Prince of Darkness

the Papal Chambers in Rome. But is there anyone else?'
    Couvtile spread his hands.
    'You are proud, Hugh, and pride interferes with logic. You know there must be men who work directly for the King. The Earl of Surrey is one. There must be others.'
    'Nigel, all royal accounts come to you. Have you ever discovered another name?'
    Couville rounded his eyes in mock wonderment
    'Another Corbett? Of course not!' His face grew serious. I have seen one name. Payments made to a de Courcy.'
    'Who is he?'
    I don't know. Ad I have seen is the occasional references, monies given "pro secretis expensis in negotio regis".'
    'For secret expenses on the business of the King,' Corbett translated, and felt a flash of anger at his royal master's deviousness. He took his old friend's hand.
    'Nigel, I thank you. One day you will come to Leighton?'
    Couville grinned.
    'To see Maeve, of course.'
    Corbett found Ranulf and Maltote had moved from the pie shop to the nearest tavern. Both looked well pleased after hours of hard drinking and glowered at their sober master's harsh strictures to leave their ale and go back through the pouring rain to King's Steps and another unpleasant journey along the Thames. By the time they reached London Bridge Maltote and Ranulf had vomited every drop they had drunk and had to spend the rest of the journey listening to the harsh witticisms of the grinning oarsmen.
    They disembarked and stayed in a tavern near the Tower for the rest of the day. The next morning they began their gruelling journey up the ancient Roman road which ran from London's city wall into Oxfordshire. Ranulf and Maltote objected vociferously.
    'Why this?' Ranulf shouted.
    Maltote looked away, not daring to confront this dour but very important royal clerk.
    'The reason, Ranulf,' Corbett announced softly, his face only a few inches from his servant's, 'is that I am trying to find out if, from some eighteen months ago, the ale-masters and tavern-keepers along this highway remember two foreigners, a young woman and her male companion. So,' he added sweetly, 'we shall stop at every tavern and ale house along the road. You will not drink anything but watered wine. You will not get drunk and you will help me in this business.'
    'But I have told you,' Ranulf replied. 'The landlord at The Bull in Godstowe saw a young man and woman as well as a well-dressed stranger. What more do you want?'
    Corbett gathered the reins in his hands.
    'Ranulf, everything depends on this. I am searching for a pattern. First, did these two strangers suddenly appear in Oxfordshire or had they travelled from London? If the latter, they probably came from across the seas. Secondly, the young stranger who also passed through Godstowe at the same time – was it just a coincidence, or was he connected with the murder victims?'
    Ranulf saw the seriousness in his master's face.
    'In which case, Master, the sooner we begin, the sooner we finish!'
    Ranulf was correct in his forebodings, the journey proved to be a nightmare. The rain fell incessantly until it seemed they travelled through sheets of water, the old cobbled road turned into a muddy mire, sometimes dangerous with potholes, where a man could plunge waist deep in water. Most of the time they led their horses as they moved from small ale-houses and comfortable inns to huge spacious taverns. At first they had no joy and, on the evening of their first day out of London, went to bed so weary they could scarce speak to each other. On the following day, however, at a thatch-roofed tavern which stood on the outskirts of Stokenchurch village, the landlord listened to Corbett's questions and pursed his lips in self-importance.
    'Oh, yes,' he declared. 'I remember the pair.'
    'Describe them!'
    The fellow made a face.
    'It's a long time, Master Clerk.'
    Corbett raised the silver piece between his fingers.
    'But I remember them well,' the landlord continued hastily. 'Well-dressed and fed they were. She was comely, though dressed like a nun with rosary beads in her hand. Her companion,' the landlord shrugged, 'really nothing more than a boy. I thought he was her page.' 'Did they speak English?'
    'Oh, no! The noble tongue – French. I asked them where they were going. She just shook her head and smiled but the boy said she was dedicated to God. I could scarcely understand him. They paid their silver and off they went!'
    'Did anyone,' Corbett asked, keeping his excitement hidden, 'travel with them?'
    The landlord shook his