‘I’ll tell you something,’ Corbett continued in a hoarse whisper. ‘It was not only you, Sir Walter; Rauf Decontet was also involved. It’s the truth, isn’t it?’
Castledene opened his mouth to reply. Corbett pressed his fingers against the man’s mouth. This time Castledene didn’t flinch.
‘Don’t lie, Sir Walter. About you I have much to say and much to condemn. You have crimes to answer for and answer for them you will! Now tell me, do I speak the truth?’
Castledene swayed on his feet. Face pale, he looked older, haggard. Corbett realised this secret sin must have haunted the merchant down the years.
‘I was there.’ He turned sideways as if unable to meet Corbett’s full gaze. ‘Rauf Decontet and I, we were two young men. There was a breakdown in law and order. Gangs of rifflers roamed the countryside. Decontet and I were so desperate to make our way in the world, we joined such a band. Most of them are now dead. We rode out to Fitzurse’s manor. We went to plunder, drive off some livestock, that was all. However, on the way our coven, God save us, stopped at a tavern, and we all drank deep. It was dark when we reached the manor house. I thought we would go in, hooded and visored, to take what we wanted, but the ale fired our blood. Fitzurse’s second wife was very pretty. I swear this, Sir Hugh, and on this I will take an oath, I tried to intervene but they wouldn’t listen. I collected my horse and rode away. I sheltered amongst the trees and watched what happened, the screams, the flames. I thought everyone had been killed. I never rejoined that gang of rifflers, and as God is my witness, I never, ever talked to Decontet again.’ He shrugged. ‘At least not as a comrade.’
‘Did Decontet remind you of your dreadful secret when he petitioned the King for Lady Adelicia’s hand in marriage? Ask for a favour, as you did when you sent the sottish Lechlade into his service? Two men who could put each other under duress?’
Castledene stared bleakly back.
‘How many people died that night?’ Corbett asked.
‘Sir Hugh, I do not know. Some of the bodies were consumed in the flames. Fitzurse and his wife were found, and buried in St Mildred’s. I knew they had boys. I was relieved when I heard that one was still at St Augustine’s Abbey school, whilst the other had hidden away.’ Castledene shook his head. ‘I have made reparation. I have had Masses said. I have journeyed to St James’ shrine at Compostela and the tomb of the Three Kings at Cologne. I would do anything to purge my guilt, to clean their blood from my hands.’
‘That is a matter for God to decide, Sir Walter, and remember, the mills of God grind exceedingly slow but they do grind exceedingly small. Christ’s vengeance will ring out. Our blood-soaked earth is a constant insult to the Lord. He will repay. Theology aside, more importantly, Hubert Fitzurse, the Man with the Far-Seeing Gaze, sees himself as the Judgement of God. You, Sir Walter, if you are not careful and prudent, will die the same way as Wendover.’
‘Sir Hugh, what is to be done?’ Castledene’s voice turned pleading. ‘How can this bloody melee be brought to an end?’
Corbett was about to reply but he no longer trusted this man. He still had to search for the proof, bring the killer to justice, and Castledene had a great deal to answer for.
‘I tell you what I shall do, Sir Walter, tonight in this refectory.’ He pointed back towards the guesthouse. ‘I shall hold a feast. I am sending Ranulf and Chanson into London to seek certain information. You will summon on my behalf Lady Adelicia, Lechlade, Parson Warfeld and Physician Desroches for a sumptuous feast so I can make my farewells.’
Castledene was puzzled. ‘But Sir Hugh. .’
‘Sir Walter!’ Corbett retorted. ‘I don’t care what you or they are doing. I will not tell you the whole truth, nor must you tell anyone of our conversation this morning. Bring them here. As the bells ring out for Vespers, the bells of God’s justice will also toll. Oh, and Sir Walter, your presence is certainly required.’
Corbett spun on his heel and walked back into the refectory. He summoned Ranulf and Chanson to his own chamber, where he gave them secret instructions. Ranulf looked concerned.
‘But Sir Hugh, you’ll be here by yourself.’
‘For a while,’ Corbett smiled, ‘and I’ll be safe. You, Ranulf, Chanson, take the London road. It is now clear of snow. You see, Ranulf, certain malefactors, murderers, thieves and rifflers, are brought to judgement by evidence in the King’s court, but not this time. Our assassin is too cunning; he has to be trapped and I intend to do this. It’s the only way. The King’s justice will eventually be done, and, indeed, God’s. Now, gentlemen,’ Corbett stepped back, ‘leave mid-afternoon, go through the city, let people see you ride away. I have other preparations to make.’
Corbett left and searched out the guest master, who agreed to the arrangements but gasped when Corbett told him what else he wanted.
‘His soul has gone to God,’ Corbett replied. ‘Do what I ask, Brother. Oh, by the way, once the banquet has begun and the meal has been served, neither you nor any of the good brothers must come anywhere near this guesthouse. Promise me.’
The guest master made to protest. Corbett held out his hand, displaying the chancery ring on his finger. ‘On your loyalty to the King, Brother, you must do exactly what I ask.’
The monk closed his eyes, sighed, crossed himself, and nodded. ‘As you say, Sir Hugh, whatever you want.’
The rest of the day Corbett busied himself supervising the cooks in the abbey kitchens, making sure the refectory was prepared for the evening. The fires were built up. Freshly charged braziers sprinkled with herbs were wheeled in. Coloured drapes hung against the walls; the refectory table was covered with a samite cloth, candelabra placed along it, fresh candles fixed on their spigots. The Gleeman arrived to see Sir Hugh. He pretended to be a tinker, carrying a tray full of writing tablets, glass rosaries, pocket knives, amber signets, coloured ribbons, laces, tags, silks, steel pins, imitation jewellery — a veritable chapman, a pedlar of everything. Corbett met him in the yard, pretending to make some purchase as the Gleeman explained how the Pilgrim had now fled their camp.
‘Like a dog on heat,’ the Gleeman whispered, ‘to the London road.’
Corbett laughed, made his purchases, patted the Gleeman on the shoulder and returned to his own chamber. He took an arbalest and slid a bolt into the groove, winched back the cord making it secure and placed it on a stool near the door. He drew his sword and dagger, turning them, letting the sharpened pointed blades catch the light. He locked and barred the door and slept for a while, waking early in the afternoon to make his farewells to Ranulf and Chanson.
Later that day, just as the bells of the abbey tolled for Vespers, Corbett’s guests began to arrive in the cobbled stable yard. Corbett waited for them in the refectory. He met each of them at the door and escorted them into a room now transformed into a small comfortable hall with its coloured cloths and turkey rugs, the trestle table laid down the centre covered with a shining white cloth, candelabra flaming brilliantly against the dark. Charcoal braziers spluttered while a fire roared merrily in the hearth. Corbett behaved as if relaxed, offering each guest a small cup of spiced wine before taking them to their seats around the table. The cooks had done themselves proud. Corbett made sure the wine jug circulated. At first the atmosphere was cold, even hostile. However, as the green almond soup was served, followed by oysters stewed in ale, crayfish, pork hash mixed with eggs, minces, roast capon in black sauce, venison in a pepper juice, and the wine jugs were refilled, the guests relaxed. Only Castledene remained watchful, still pale-faced, nervous and anxious after his brief but blunt encounter with Corbett earlier that day.
‘Sir Hugh,’ Parson Warfeld toasted with his cup, ‘this is most kind. What is the reason?’
‘Why, sir. .’ Corbett slouched in his chair at the top of the table and gazed quickly at Lady Adelicia. She looked truly beautiful in a blue-mantled furred gown, her gorgeous hair pinned with a jewelled clasp almost, but not quite, hidden by an exquisite white veil. ‘Why, sir, because I’m leaving.’