Prince of Darkness

face.
    'And?'
    The young man looked puzzled. 'The message?' Corbett asked. 'You haven't travelled all the way from Nottingham for nothing?'
    Maltote shook his head nervously, gulped, and dug into the inside pocket of his half-open jerkin. He handed a small scroll across to Corbett, who checked the purple wax seal of the King before breaking it and unrolling the vellum. The message was short and cryptic and Corbett's worst fears were realised. The King was bluntly informing him that he was ill pleased at the lack of progress Corbett was making. Indeed, the French envoy de Craon knew more, claiming the Prince had told him about Lady Eleanor's death long before the porter had even reached Woodstock. Corbett handed the letter over to Ranulf.
    'Read it and bum it!' He nodded towards the messenger. 'Then take Maltote to the kitchen and get him something to eat. Afterwards we leave for Woodstock.'
    Ranulf sauntered out, the young messenger trailing behind him like a lost puppy. Corbett was finishing his ablutions when he heard a knock at the door.
    'Come in!' he barked, regretting his harsh command as Dame Agatha entered, bearing a tray covered by a napkin.
    'You wish to break fast, Master Corbett, before you go?'
    Corbett smiled.
    'Good morning, Dame Agatha. Who told you I was leaving?'
    'Your servant. You will eat?'
    Corbett nodded, rather embarrassed as Dame Agatha bustled round the room, laying the tray on a small table and dragging across a stool. She had brought a bowl of hot chicken broth, freshly baked white manchet loaves and a tankard of watered ale. She did not leave as Corbett took up the pewter spoon and began to eat.
    'You are unhurt?' she queried anxiously.
    'Yes, except in my pride, Sister.'
    She walked across and placed her soft, white hand on his arm. Corbett looked up. It felt strange to be alone in a chamber with such a solicitous, beautiful young woman.
    'Take care,' she whispered. 'Do not be rash. Gaveston will be cunning. Lady Amelia says the dogs were loosed by him but we have no proof. Do not give him a pretext to strike you down.'
    She withdrew her hand and grazed his cheek softly with the back of her fingers. Corbett blushed and, tongue-tied, went back to eating, not daring to raise his head until he heard Dame Agatha's soft footfalls and the chamber door close behind her. He was touched by her care and concern but found it difficult to accept. He felt guilty as he thought of Maeve's sweet face, and embarrassed that he should be so powerfully attracted to a woman dedicated to God. Nevertheless, Dame Agatha's advice was wise and Corbett felt his temper cool. He decided he would show Gaveston he was not frightened but be wary of making any rash move. Gaveston was the favourite of a Prince of the Blood and even to draw steel in the Prince of Wales' presence could be construed as treason.
    Corbett chewed absent-mindedly on the bread whilst analysing the problem which faced him. In logic he had been taught to reach an acceptable conclusion by revising the steps which led to it. How could he do that now? He smiled and went over to the bag Ranulf had hidden beneath the bed. Corbett, laughing softly to himself, examined his servant's venture into selling physic. He took a small jar of ointment, went down the stairs and out across to the convent building. No one was around. He slipped quietly up the stairs and gently tapped on Dame Elizabeth's door.
    'Come in! Come in!' The old nun was as imperious as ever but she visibly thawed when she saw Corbett and beamed with pleasure at his gift.
    'A rare potion,' Corbett announced slyly.
    Oh, Lord, he thought, what does it contain? Ranulf was harmless but the potion could be dangerous.
    'It's ointment,' he lied, 'culled from the hoof of an elk and mixed with herbs. Smear it on your four bedposts every night It will purify evil vapours from the air, make you breathe more easily and allow more restful sleep.'
    The old nun nodded wisely and Corbett felt a twinge of guilt at his incredible lies. He placed the ointment on the table beside her, rose and walked over to the window. He peered down
    'What are you looking at, Master Clerk?'
    I am just remembering how you and Dame Martha saw Lady Eleanor on the night before she died. You are sure it was her?'
    'Oh, yes!' The old nun chewed on her gums. 'You see, Dame Martha was standing where you are. She called me over and pointed down. "Look," she said, "there's Lady Eleanor!"'
    'When was that?'
    'Oh, just before