nervous but he and the poor forest folk were found safe enough.’

‘And the tavern?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Ransacked and looted. Most of the servants managed to escape into the forest.’

‘And the Castilians?’

‘From what one of the grooms said, one escaped, the rest were killed. They made a final stand just between the tavern and the church. I have brought the rebels’ bodies back so that my people can see. They are laid out in a line, just within the inner bailey. I want everyone here to see that justice was done.’

‘And the rest?’ Ranulf asked.

‘They will be hanging within the hour, but Ranulf is correct! Sir Hugh, what can we do about de Craon?’

Corbett rose, washed his face and hands and prepared himself carefully. ‘Tell de Craon I wish to see him here.’ He turned the high-backed chair to face the door. ‘I want to see him here, by himself. You can be my witnesses.’

A short while later de Craon, booted and spurred, body shrouded in a thick woollen cloak, swaggered into the room. Bogo de Baiocis followed like a shadow.

‘Sir Hugh, I’m glad to see you are safe.’ De Craon looked around for a chair; Corbett didn’t offer one. Ranulf lounged on a stool whilst Sir Edmund leaned against the wall, still picking at the cut on his wrist.

‘Tell your servant to stand outside.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Tell your servant to stand outside. This castle is the King of England’s, I am his commissioner, I decide to whom I speak.’ Corbett rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, he can leave of his own accord or I can have the tocsin sounded.’

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.’

Roger Bacon,
Opus Maius

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.

‘
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.