Spy in Chancery

Easter audit: royal stewards from the Duchy of Cornwall, their finery ruined by mud and dirt, they looked tired and harassed as they asked for directions in a strange, nasal accent. Corbett looked around, noted how many rings were left on one of the day candles and, leaving the Hall, made his way along empty stonewashed corridors to the council room.
    He found Tuberville in his chamber. A man of about thirty to thirty-five summers. Tuberville seemed the typical fighting man with his close-cropped blond hair and lean, narrow features. He would have looked a predator, a professional killer if it had not been for his full mouth and anxious guarded eyes. He was dressed in chain-mail covered by a long, white surcoat bearing the royal arms of England gathered by a stout leather belt which carried a sword and dagger sheath. When Corbett arrived, he was lounging by a window, the shutters flung open for the place was a small and dusty guardroom, a table and two benches alongside the wall being its only furnishings, the floor was bare stone and the walls were covered in flaking plaster.
    Tuberville turned as Corbett came in and bluntly answered his query; 'Sir Thomas Tuberville?'
    'The same.'
    'My name is Hugh Corbett, chief clerk to the Chancery. I am on the King's special business.'
    'What special business?'
    'Investigating the recent dйbвcle in Gascony.' Corbett watched the knight's eyes narrow in anger.
    'Do you have a warrant, licence to do this?' he asked.
    'No,' Corbett replied. 'Why, do you want one? I can, we can, go to the King and see him.'
    Tuberville smiled, his face becoming almost boyish.
    'Here,' he waved Corbett to one of the stools and crossed to a rather battered up-turned barrel bearing a tray of pewter cups and a flagon. He filled two with wine and crossed to rejoin Corbett. 'Look,' he said. 'I am sorry П was abrupt.'
    Corbett took the wine. 'It was nothing,' he replied, 'Perhaps a sign of the times?' Tuberville shrugged, sat and sipped from the cup.
    'Your questions, Master Corbett?'
    'You were with the Earl of Brittany in last year's expedition to Gascony?'
    'Yes,' Tuberville replied, 'We sailed, a fleet of ships from Southampton and landed at Bordeaux. Richmond assembled the column of march and we advanced inland to occupy the castle and town of La Reole. You may remember,' Tuberville continued bitterly, 'the damned French had already occupied a number of border fortresses and their troops were moving inland. Richmond just sat and waited: he did not try to draw the French into battle but stayed in the town.' Tuberville shrugged. 'It was inevitable. The French found the countryside deserted and their troops poured across the duchy.' Tuberville paused, staring into the cup. 'Richmond did not move, but froze like a frightened rabbit. The French encircled the town with ditches and traps to block the roads. War machines were brought up, I remember one huge bastard the French nicknamed "Le Loup du Guerre", "The Warwolf". These pounded the town with fire balls and huge rocks. We could not break out, the King was unable to send any relief so Richmond decided to surrender.'
    'Was there no attempt at a sortie?' Corbett asked.
    Tuberville pursed his lips. 'Yes,' he smiled 'I disobeyed orders. During the negotiations between Richmond and the French, I led a sortie, a phalanx of about sixty men-at-arms and mounted archers.'
    'What happened?'
    'We were driven back, the French were furious and so was Richmond. The Earl threatened me with a traitor's death for violating negotiations. I pointed out that the negotiations themselves were traitorous so Richmond ordered me to be put under arrest.' Tuberville got up and refilled his cup. Corbett watching him closely.
    'What happened during the surrender?' he asked.
    Tuberville stared at the wine he was swilling round his cup.
    'The French, God damn them, insisted that we leave La Reole, and we did, our banners and pennants trailing in the mud, the French lined the roads and let us go with the mockery of horn, pipe and drumbeat.'
    Corbett shifted in his seat. 'But you came back to a great honour, captain of the King's guard and responsible for protecting the King and his council?'
    'Ah!' Tuberville smiled. 'When we returned to England, Edward read the results of the campaign and, ignoring Richmond's protests, gave me this post.'
    Tuberville turned and looked through the narrow arrow-slit window. 'I must be going, I have to check the guard and ensure no threat exists to our