Prince of Darkness

swung open to reveal a tall, gaunt figure, dressed in a long robe of dyed brown fur. The man's face was pale, long and lined, his blue watery eyes squinted in the daylight. Corbett kept his hood up.
    'Who are you?' the man demanded sharply.
    Corbett pulled the hood back.
    'Master Nigel Couville. I am a messenger from the King. He has decreed you are too old and senile for your post and I have been sent to replace you!'
    The old man's gaunt face broke into a smile and his thin blue-veined hands clasped Corbett by the arms.
    'You are as insulting as ever, Hugh,' he murmured. 'And as stupid! Come in. Unless you want us both soaked to the skin.'
    Corbett entered the room. The light inside was dim and the air musty with the smell of candle grease, burnt charcoal, and the lingering odours of leather and parchment There was a trestle table and a huge stool, the rest of the room being taken up with leather and wooden caskets of all sizes. Some were open to reveal rolls of parchment spilling out on to the floor. Around the walls were shelves which stretched up to the blackened ceiling, bearing more rolls of vellum. It all looked very disorganised but Corbett knew that Couville could select any document he wanted in an instant This chamber was the muniment room of the Chancery and the Exchequer with records dating back centuries. If a document was issued or received it would be filed in the appropriate place in Nigel Couville's kingdom. Once the senior clerk in the Chancery, Nigel had been given this assignment as a benefice, a reward for long and faithful service to the Crown. Couville had been Corbett's master and mentor when Hugh first became a clerk and, despite the gap in years and experience, they had become and remained firm friends.
    Couville searched around the room and brought a small stool forward.
    I can see you are going to be a nuisance,' he observed drily. 'Old habits never change.' He waited until Corbett sat down. 'Some wine?'
    Corbett shook his head.
    'Not if it's that watered vinegar you always serve!'
    Couville went into a small recess and brought out an unstoppered jar and two pewter goblets.
    'The best Bordeaux.' He filled a cup to the brim and handed it to Corbett 'Now I know what Scripture means when it says: "Don't cast your pearls before swine".'
    Corbett grinned as he sipped the rich red wine.
    'Beautiful!' he murmured.
    'Of course it is.' Couville sat opposite him, elbows on his knees, cradling the cup as if it was the Holy Grail. 'St Thomas a Becket drank the same wine. Do you know, even when he became an ascetic and gave up the pomp of court, even when he fasted, the Blessed Thomas could not abstain from his cups of claret.' Couville smiled at the clerk. 'And you, Hugh, you are wed? Maeve too?'
    They exchanged banter and gossip about old friends, new acquaintances, and fresh scandals. At last Couville put his goblet down on the floor beside him.
    'What is it you want, Hugh?'
    Corbett took the faded leather dog's collar out of his wallet
    'There's a motto written on this – "Noli me tangere". I think it's from a family crest. Do you recognise it?'
    Couville tapped his fingers together and narrowed his eyes.
    'Somewhere,' he mused, I have heard that phrase.' He rose, scratching his head. 'But the question is, where?'
    Corbett rested for an hour whilst his old friend, arms full of sheaves and rolls of parchment, searched the records of armorial bearings and heraldic designs. At first Couville confidently announced, 'It will not take long, Hugh, believe me!'
    But after an hour had elapsed, he stood in the centre of the room, shaking his head.
    'Tell me, Hugh, why you want this?' He raised a hand. I know your secret business, Master Corbett. I know you despatch letters of which no copy is sent to me.' He sat down again on the stool opposite his former student. 'But why is this motto so important?'
    Corbett closed his eyes and described the events at Godstowe: the death of Lady Eleanor Belmont, the subtle treachery of the French and Philip IV's evil intentions. He had almost finished when, as an afterthought, he mentioned the possibility of an assassin from the attainted de Montfort family being present in England. Couville's eyes lit up.
    'I have been looking,' he said, 'through the noble families of England and Gascony as they are today. But what happens to a noble family when it is found guilty of high treason?'
    'Of course!' Corbett cried. 'The insignia of such a house is destroyed, its titles