Hugh Corbett 12 - The Treason of the Ghosts by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

‘An exciting day, Master.’

Ranulf, perched on a stool, grinned over his shoulder at Chanson, who squatted near the door. Corbett sat on his bed beneath the small casement window. He stared around his bedchamber, a comfortable, sweet-smelling place. He was particularly intrigued by this large four-poster bed with its ornate tester and curtains of mulberry-coloured wool.

‘You’d think it was a bridal chamber,’ he murmured. ‘Certainly comfortable; even rugs on the floor.’

‘At least our taverner knows how to treat a royal clerk,’ Ranulf laughed.

‘I am that tired,’ Corbett replied, ‘I’d sleep in a pigsty. Don’t be too hard on the good citizens of Melford: they are frightened.’

He watched the capped brazier in the corner, its coals glowing through the narrow slits. Every so often he would catch the flavour of spring from the herbs sprinkled there. Corbett had not demanded such luxury but he was appreciative of it.

‘Nothing like a well-aimed kick, is there, Master?’

‘Repton was a fool, yet I couldn’t let it pass. Well, I know what you found and you now know what I’ve learnt.’

They’d spent at least an hour exchanging information. Corbett was particularly intrigued at how Ranulf’s story about the Mummer’s Man corroborated what Sorrel had told him.

‘Oh, what was that information from Westminster?’ Ranulf asked.

‘A record of the trial from the court of King’s Bench. The rest was a little research I’d organised. Never once,’ Corbett waved a hand, ‘was Sir Roger, whilst serving with the King’s forces in many places, ever accused of attacking or raping women. As you know, when troops are in hostile country those who love to abuse women seize such opportunities with relish. I’ve seen at least five or six hanged in Wales for rape and abduction.’

‘What do you mean, relish?’ Chanson asked.

‘When we return to London, Chanson, Ranulf may take you down to the stews of Southwark, introduce you to some of his lady friends.’

‘You mean whores? Ranulf’s talked about them.’

‘No woman is a whore!’ Ranulf snapped. ‘I call them my ladies of the night. A prettier bunch of damsels you’ve never clapped eyes on.’

‘You should talk to them,’ Corbett continued. ‘They will tell you about a certain type of man who can only enjoy intercourse after he has beaten a woman. The ladies of the night make them pay for such a privilege. Last Michaelmas we entertained Monsieur de Craon, the French envoy. When he’s not busy plotting for his master, Philip of France, or trying to steal secrets or kill our spies, de Craon is used, like I am, to track down killers. He mentioned a particular case near the royal hunting lodge of Fontainebleau. About two summers ago, young women were attacked, raped and murdered. De Craon eventually caught the killer and watched him broken on the wheel at Montfaucon. He was fascinated by how the man enjoyed what he did. De Craon described him as an animal; a human wolf, who liked to prey: he enjoyed the violence more than the kill.’

‘And this is what we have in Melford?’

‘Yes, Ranulf, but I can’t make sense of anything we have learnt.

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