Prince of Darkness

sliding trays of soft white dough into it. Servants and other domestics scurried in and out, carrying roast and grilling trays, dripping pans, fire shovels, brass pots, pewter vessels, and baskets full of herbs. A surly cook with an open sore on one wrist served Corbett and Ranulf pots of milk laced with nutmeg, two rather stale chicken pies and a dish of over-cooked vegetables. Corbett merely toyed with the food though Ranulf, hungry enough, munched away.
    'We didn't learn much there, Master.'
    Corbett smiled.
    'We still might, Ranulf. Let's make hay while the sun shines.'
    They finished eating and sauntered back upstairs. Corbett stopped the steward who was scurrying along a corridor, a pile of costly turkey cloths under his arm.
    'My apologies,' Corbett smiled, 'but will the Prince go to Godstowe? I mean, to the Lady Eleanor's obsequies?'
    The fellow stepped back, affronted by the question, but Corbett opened his hand and showed the two silver coins.
    'Some money for your time, sir.'
    The fellow looked furtively round, licked his lips, and beckoned Corbett and Ranulf into a shadowy window recess.
    'What do you want to know?'
    'Simple enough, How did the Prince learn of Lady Eleanor's death?'
    The steward stretched out his hand and Corbett placed one piece of silver in it
    'A porter came from Godstowe.'
    'Is that all?'
    The man wetted his tips, looking hungrily at the second silver coin.
    'There is a rumour,' he replied slowly, 'stories in the palace, that the Prince knew much earlier. One of his body squires heard him whispering about it to his Gascon favourite.'
    Corbett stepped closer.
    'You are sure?' he hissed.
    'Sir, now you know what I do.'
    Corbett handed over the coin, let the man go and leaned against the wall.
    'Oh, God,' he muttered. 'Ranulf, if the Prince knew before the porter arrived here, there can only be one explanation. He must have had a hand in Lady Eleanor's death. And how,' he whispered, 'do we tell the King that his son is a murderer?'
    'Corbett! Master Clerk!'
    They both turned. Gaveston stood at the end of the gallery, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.
    'Master Corbett!' he called. 'I have come to apologise. Your reception was not courteous, but the Prince and I had other matters to discuss. Come! Let me show you Woodstock.'
    Corbett glanced warily at Ranulf and raised his eyes heavenwards.
    Gaveston sauntered over. He smiled dazzlingly at Ranulf and linked his arm through that of the clerk.
    I understand the King has granted you a manor? You have stables? You like hunting?'
    'I am more of a farmer, My Lord. More interested in the planting of crops and the clearing of scrubland, though, yes, I hunt.'
    'Then I must show you something,' Gaveston replied. 'New hunting dogs from Ireland, great shaggy beasts. They are the Prince's pride and joy. Well,' he added mockingly, 'besides me!'
    The Gascon led Corbett and Ranulf through a maze of corridors which led out to the back of the palace, across a deserted dusty yard into one of the large outbuildings there. Inside, the walls were cold, dank and rather slimy. Gaveston bustled about in the darkness, found a tinder, and a cresset torch flared into life.
    Corbett became uneasy. He heard a howl which seemed to rise from the very bowels of the earth: long, cruel and haunting. He shuddered, his hand going to the bone handle of his dagger though he dare not pull back. Gaveston opened a door in the far wall and led them down some steps, dimly lit by torches fixed in iron brackets. These flickered and danced wildly as if blown upon by unseen lips.
    Corbett glanced at Ranulf. In the pale tight he noticed his servant's face was ashen, covered with a sheen of sweat. Corbett sensed menace and malevolence, and the hair on the back of his neck bristled. They went down the dark tunnel. They had not gone far when again the clerk heard that long, moaning howl. He quietly drew his dagger and braced himself. They turned a corner and Corbett had to hide his trembling at the appearance of the small, squat, one-eyed man who seemed to rise out of the darkness before them. His head was covered by a tarred leather hood. He wore a dirty brown apron and sweat gleamed on his naked forehead. The black patch hiding one eye gave his cruel, sharp face an even more sinister aspect
    'Ah, Gyrth!' Gaveston talked as if they were in some pleasant garden 'I have brought our guests to see the dogs.'
    The fellow grinned. He had no teeth; nothing except dripping black-red gums. He