Angel of Death

up warrants in the king's name, which declared that Hugh Corbett, clerk, had the royal authority to act on certain matters, and all sheriffs, bailiffs, officials and everyone who owed allegiance to the king, should give him assistance in his task. Once these letters had been drafted and written by Corbett's chief assistant, a small, mouse-like man, William Hervey, they were sent for the king's approval and sealing. Corbett then finished other minor matters, gave orders to his subordinates, sent a servant to seek out Ranulf and instructed Hervey to meet him outside the great door of St Paul's shortly after prime the following morning. The little man nodded his head vigorously; he liked Corbett, who protected and entrusted him with special tasks. At the same time he was in awe of the senior clerk's evident ease of access to the king and other great lords. For his part, Corbett trusted Hervey completely. The man hardly lived outside the Chancery offices, his fingers constantly stained with the grease waxes and different coloured inks they used. He had virtually no life outside his calling; time and again, Corbett had to arouse him from sleep and send him home to his lonely dwellings in Candlewick Street.
    Once all these matters were finished, Corbett met Ranulf in the great hall, now emptying of its officials, judges and lawyers. They went back up towards Bread Street where they stopped at a pastry shop, Corbett buying pies to eat as they walked, hot freshly cooked rabbit, diced and sprinkled with strong herbs. Both relished the meal as they hurried along, allowing the hot juices to run down their chins. At the corner of Bread Street Corbett took Ranulf into a tavern they frequented for their evening meal, usually a dish of stewed meat and vegetables, and tonight was no different. Ranulf, once he had drunk and eaten his fill though careful to avoid the excesses of the previous day, wandered off on his usual task of attempting to seduce someone else's wife or betrothed, leaving Corbett staring once again into the darkness.
    Ranulf would have given half the gold he owned to know what the clerk was thinking and yet, if he had, it would have been money wasted, for Corbett just sat thinking about what the king had said, planning tomorrow's meeting, hoping that Hervey would ensure the canons Corbett had listed in his letter would be present in the chapter-house. Having gone over in his mind to satisfy himself all was well, Corbett once more turned to the matter of Maeve. So engrossed was he with his own private thoughts that he did not even notice the dark, cowled figure in the far corner glaring balefully across at him.

8
    It did not snow that night and the outlaws were at least grateful for this small mercy as they stepped out of the line of trees, which marked the edge of Epping Forest, and made their way along the ice-covered track. Here the snow was not deep, having been scattered and crushed by the occasional cart and carriage which had braved the weather. They moved silently, six in number, all armed to the teeth. They wore an assortment of clothes: heavy leather jerkins over soiled lace shirts stolen from their victims or taken from a house they had ransacked; thick, woollen hose pushed into high leather boots; and cloaks of various colours wrapped tightly around their bodies. Each carried a number of daggers as well as swords in their broad leather belts and their leader, Robert Fitzwarren, boasted a small round shield and a conical steel helmet. He had had these ever since the day, years earlier when he had absconded from the royal commissioners of array, who had wanted to take him into Scotland with the king's armies. Fitzwarren had other ideas. He had killed the leader of his troop, stolen what money the fellow carried and, taking whatever arms were available, fled to the dark sanctuary of Epping Forest.
    He had lived as an outlaw for years, turning felony into a successful business. The area was full of wolfs-heads, lawless men, peasants who had fled from their masters, soldiers who had deserted from the wars, criminals from the city, murderers, perjurers, blasphemers. Fitzwarren became their leader. Of course, there had been the occasional losses, the ambush which had gone wrong, those betrayed in taverns or drinking houses by some wench who believed her lover had crossed her, but Fitzwarren always survived and attracted other men to him like the glowing flame of a candle draws in the moths.
    Now, however, his