Prince of Darkness

stool across the dusty rushes. A servant knocked and announced that the banquet would begin in an hour. Corbett rose, washed, and made himself as presentable as possible. Ranulf scooped his dice into his leather wallet and they went down the spiral wooden staircase and into the hall.
    The banquet was a sumptuous, luxurious meal. Huge banners hung from the heavy, black beams bearing the Royal Arms of England, the Golden Leopards snarling next to the White Lilies of France and the Red Dragon of Wales. Trestle tables had been arranged in a square and covered with white lawn sheets. Multi-bracketed candelabra placed along the centre helped the sconce torches to bathe the room in light Corbett could smell the heavy, thick fragrance of those mouth-watering dishes he had seen being prepared in the kitchen. Servants in the blue and gold livery of the Prince and the Lord Gaveston scurried round with silver plates which the guests would use as dishes instead of the usual traunches of thick square slabs of stale bread. Musicians played quietly on tambour, rebec and lute in the minstrel gallery at the far end of the hall, accompanied by a group of beautiful young boys all dressed in silver and gold who softly sang some troubadour's lay. A greyhound cocked his leg against the table and was promptly shooed away.
    A chamberlain showed them to their seats just beneath the high table, which was dominated by a pearl-encrusted silver salt cellar. Corbett looked around. The other diners were all henchmen of either the Prince or Lord Gaveston: clerks, household officials, captains from their mercenary retinues, and the occasional priest or almoner. He and Ranulf were ignored, which made him uneasy. A flourish of silver trumpets, their shrill fanfare stilling the chatter, and the Prince entered, holding Gaveston's hand. Both wore silver chaplets and were clothed from head to toe in robes of gold. Their appearance drew 'Oohs' and 'Ahs' from the group of sycophants. The Prince acknowledged their greetings as he and his favourite sat in the two great throne-like chairs at the high table. Corbett shuddered and looked away. If the old King saw this he would have apoplexy, for the Prince was openly treating Gaveston as if he was his wife. Another braying of trumpets and the banquet began. The French chefs in the Prince's kitchen had used all their arts and skills; soups and broths thick with herbs, pheasant and quail meat, were served, followed by salmon, turbot, pike and tench. Boar's heart stuffed with cloves, lamb garnished with mint and marjoram, a swan cooked and restored so it sat upon the sdver platter as if swimming on some magical pool. Haunch of venison, jellies and sugared pastries, and jug after jug of the best Bordeaux or chilled white wine from the Rhinelands completed the feast.
    Of course, Ranulf ate as if there was no tomorrow, Corbett more sparingly. He felt uncomfortable, uneasy at the way the Prince and Gaveston hardly spared them a glance whilst their companions at table treated them as if they simply did not exist. The wine bowl circulated more freely, the conversation and laughter grew louder, the silver-white cloths became stained. A jester, a tiny woman no taller than three foot, appeared, doing somersaults along the table whilst dodging the bowls and bits of food thrown at her. Corbett suddenly realised he was in the comer of the hall. If a quarrel was provoked, he and Ranulf would be trapped. Gauging a suitable moment he dragged his servant to his feet, bowed towards the Prince and quietly withdrew. Once outside he sent Ranulf back to their chamber. The servant came hurrying down with his cloak but only one glove.
    I could only find one, Master.'
    The clerk shrugged.
    'No matter. I may have lost it, and I am certainly not wandering around the palace looking for a glove!'
    'We could go and try to borrow horses from the stables?' Corbett shook his head.
    'No, Ranulf, I feel uneasy. The sooner we are out of here, the better. The night is fine, the walk short, and the evening air will clear both our heads.'
    They slipped through a side door and made their way out via one of the postern gates of the palace. They easily found the track they had followed earlier in the day. A full harvest moon bathed the sleeping countryside in a silver light, the night air was warm and the fields slept under clear autumn skies. Corbett and Ranulf followed the dusty track past green hedgerows and up a hill. The clerk listened with half an