‘Well, my Lady,’ Ranulf placed the three pewter cups taken from the waiting table, ‘which cup covers the coin?’
‘That one.’
Ranulf’s fingers brushed hers, heads drew together and he lifted the cup to show the coin had gone. Lady Constance’s eyes danced with mischief as she swiftly tried to find the coin beneath the other two cups.
‘You’re a cheat!’ she exclaimed.
Ranulf seized her wrist – he moved his chair so that the maid couldn’t see.
‘Sir,’ Lady Constance’s eyes widened, ‘release me.’
‘For a token,’ Ranulf whispered, ‘I’ll release you for a while.’
‘For words of love,’ she whispered.
‘Vos, quarum est Gloria amor et lascivia atque delectatio Aprilis cum Maio.’
‘Which means?’
‘If you were April’s lady and I were Lord of May-’ abruptly the tocsin sounded, the castle bell tolling like the crack of doom. Ranulf released her wrist, bit back his curse, and hastily remembered where he was and what he should be doing. Lady Constance jumped to her feet. At the door the maid was already standing, hands fluttering.
Corbett, his sweat-soaked body turning icy cold, also heard the tocsin as he crouched in the ruined doorway, staring out into the blackness. He wondered what it could mean. He could hear shouts; perhaps his assailant had retreated? Corbett moved, and hastily ducked as another crossbow quarrel hurtled into the stonework behind him. His anxiety deepened. That was the fourth time he’d moved, and the mysterious archer showed little intention of giving up. The sentries on the parapet walk were few and would not know of the deadly cat-and-mouse game being played out beneath them. Corbett had shouted, but his cry had not been heard and now the guards were leaving. He glimpsed one hurrying with a flickering torch to investigate the source of the alarm. They’d be totally unaware of the assassin below.
Corbett realised the murderous archer was watching the entrance to the dungeon. Any movement against the light-coloured stone, the slither of Corbett’s foot on the gravel or the crackle of icy snow would alert him. Corbett was alone, unarmed, and he sensed that his attacker was drawing closer. The quarrels now smacked into the wall with greater force; he must be only a few yards away, probably crouched or kneeling down. Corbett shivered. The castle bell tolled again but then fell silent. His hand went to his belt but he wasn’t even carrying a dagger. His fingers brushed the wallet and he recalled the penny whistle he had picked up. He took this out and, with all his breath, blew a long, piercing blast. He heard a sound in the darkness and began to shout the usual cry of a man being ambushed: ‘Au secours! Au secours!’ He took a deep breath and blew on the penny whistle again. Corbett felt slightly ridiculous crouched here in the freezing darkness, his only weapon a child’s toy. He shouted once more, heard scuffling sounds and blew a fresh blast on the penny whistle.
‘Who’s there?’ Corbett relaxed as he recognised Bolingbroke’s voice.
‘William,’ he shouted. ‘I’m over here.’ He edged out of the doorway. Bolingbroke stood a few paces away, sword drawn.
‘What happened?’ he exclaimed as Corbett came stumbling towards him.
‘Nothing,’ Corbett gasped, taking the sword out of Bolingbroke’s hand. ‘Did you see anybody?’
‘I came out into the castle yard,’ Bolingbroke explained. ‘There’s no real alarm. An accident, a small hay stall in the outer bailey near the walls caught alight. I looked around and couldn’t see you. I walked past the keep and heard the blast of the whistle.’ He laughed. ‘Anyone lodging with Chanson recognises that sound.’
‘Did you see anyone, anyone at all?’
‘Sir Hugh,’ Bolingbroke caught him by the arm, ‘people were running. I thought I glimpsed something, but-’
‘I was attacked,’ Corbett said. He suddenly felt weak, and dug the sword point into the ground, resting on the hilt. ‘I went into the old dungeons. I was looking for the girl Alusia.’ He described what had happened next.
Bolingbroke would have hastened off into the darkness for help but Corbett caught his arm.
‘He’s gone, William, there’s nothing we can do. That’s the last time I walk this castle unarmed. Where’s Ranulf?’ he snapped.
They walked back across the warren, past the keep. People thronged there, drifting back as the source of the alarm was known and the fire put out. Corbett glimpsed Ranulf standing on the steps leading from the Hall of Angels. He felt anger seethe within him and, striding across, brought the flat of the sword down on Ranulf’s shoulder. His henchman turned, hand going to the dagger in his belt.
‘Sir Hugh?’ Corbett glimpsed Sir Edmund and his family in the doorway, watching him, and behind them de Craon’s smirking face.
‘I sent you on a task,’ Corbett whispered, scraping the sword along Ranulf’s shoulder, ‘and while you were gone, I went looking for something and was attacked.’
‘Sir Hugh, is there anything wrong?’
‘No, Sir Edmund, I am just having words with a clerk who doesn’t understand me.’
The hurt flared in Ranulf’s eyes, and Corbett’s anger ebbed. He turned, tossed the sword to Bolingbroke and grasped Ranulf by the arm. He could feel the muscles tense, a mixture of alarm and anger. Ranulf’s fiery temper was difficult to control and Corbett did not wish to create a spectacle, or humiliate this man, his friend as well as his companion. In short, sharp sentences he told Ranulf exactly what had happened. The Clerk of the Green Wax heard him out, mouth and jaw tense, sharp eyes glittering.
‘Where were you?’ Corbett asked.
‘I was talking to the Lady Constance.’ Ranulf brought his hand down on Corbett’s shoulder. ‘Sir Hugh, don’t blame me for your stupidity. How many times have I told you, the Lady Maeve begged, the King ordered? You are never to be alone in a place like this.’ He pushed his face close to Corbett’s. ‘Don’t worry, Master, there won’t be a second time, and if there is, I’ll take the bastard’s head.’
Corbett drew a deep breath and stretched out his hand.
‘I’m sorry, Ranulf; the truth is, I was frightened.’
Ranulf clasped his hand. ‘You look as if you’re freezing.’
They returned to Corbett’s chamber. He was about to return the penny whistle to Chanson, then recalled how it had saved him. He crouched by the fire, drinking a posset, allowing the cold to seep away. A servant came to announce that dinner would be served in the Great Hall.
‘Did you see Crotoy?’ Corbett asked.
‘No, I didn’t.’ Ranulf shook his head. ‘In fact, when the tocsin sounded and everyone gathered in the yard, I looked for him, but he wasn’t there.’
Corbett stretched a hand out to the fire and suppressed a shiver, like an icy blade pressed against his back.
‘Where is he lodging?’
‘He has his own chamber in the Jerusalem Tower,’ Ranulf replied. ‘The staircase up is blocked off; he’s the only one who’s lodged there.’
Corbett put on his war belt, got to his feet and took his cloak. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered his companions.
They went down into the bailey. Corbett wasn’t aware of the flurries of snow as he strode across to the Jerusalem Tower, a great drum-like fortification approached by a set of steep steps. He hurried up these and grasped the iron ring on the door to the tower but it held fast. He drew his dagger and beat vainly with the pommel.
‘Chanson, go quickly, bring men-at-arms.’
Corbett walked down the steps and, looking round, glimpsed a window high in the wall, but there was no sign of light between the shutters. Covering himself with his cloak against the falling snow, he hastily pulled up his hood.
‘There’s something wrong?’ asked Ranulf.
‘Oh yes,’ Corbett whispered. ‘There is something dreadfully wrong.’
Sir Edmund came hurrying across. He had been changing for the evening meal and wrapped a cloak around him to protect him from the snow.