Satan in St Mary

leaving her the family business. The tavern she owns is called 'The Mitre'. It is a large place. It is also a dangerous one. Now, please go. "
    Corbett obeyed the scribe, surprised at his reaction and concerned that this gregarious scrivener should be frightened of a mere name.
    Corbett found 'The Mitre' tavern in St. Mark's Lane, an elaborate two-storeyed affair with the upper floor jutting out over the central door. A large ale stake, and the sign of a bishop's mitre against a black background, made it the most obvious building in the street. As he entered, Corbett noted the bishop's face on the sign was a mocking caricature of a churchman, pompous, cruel and greedy. Inside, it was dark but comfortable, much cleaner than many such establishments. A long room with whitewashed walls, clean rushes on the floor sprinkled with crushed herbs. The ceiling was quite high with timbered rafters black from the hearth in the centre of the room with a flue above it to allow the smoke to escape. Along the walls there were stools, rough benches and trestle tables.
    A huge, bald-headed man stood before the hearth, his small piggy eyes scrutinized Corbett before sliding away to look at the customers scattered round the room. There were the usual drunks, fast asleep at the tables, a few solitary individuals totally involved in their own thoughts or cups and a group of men lazily tossing dice watched by a bawd in a scarlet gown and head-dress. Pot-boys and drawers served the groups, both with wine and ale under the severe scrutiny of the bald-headed giant. No one else noticed Corbett's entrance except for a small group of men in the far corner who studied him for a while and then turned back to their own conversation.
    Corbett sat at one table and ordered wine and food from one of the tapsters. He ate his meal slowly while he took in his surroundings. Somehow he was aware that he was recognized, almost expected, and that what he was seeing was a tableau, something staged for his own benefit. After a while Corbett beckoned the huge bald-headed man over to his table. The man saw his gesture but studiously ignored him for a time and then, after biting his nail and spitting into the fire, moved across to him.
    "Sir?" The voice was rather high for such a big man.
    "My name is Hugh Corbett, clerk in the King's Bench. I am here on the King's business. I have a warrant which proves this and I would like to speak to Mistress Alice atte Bowe. "
    His words like stones thrown into a pool spread ripples, circles of silence around the tavern. The conversation dropped to a low hum, the dice rolled, heads did not turn but he was aware of ears straining to hear him. The large man simply looked at him with his small pebble-black eyes and then, beckoning to Corbett, turned and walked to the far end of the tavern. Corbett followed him into a second room at the back which served as a kitchen. A small whitewashed place with a long table covered in pewter and earthenware pots. At the far end was a fire with a roast on a spit and, above it, a row of iron flesh hooks.
    The place was clean and smelt of the crushed herbs and spices which were packed in pots on shelves around the room. At the far end of the table, almost unnoticed, was the small, slim figure of a woman studying a piece of parchment. At Corbett's entrance, she looked up and slipped the parchment beneath the table. Corbett had never seen such beauty, a Flemish white-laced head-dress framed a small olive face, large dark eyes, perfectly chiselled nose and lips which would have tempted the holiest hermit. A lock of black hair had escaped from under her head-dress to lie on a perfect cheek. She was small, petite, but the green gown and gold waist belt emphasized, not hid her beautiful body with its swelling breasts and slim waist. Corbett could only stare as the giant introduced him. The woman gazed at him with eyes full of laughter and a smile which showed her perfect teeth as well as her pleasure at meeting him.
    "So, Master Corbett, what can we do for you?" The voice was low and surprisingly deep. Corbett thought she was laughing at him and could only stand and shuffle his feet like some country bumpkin. The woman turned to the giant still standing threateningly close to Corbett. "Peter, " she said. "You can go. I do not think that Master Corbett is here to arrest me. I think I am perfectly safe though I suspect that Master Corbett may not feel so secure!"
    Her gentle mockery jolted Corbett into