‘Gold.’ Bolingbroke’s hand went to the weal on his face. He coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Gold and silver.’ He stretched out his fingers to the fire. ‘Last summer, just after the Feast of the Baptist, Sanson asked to meet me in his chambers. De Craon was there. They said they had evidence that I was a spy. They could arrest me and hang me at Montfaucon. They promised me life, wealth and honour in France. I was tired, Sir Hugh, tired of the rotten food, of the rat-infested garrets, of acting the poor scholar. It was so simple, so easily done. I was trapped.’ He blinked away the tears. ‘In the twinkling of an eye.’ He talked as if speaking to himself. ‘And once trapped? Well, it was like when I was a child running down a hill; once you begin your descent you can’t stop. I thought, what did it really matter, serve this king or serve that king?’
‘Would you point the finger at de Craon?’ Corbett asked.
Bolingbroke snorted with laughter.
‘What proof do I have? You can’t play that game, Sir Hugh. You would have to confess that Ufford was a spy and de Craon would simply listen and laugh. The only proof you have is the evidence you laid against me. Not enough to hang him.’ He shrugged. ‘But certainly enough to hang me. I do not want to take that journey to Smithfield.’
‘Do you confess?’ Ranulf asked.
‘In this chamber I confess. In your presence I admit to the truth. I have innocent blood on my hands, and of all the deaths it’s Walter’s I feel most bitter about. De Craon promised he would be taken prisoner, perhaps exchanged for one in England.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘But what’s the use? You have the power of a justice, Sir Hugh.’ Bolingbroke pleaded with his eyes. ‘A swift death, a chance to be shriven by Father Andrew? Let it finish here.’
Corbett gestured at Ranulf. ‘Take him outside, inform Sir Edmund of what we have learnt, let Bolingbroke admit his guilt. He is to be taken under guard to the chapel. Father Andrew can hear his confession, and whilst he whispers the absolution ask Sir Edmund to have the executioner prepared. Make it swift, a log and an axe. William, I do not wish to see you again.’
Ranulf seized Bolingbroke by his arm and pulled him to his feet. The clerk was unresisting; he even loosened his own belt, throwing it to the floor. He then took off his Chancery ring and let it fall at Corbett’s feet. Chanson made to accompany Ranulf but Corbett pulled him back.
‘No, no,’ he whispered when they had left. ‘You stand by the door, Chanson.’
Corbett took out his Ave beads and began to thread them through his fingers. He tried to concentrate on the words but let his mind drift, willing the time to pass as swiftly as possible. He heard shouts and cries from outside, the sound of running feet and the bell of the castle chapel tolling long and mournful.
‘Chanson.’ Corbett called the groom over. ‘Go and tell Monsieur de Craon,’ he spoke over his shoulder, ‘that William Bolingbroke, Clerk of the Secret Chancery, has been executed for treason and murder. Tell him that one day our noble King will explain to the Holy Father in great detail what happened here. Oh, and Chanson, do tell de Craon that it is not the end of the matter; for me it’s just another beginning.’