Spy in Chancery

men whose thoughts and words would, in a year, be mere dust.
    Suddenly, he heard raised voices and broke from his reverie. Louis was taunting Lancaster, achieving considerable success for the Earl was virtually shouting in reply. Corbett felt the rising tension, even the scribes looked sideways, pens poised as they helplessly wondered what would happen next. Corbett glanced at de Craon and caught the sardonic gleam of triumph in the Frenchman's eyes; God, Corbett thought, they bait us here in the very Palace of Westminster. He remembered the attack outside Paris, the vibrant loveliness of Maeve and felt a terrible rage surge through him. Corbett whispered into Lancaster's ear, urging the Earl to say something to halt the constant taunts from the French.
    'My Lord of Evreux!' Lancaster called out pulling himself free from Corbett, 'I must apologise for the tumult and discord on our side but this is due to special circumstances.' He looked around, evidently pleased at the way his words silenced the clamour in the hall. 'We have,' Lancaster bluntly continued, 'just ordered the arrest of a man close to our counsels, a veritable viper in our bosom, who gave our secrets to the King's enemies here and,' he added, pausing for effect, 'across the seas.'
    His words were greeted by a hum of consternation from those English standing behind the French envoys. Corbett ignored them, closely studying the reactions of the French: Evreux did not seem disconcerted whilst de Craon continued to pick at a loose thread in the sleeve of his gown before turning to whisper to Count Louis. Corbett had set the trap, he now waited for the French to step into it.
    'My Earl of Lancaster,' Evreux called out, 'We are pleased that our English cousin has been freed from such an irritation. We hope this viper is not involved in the negotiations with us for, if he has betrayed you, he could well have betrayed us.'
    'Is that all, my Lord?' Corbett was surprised to hear himself speak. Evreux looked at him disdainfully.
    'Of course,' he replied. 'What else is there?'
    'What else?' Corbett thought to himself, ignoring Lancaster's curious glances and de Craon's hostile stare. He had sprung a trap upon the French, years ago in Scotland and now he had done it again. He was sure of it. He clenched his fists in excitement, not bothering to concentrate as the discussion reverted to more boring, desultory matters.
    It was late afternoon before the process was completed and, as Lancaster later sardonically commented, there was a great deal of talking but little was said. The French believed there was a way to settle the dispute, saying it was a pity the English king was not present but, and here de Craon had looked meaningfully at Corbett, King Philip IV would personally explain to Edward's envoys his ideas for the resolution of all difficulties. The French then presented their sworn safe conducts for the English envoys who were to accompany them back to France. When Lancaster announced it was Corbett, de Craon smirked whilst Evreux looked offended as if he had expected someone of higher rank. The meeting broke up, Corbett patiently listening to Lancaster's angry exclamations before leaving for the Tower and his interview with Waterton.
    A flimsy wherry boat took him up the crowded river past the docks, the steelyard, the galleys and ships pouring wealth into London and the pockets of its merchants: the light craft of the fishermen, petty traders, the scaffolds with the bodies of hanged pirates, their souls gone, fleeing through their blank eyes and yawning mouths. Around them, the living ignored this grim reminder of death in the pursuit of wealth; a spritely barge drifted by, its smart, black woodwork gilded and draped in costly cloths, pennants and banners which proclaimed its importance more loudly than a fanfare of trumpets.
    The boatman guided his craft under the towering arches of London Bridge. The water roared and frothed as if in a giant cauldron, Corbett felt afraid but the boat shot through as straight and true as a well-aimed arrow. The turrets of the Tower loomed up above the trees: the great keep built by William the Norman now ringed and protected by walls, towers, gulleys and moat. A fortress to keep London quiet; the King's treasury and record office but also a place of darkness, terror and silent death. In its dungeons, the King's torturers and executioners searched for the truth or twisted it to suit their own ends.
    Corbett shivered as he