‘My father,’ the taverner said. ‘We call him the Ancient One.’
Corbett could see why. The old man looked as old as Methuselah with his lined, seamed face, milky-blue eyes, scrawny beard and moustache. He peered up as they approached.
‘Is that you, son?’
‘It is, oh Ancient One of days,’ the taverner replied jokingly. ‘I’ve brought visitors.’
‘I’m ninety-five years of age,’ the old man cackled. ‘Do you realise that? I remember the King’s grandfather, John Lackland. He came through Ashdown when he was on his way to Runnymede. I’ve seen them all. They call me the Ancient One but my memory’s still good.’ His smile widened in a display of half-munched pear. ‘But I always says, it’s not what’s between your ears, but between your legs, which counts.’ He peered at the ring on Corbett’s right hand. ‘You are a King’s clerk, aren’t you?’
Corbett crouched down.
‘Father.’ He touched the old man’s hand. ‘It is good to see you.’
‘Plums,’ the Ancient One replied. ‘It’s autumn now and there’ll be damsons ripe and full like a young maid’s tits.’
Corbett marvelled at this old man, who must have been a lad when King John led his armies against his barons.
‘What is it you want?’ The old man’s head came forward like a bird.
‘Father, did you know a tavern called the Red Rose outside the town of Rye?’
‘I knew a wench we called Red Rose. She lived in Rye. We called her Red because that’s the colour she painted her tits.’
‘A tavern, Father?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Owned by a young man and his wife. She killed herself.’
‘Ah, I remember that.’ The old man tapped the side of his nose. ‘People tell me everything. There was such a tavern, but it’s now called the Golden Cresset. It was a brothel once you know, in the King’s father’s time, often visited by the soldiers, then it changed hands. The sheriff cleaned it up. A young man owned it, yes, that’s right, Alwayn, Alwayn Rothmere and his wife, I think she was called Katherine. Well, the Fitzalan boys used to visit it. One thing led to another.’
‘This was about twenty or twenty-five years ago,’ Corbett interrupted.
‘They were just lads at the time. All mouth and cock,’ the Ancient One declared. ‘Henry was the bad one. Not a bodice he didn’t rip or a petticoat he wouldn’t lift. He acted the young lord, nimble on his feet, quick of wit and sharp of eye. He seduced her. Alwayn found out, so the poor girl killed herself, stepped on a table she did then hanged herself.’
‘And Alwayn, he disappeared?’ Corbett asked.
‘No, he didn’t disappear. You’ve only been told half the story.’ The old man cackled and peered at his son. ‘I don’t think I’ve told you this, have I? Alwayn found the corpse and took her down.’ The old man sniffed. ‘Then he hanged himself in the same place.’ He must have glimpsed the astonishment on Corbett’s face. ‘Both gone,’ he murmured sadly. ‘Into the dark! I am sure they were there to greet Lord Henry.’
Chapter 7
Corbett and Ranulf left the Ancient One and walked back into the tavern. Mine host hurried off to cut slices of pork.
‘My, my, my,’ Ranulf exclaimed as they took their seats. ‘If the King knew of this, he would have one of his royal rages.’
‘The King will know of this,’ Corbett replied. ‘It would appear that Gaveston, who is supposed to be exiled, has now returned to England and is hiding in these parts.’
‘That’s why the Prince of Wales wanted to see us, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, I think it was. Sir William Fitzalan is one of the Prince of Wales’ coterie. I suspect, at the Prince’s insistence, Sir William brought Gaveston up into Ashdown. He stayed here where he was arrogant enough to wear his insignia. I also believe he was Lady Madeleine’s secret visitor. The Prince of Wales, full of false piety, came to Ashdown, ostensibly to hunt or pray at the famous shrine; but secretly, he was meeting his lover.’
Ranulf stared back alarmed.
‘If the King heard that,’ he replied, ‘your friendship, Sir Hugh, would not save you.’
‘The King knows the truth,’ Corbett replied drily. ‘The Prince of Wales is a man who likes the best of both worlds. Oh, he’ll marry whatever princess is trotted out.’ Corbett’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I suspect the true love of his life is, and always will be, the Gascon Piers Gaveston.’
‘And he sheltered here?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Here and in the priory.’
‘And the other matter?’
‘I am disappointed,’ Corbett said. ‘I really did think the Owlman was the husband of the young woman who killed herself at the Red Rose, but both are dead, so I have to think again.’
‘Lady Madeleine has to answer a few questions.’
‘She has more to answer than she thinks. You saw that hair, Ranulf? Do you think it’s a genuine relic?’
‘The world is full of trickery, master. Aren’t there oils, potions, herbal concoctions which could keep it supple and fresh?’
They paused as the tavern keeper brought back traunchers with strips of crackling pork, freshly cut bread and some leeks and onions, diced and sprinkled with marjoram.
‘You made the Ancient One’s day,’ he told them. ‘But the other matter?’ He glanced nervously at Corbett and the clerk wondered if mine host had known the identity of his secret visitor all the time.
‘Act the innocent,’ Corbett advised. ‘And innocent you’ll stay.’
The tavern keeper smiled and walked away. Corbett drew his knife, took a horn spoon from his wallet and began to cut up the pork.
‘Are you the King’s emissary?’
Corbett stared and turned. The young woman appeared as if out of nowhere. She was dressed in a sea-green cloak, fringed at the hem with red stitching. It covered her from neck to toe though Corbett glimpsed muddy-toed boots peeping out beneath. Yet it was her face which fascinated him. With the hair piled back beneath a dark-grey veil, it was so composed, so perfect she reminded him of a lifelike statue of the Virgin Mary he had once seen in a church outside Paris. She was olive-skinned, blue-eyed, with a perfect nose and red lips slightly parted displaying white and even teeth. She held Corbett’s stare.
‘Am I wasting your time, sir? I understand you are Sir Hugh Corbett, the King’s emissary.’
Corbett rose and pulled across a stool. He took the young woman’s gloved hand and gestured that she sit.
‘You are Alicia Verlian?’
The beautiful face broke into a smile.
‘How did you know?’
Corbett pointed to the cloak. ‘I suppose that hides a multitude of sins. You’ve left your house rather urgently. You’ve ridden along a muddy trackway so I wonder which woman would want to seek me out so urgently. I tell a lie. I’ve heard of your beauty.’
Corbett smiled at Ranulf, only to be shocked at the change in his manservant. Ranulf was never lost for words but now he sat like a man stricken: eyes staring, mouth gaping, a piece of meat, poised on his knife, half-raised to his mouth.
‘Ranulf!’
Ranulf closed his mouth and lowered his knife but his eyes never left Alicia’s face.
‘My servant is tired,’ Corbett explained.
Alicia smiled at Ranulf. ‘You’ve certainly been upsetting people,’ she said softly. ‘It’s common gossip both here and among the forest folk. Sir William came storming back to the manor and his servants were all agog.’
‘You want some wine?’ Corbett asked.
‘No, sir, I want justice.’ The young woman’s head came up, eyes bright and hard. ‘Lord Henry was a lecher, God rest him.’
Other customers turned. Corbett gave them a warning look and they went back to their meals.
‘Lower your voice, madam.’
‘Lord Henry was a lecher!’ This time her voice was louder. ‘A cruel and vicious man who received due punishment. God’s justice has been done.’
‘But not for your father,’ Corbett replied evenly.
‘My father is innocent of any crime.’