Prince of Darkness

ear to Ranulf's chatter about the banquet and the Prince's open display of affection for Gaveston. They had reached the top of the hill when they heard the first soul-chilling, baying call. Both stood still, the warm blood freezing in their veins. Corbett felt his head and neck tense as if someone had slipped an iron helm over his hair. He wanted to turn round but dared not do so. Again the howl, as if one of Satan's demons was rising from the pit of Hell. Corbett turned and looked back down the moonlit path. He felt he was in a nightmare. His heart hammered in terror as he glimpsed those shaggy, hulking shapes of shadowy grey speeding across the meadows. He remembered those mad, red eyes which had glared at him earlier that day through the grille, and those great death-bearing, slavering jaws. He grabbed his servant.
    'Run, Ranulf!'
    Corbett undid his cloak and dropped it on the ground. Ranulf hesitated as if intending to pick it up.
    'Leave it!' Corbett screamed. 'It will divert the dogs for a while. Run!'
    Ranulf needed no second bidding but sped off like an arrow. Corbett followed, past the dark, open fields and into the trees that stood like silent soldiers in some bewitched army. They fled for their lives as the great Hell-hounds caught their scent and bayed in savage glee. A howl showed that the dogs were beginning to close. The cool night air burned in Corbett's straining lungs. The trees thinned and they fled across an open meadow. He looked up and, in the clear moonlight, glimpsed the roofs and towers of Godstowe Priory. They stopped just over the brow of a hill.
    'Ranulf!' he gasped. 'It's my scent. The glove – it was taken. You go for some tree. Climb and hide!'
    Ranulf, his face white as a sheet, hair matted with sweat shook his head.
    'If I'm to die, Master, I prefer to be with you. There might be huntsmen who could bring me down.'
    Corbett nodded and they staggered on, bodies soaked in sweat, eyes blinded with panic, legs and feet threatening to turn into the heaviest lead. They ran on, sobbing for breath, across a ploughed field. Corbett could have sworn that momentarily he glimpsed another figure, shadow-like, but fled on. Behind him the dogs bayed in triumph, then suddenly there came a terrible scream which clutched Corbett's heart – a cry of dreadful despair. He turned. The hounds had not breasted the hill. Ranulf… where was he? He looked around and felt so dizzy he had to steady himself. He saw Ranulf on his knees, his arms wrapped around his straining chest.
    I cannot go on, Master!'
    'Yes, you can!' Corbett snarled.
    He picked Ranulf up, hustling him towards the wall of the priory. They leaned, sobbing, against it. Behind them the dogs had fallen strangely silent.
    'It's too high to climb,' Corbett hissed. 'Come on!'
    He pushed Ranulf round the wall, past the Galilee Gate, which was locked, to the main door. The clerk hammered on it with the pommel of his dagger.
    'Open up!' he screamed. 'For the love of God, open!'
    The drunken porter opened the postern door. Corbett dragged Ranulf inside, turned and kicked the gate shut.
    'Secure it, man!' he roared.
    The porter looked at him drunkenly, then beard the low, mournful howl of the dogs and quickly pushed the bolts home. Corbett ran inside the porter's house. The two soldiers were sprawled there half-asleep. He took a torch from its iron bracket, picked up an arbalest leaning against the wall, as well as a stout leather quiver filled with vicious barbed quarrels. He hurried up the narrow steps on to the parapet of the curtain wall. He leaned against it, winching the arbalest back, cursing, his eyes stinging with sweat as he placed the quarrel. Corbett heard a savage barking and two of the great dogs pounded round the corner of the wall beneath. Corbett picked up the torch and threw it down. Both animals stopped, looked up and snarled. In the flickering light Corbett could see their muzzles caked in blood.
    'Bastards!' the clerk bellowed. 'Devil-sent bastards!'
    The hounds threw themselves at the gate. Corbett suddenly found himself laughing.
    'That's right, you bastards!' he screamed. 'Stay there!'
    He positioned the arbalest, leaned over the wall and released the catch. He heard the whirr of the bolt and shouted with pleasure as it struck the leading dog just behind the head, digging deep and slicing its spinal column. The animal suddenly leapt in the air in a terrifying spasm of pain before collapsing, choking on its own blood. Corbett,