Prince of Darkness

opened his mouth wider, making a strange grunting noise.
    'Gyrth has no tongue,' Gaveston observed. 'The unfortunate result of a disagreement, is it not, Gyrth?'
    The mute looked warily at the Gascon and nodded his head.
    'Come, man!' Gaveston said. 'We wait. The door!'
    The creature scuttled ahead of them like some small black spider, opened the padlocked door and waved his guests forward. As he did so the most furious howling broke out. Corbett walked forward. Beyond the door was a slight recess blocked by a thick metal iron grille, and behind it four pairs of cruel red eyes gleamed in the darkness. Gaveston pushed Ranulf behind him.
    'You stay,' he whispered, and walked gingerly forward
    The four huge black mastiffs came to life, smashing their great muscular bodies against the grille, lips curled, white teeth flashing, jaws slavering. They would have torn Corbett to shreds if the grille had been raised. He stood his ground, carefully inspecting the dogs. He had seen this breed before. King Edward had used them in Wales as war dogs but later had them killed because, in their blood lust, they had failed to distinguish between friend and foe.
    The four dogs were massive, the muscles bunched high in their shoulders above long, strong legs. Their heads were rounded, ears flat. They gave the impression of being nothing more than killing machines with their huge jaws, white jagged teeth and mad, red eyes. They stopped their howling, eyes fixed on Corbett, and again, as if controlled by one mind, threw themselves against their iron cage, the leader of the pack standing on his hind legs and pounding his muzzle against the grille.
    Corbett estimated the dogs were taller than any man. He smelt their fetid breath and tried to control the shuddering of his body, fighting against the nauseous panic which curdled his stomach and made his legs so weak he longed to sit down. Gaveston was playing with him, testing his nerve in this cruel game. He could hear the Gascon behind him, taunting Ranulf, inviting him to draw closer, and his servant's angry refusal.
    'Ranulf does not like dogs.' Corbett turned and spoke over his shoulder. 'Ever since he was a boy he has had a fear of them. He was attacked by a vicious mongrel.'
    Corbett looked around: near the foot of the grille was a tub packed with juicy red chunks of meat. He stepped over, pierced one of the raw chunks with his dagger and held it up before the mastiff. The dog whimpered. There was a square in the grille larger than the rest, probably used to feed the dogs. Corbett pushed the meat through and watched the leading dog seize it in his huge jaws, throwing it up and devouring it, the blood streaming down his black, slavering mouth. Corbett cleaned his knife on the toe of his boot, re-sheathed it and walked back.
    'Fine beasts, My Lord! You are to be complimented, though I urge caution. They may well be animals who trite the hand which feeds them!'
    Gaveston laughed and clapped his hands gently.
    'Un bon mot, Clerk,' he said. 'Come! You have seen enough.'
    They walked slowly back up the tunnel. Behind them the howling of the dogs rose like some demonic music. Gaveston led them back to the heart of the palace whence a servitor took them up to a chamber high in the building. A simple room with stark white plaster, but at least they were provided with rosewater, a set of clean napkins, and a jug of wine which Corbett told Ranulf not to touch. They whiled away the time, Ranulf playing dice against himself, the only time he ever lost. Corbett lay dozing on the bed, idly wondering what Maeve was doing, and thought again of Sister Agatha. She and the other nuns would still be involved in the official mourning for Lady Eleanor and Dame Martha. He stirred uneasily at the suspicions the steward had provoked. How could the Prince have known of Lady Eleanor's death so early? Corbett viewed the mystery as a logical problem. There were two routes to follow: on the one hand he could try and solve the murder, but that might make a bad situation worse. On the other he would concede the Prince was involved, perhaps even guilty of Lady Eleanor's death, in which case, for the sake of the crown, the scandal would have to be hidden.
    Swallows fought under the eaves outside the window, a lonely bell sounded, and Corbett heard faint shouts from the courtyard. He dozed but woke with a start, dreaming that the Hell-hounds he had just visited were snuffling at the door, but it was only Ranulf dragging a