Angel of Death

snapped. The door swung open; Ranulf stood there, his hair wet, a bruise under his left eye. In his arms he held a bundle, cradling it clumsily like a bulky parcel.
    'Come in!' Corbett repeated peevishly.
    Ranulf, his face white with shock, his eyes glazed as if he had seen some terrible vision, walked slowly into the room like some sleep-walking dreamer. Wordlessly, he stretched out his hands, offering Corbett the bundle. The clerk took it apprehensively as the bundle stirred.
    'It's a boy,' Ranulf murmured. 'A boy.'
    Corbett pulled aside the edge of the tattered shawl and stared dumbstruck at what he saw, before bursting into peals of laughter and slumping on the bed. The baby, angry at being so rudely woken, flickered open his eyes and extended his mouth for one great bellow. The small pink face crumpled into a red mask and the tiny fists clenched on his chest, as the baby gave full vent to his fury. The cry seemed to shake Ranulf from his trance. He stood, arms dangling by his side, hopping from one foot to another, a look of abject horror on his face. Corbett controlled his laughter and gendy cradled the baby in his arms. The infant, lips pursed, stopped his bawling and looked up speculatively at the clerk as if expecting some reward for its silence. Corbett rapped out a few instructions to Ranulf, who clattered downstairs to the buttery to bring back a bowl of warmed milk and a clean linen cloth. Corbett took the cloth and dipped it into the milk for the lusty infant to suck noisily.
    'You are not,' the clerk began, 'to claim this is not yours,
    Ranulf.' He looked down at the baby, the wisps of sandy hair, the small cleft chin, the dimple in the left cheek. If Corbett had found the baby in the street, he would have immediately recognized it as Ranulf's. Corbett made his servant pour two goblets of wine whilst the baby began positively to gnaw at the milk-soaked rag. After a few gulps of wine, the bemused father was calmer, more prepared to explain. He had gone out for a night's pleasure but, unfortunately, the father and elder brother of one of his earlier conquests had been waiting for him. A furious altercation ensued. Ranulf received a sharp blow to the face and his offspring was unceremoniously dumped into his arms. He gazed fearfully at his master.
    'What, Master,' he muttered, 'are we going to do?' Corbett noted the word 'we' and glared at his servant. Some time soon, he really must have a quiet but very firm talk with this young man, who threatened to turn the house into a home for foundlings. The 'younger Ranulf, now angry at the cloth being drained of its milk, was beginning to look dangerously round the room trying to seek out the cause of his discomfort. Corbett hastily soaked the rag again and popped it into the infant's small extended mouth. 'Ranulf the younger' gripped it firmly and began to chew as vigorously as a young puppy.
    The father, now beaming with smug pride at his young offspring, edged closer.
    'What are we to do, Master Corbett?'
    Corbett gently handed Ranulf his new-found son and, rising, went across to the trunk. He opened it, pulled out a clinking bag of coins and placed them gently into his servant's hands. He then took a writing tray and scribbled a hasty note, sealed it and handed it over to Ranulf.
    'Look,' he said quietly, 'neither of us can care for this child. It has been baptized?'
    Ranulf beamed and nodded.
    'You,' Corbett continued wearily, 'are unable to look after yourself let alone an infant. God knows, you would probably lose the child the first time you took it out the door. You are to take this note to Adam Fenner, a cloth merchant in Candlewick Street. He and his wife have been longing for a child. They will look after this one, provide it with every necessity and positively spoil it with love and affection. They will let you see the child whenever you so wish.' He smiled sadly at Ranulf. 'Am I not right?'
    Ranulf nodded, blinking vigorously to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. He scooped up the soft bundle.
    'I am going to rename him Hugh,' he announced and quietly left the room.
    Corbett heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs and silently despaired at Ranulf's innate penchant for mischief, shuddering to think that both father and son were now his responsibility. He then grinned at the thought for, once Maeve heard the news, she would shriek with laughter and tease Ranulf mercilessly.
    Corbett wished he could look after the child, or return to his place at