Angel of Death

letters, now and again breaking off to start another, so all four scribes were virtually writing at once. Corbett had seen the king work like this, an amazing spectacle as he moved from one item to another: whether it be a letter to a sheriff ordering him to be more prompt and accurate in producing the profits of a shire, or to a cardinal in Rome asking him to plead a certain matter with His Holiness.
    On Corbett's entry, Edward rose and immediately barked at the scribes to leave. He did not have to repeat his commands. They dropped their pens and filed gratefully from the room. Edward filled two large cups of wine to the brim and brought them over to Corbett and Ranulf. He heard his servant splutter his thanks and noisily guzzle the wine. Edward always surprised Corbett. Sometimes he could be arrogant but then again he could remember the smallest detail about a servant, even going on an errand personally to make matters more comfortable for a menial of the household.
    Today, the king was apparently in such a mood. He waved both Corbett and Ranulf to a bench.
    'You have been out early, Master Clerk?' The king laughed at the surprised look in Corbett's eyes. 'I sent a messenger to your lodgings and was told you had gone. You have begun to investigate the matter in St Paul's?'
    'I have, Your Grace.'
    'And what have you found?'
    'Nothing much.' Corbett saw the King's eyes darken and realized how fickle the man was. 'I mean, Your Grace, I have learnt a little more. De Montfort was definitely poisoned but the venom used must have been administered during the sacrifice of the mass, probably during the communion of the celebrants. He died within a few minutes of taking the poison.'
    'Do you know who administered it?'
    'It could be anyone, Your Grace. The finger even points at you.'
    The king came so close to Corbett that the clerk could smell the mixture of royal sweat and rare perfume. 'What do you mean, Clerk?'
    'Your Grace, you did send wine to de Montfort the evening before the mass was celebrated.'
    'I did,' the king replied guardedly.
    'You sent it with Fulk Bassett?'
    'Yes, that is true,' the king repeated quickly, watching Corbett carefully and casting sidelong glances at Ranulf as if he now regretted his generosity and would like to order the servant from the room. Ranulf needed no second bidding. Putting the cup down, he sprang to his feet, bowed to the king and backed gracefully out of the chamber muttering how he had forgotten something in the great hall. He would have to hasten back and if His Grace and Master Corbett would excuse him then his voice trailed off. Ranulf opened the door and fled down the corridor, leaving his master to face the royal wrath. Corbett waited until he was gone, before speaking.
    'Your Grace, the wine you sent was poisoned with the same venom that killed de Montfort. I don't know the precise combination, arsenic, belladonna, the juice of the foxglove, maybe all three. The same poison de Montfort drank during the mass was found in the pannikin of wine you sent him.'
    'Do you think, Master Clerk,' the king replied, 'that I would poison wine?'
    'No, I do not. But someone else poisoned it to make it look as if you did. Who knows, even Bassett himself.'
    The king shook his head. 'Bassett would do nothing, not even draw breath, without the royal command,' he said drily. 'But do you believe all this, Corbett?'
    'No, your Grace, I do not.'
    'Why?'
    'The poison given to de Montfort was a powerful one. As I have said, he died within a few minutes. The wine you sent was opened the evening beforehand.'
    'He could have drunk it before the mass?'
    'No, he could not, Your Grace; you forget your Canon Law. No one who receives communion or celebrates mass must eat or drink after midnight.'
    The king shrugged. He knew some of these priests, they made burdens for other men's backs which they never carried themselves.
    'Still, Your Grace,' Corbett persisted, 'even if he had drunk it, he would never have reached the altar alive.'
    The king nodded. 'So it would look as if someone,' Edward squinted up at the light streaming through one of the shutters – 'It looks as if somebody wanted to kill de Montfort and make it look as if I wanted to kill him. At the same time, you say, I could have been the intended victim. Perhaps there is no solution.'
    'There will be, Your Grace,' Corbett replied confidently. 'If a problem exists, a solution must exist. We must find out who administered the poison or when it was