Devil's Wolf by Doherty Paul

Author:Doherty, Paul [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2017-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

PART FOUR

‘Such things were spoken of openly: whether they are true or not, God knows.’

Life of Edward II

Corbett was surprised. He had hardly returned to his chamber that morning when there was a knock on the door and Brother Adrian, his face wreathed in a benevolent smile, slipped into the room. He asked to sit, and Ranulf vacated his stool, gesturing at the monk to take it. Brother Adrian put his leather chancery satchel on the floor, then sat, hands on his knees, staring at Corbett, who held his gaze. The Benedictine normally busied himself around, the good, caring priest almost frenetic in his activity. Now he sat calmly, watchful, and Corbett realised that he’d misjudged him. He glimpsed the humour in Brother Adrian’s deep-set eyes, the cynical twist to his mouth. The monk was a soul whose waters ran very deep, Corbett concluded; he was certainly not what he pretended to be.

‘Father?’ Corbett gestured towards the tray of wine cups.

‘Oh yes, Sir Hugh. Let’s take a little wine for the stomach’s sake, as St Paul so rightly says.’

Ap Ythel, who had been lying on a wall bench, got up and served the wine, pulling a face in mock surprise as he moved behind the monk. Corbett just smiled and watched the Benedictine pick up what the clerk considered to be a very costly chancery satchel fashioned out of the best North African leather, fastened and secured by intricate clasps and buckles.

‘Your clerk of the stable is on guard outside.’ Brother Adrian looked up and smiled. ‘Whilst Ap Ythel and Ranulf, your henchmen, protect you here. We have to be safe, Sir Hugh. God knows who attacked us in that chapel. In other circumstances . . .’

‘What circumstances?’ Corbett demanded.

‘Sir Hugh,’ again the benevolent smile, ‘I shall tell you. I should really ask for this chamber to be cleared except for me and thee.’

‘No,’ Corbett declared. ‘I trust both these men with my life.’

‘I thought as much. Anyway, at least that one-eyed archer is not here.’

Corbett remained impassive even as he felt a spurt of alarm. He dared not glance at Ap Ythel or Ranulf, though he trusted them not to betray any concern.

‘Very good, very good.’ Brother Adrian opened his chancery satchel and took out two leather containers. He removed the top from one of these, shook out the creamy scroll of parchment and gave it to Corbett, who unrolled it carefully. From the very touch he could see that the vellum was the costliest, the script in dark-red ink, elegantly written. A small illumination lightened the first two words of the document: ‘Clemens Papa’. He glanced at the bottom, translating the Latin: ‘Given at Avignon in the fifth year of our Pontificate . . .’ The clerk bit back his exclamation as he read how Pope Clement V, exiled in Avignon, recognised Adrian Ogilvie, otherwise known as Adrian of Rievaulx, as ‘Primus Mallus Maleficorum’ – the First Hammer of Witches – throughout the kingdoms of England and Scotland.

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