Prince of Darkness

famous speech about what affects all should be approved by all. I wonder what Dame Martha and Dame Frances would think of that? Agatha de Courcy is a murderess. She not only walks free, she flaunts your authority for doing as she did.'
    The King kicked at the rashes.
    'You'd best go, Corbett!' he said quickly. He looked up and smiled. 'Maeve is enceinte. If it's a boy, Corbett, I want him called Edward.' The King looked away. 'What you did at Godstowe I shad not forget I understand you want Maltote in your household? You are welcome to him. Now, go! After Michaelmas you must return.'
    Corbett bowed and walked towards the door.
    'Hugh!'
    Corbett turned.
    'Yes, Your Grace?'
    'Agatha de Courcy… leave her to me.'
    Corbett bowed again and closed the door behind him.
    Edward stood for a while, walked over to the window and reflected on what Corbett bad said. In his heart Edward knew the clerk was right: de Courcy was an assassin. Edward had used her before. He called her his 'subtle device' against the deadly machinations of his enemies. Almost forty years ago, he had smashed the de Montforts but still they continued to harry him. Oh, he had heard about the Deveril woman, the illegitimate issue of one of de Montfort's generals. Deveril's bastard son had fled abroad, gone to Bordeaux and married into a local noble family. His offspring had been Marie Deveril, a girl brought up to hate the King of England. He had watched her from afar: when she used a false name to apply for a licence to travel to England and enter the Priory at Godstowe, he had suspected she was intent on stirring up trouble, to strike whenever opportune against Edward or his family. Perhaps Lady Eleanor had been her intended victim. Or, Edward shivered, perhaps she had aimed higher, hoping that the Prince of Wales would visit the priory, or indeed himself. Edward had let Deveril come, wanting her out in the open, whilst he gave de Courcy her secret instructions. She was to follow and kill the Deveril woman, take her place, and go to Godstowe to keep the Lady Eleanor under close and careful watch.
    Edward smiled bleakly to himself. And who would suspect? De Courcy always dressed as a man, acting the young Frenchified fop with rich clothes bought by the Treasury, and speaking in a drawling French accent which would be the envy of any courtier. De Courcy would kill Deveril, keep matters at Godstowe under view, report on the Prince's doings at Woodstock and search out the truth behind the idle rumour that the Prince had secretly married his former whore. No one would suspect Agatha had killed Deveril. Or, if they did, who would care? The Deverils were traitors and Edward had given de Courcy a written pledge he would defend her. Of course, he'd kept it quiet from Corbett: the clerk was an excellent master spy but his tender conscience might balk at the silent assassination of a woman and her page. All had gone well until Lady Eleanor's death and de Courcy's strange silence. Oh, de Courcy had informed him now she'd intended to tell the truth eventually, but how could he trust her? What authority did she have to decide who lived and died? Corbett was right Only a Prince could do that. Edward peered out of the window. He saw Corbett in the courtyard below, smiling and laughing as he chattered to Ranulf and Maltote.
    'If it's a boy, call him Edward,' the King murmured to himself. He felt a stab of envy at his clerk's good fortune. 'I have no son,' he whispered.
    He leaned against the wall and watched Corbett and his party mount and leave the courtyard. The King went across to a small desk, picked up the quill from the writing tray and carefully wrote out a short message. He then took some heated wax, marking it with his secret seal before shouting for an attendant A few minutes later John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, sauntered in. 'Your Grace?'
    Edward continued to stare out of the window.
    'Your Grace, you sent for me?'
    'There's a woman,' Edward began slowly. 'She lives in a house opposite The Swindlestock tavern near the church of St Catherine's by the Tower. She is both a traitress and a murderess.'
    'Her name?'
    'Agatha de Courcy.' Edward cleared his throat. 'She must die. Her crimes are self-confessed but for reasons of state cannot be divulged. You will take care of it, de Warenne. Make sure it is fast. Let her suspect nothing.'
    'Your Grace, on what authority do I do this?'
    The King smiled to himself, and without turning proffered the piece of parchment