The Treason of the Ghosts

almost betrothed to Sir Maurice. Ranulf whispered he would be
on his best behaviour, except he intended to take some of the choicest pieces
of food for Chanson: the groom, with the other servants, was left to his own
devices below stairs.
    Parson
Grimstone and Burghesh also joined them on the dais. The priest intoned the
grace, blessed the assembly and all took their seats. White wine and fish food
were served first: lampreys in a special sauce; portions of tender carp with
special relishes and spices. Toasts were made and speeches delivered. All
emphasised the growing prosperity of Melford and how honoured they were by the
presence of the King’s clerk. Sir Hugh sat bemused. This was such a contrast to
the silence of the countryside or his own secluded chamber
in the Golden Fleece.
    Other
dishes were served, to a blare of trumpets and shouts of approval: fried loach
with roses and almonds; roast salmon in onion wine sauce; smoked pike; salad in
pastry; pheasant in strawberry cream sauce. The hall shimmered with light as
silver plates and trenchers, different cups and goblets were placed before the
guests.
    Corbett
ate little and drank even less. He chose to ignore Ranulf’s stealthy theft of
food as he listened to a plump burgess chatter like a
magpie about the King’s taxes on wood and the need for better protection in the Narrow Seas . Corbett tried to appear so
interested, his face ached. He would have liked to have excused himself but
that would be insulting. So, he listened to the burgess but his mind wandered.
He’d found the Book of the Dead a treasure house of information. He desperately
needed to question Peterkin whilst he had been concerned by Ranulf’s failure to
find Blidscote.
    ‘Do
you think he’s safe?’ Ranulf had asked.
    ‘No
I don’t,’ Corbett had replied as he’d finished his preparations before leaving
for the Guildhall. ‘Like the poacher Furrell, Master Blidscote may never be
seen again...’
    ‘And the King’s war in Scotland ,
Sir Hugh?’ The burgess was now eager to prove himself an expert
in military strategy. Corbett repressed a sigh; he listened to the good
citizen’s carefully worded denunciation of the King’s war in the north, its
disruption of trade and drain on the Exchequer.
    Corbett
was relieved when the burgess had to give up playing Hector as more dishes were
served. The burgess was about to launch himself into a second sermon when
Corbett heard the bell of St Edmund’s tolling; it echoed through the Guildhall,
silencing the noise and chatter.
    ‘It’s
the tocsin,’ the burgess murmured. ‘In God’s name, what’s happened now?’ He
glared down the table at Parson Grimstone.
    The
good priest was already deep in his cups. He tried to stagger to his feet but
Burghesh gently pulled him down.
    ‘I
will go,’ he declared. ‘Something’s wrong at the church, but I am sure it’s
nothing.’ And, dangling a set of keys, he hurried out.
    His
departure was followed by dark scowls and muttered conversations. Corbett
repressed a smile. He had seen the same thing happen in many a prosperous town.
The burgesses grew wealthy, they no longer were in awe
of the priest or his church whilst Parson Grimstone was, perhaps, not the man
they would have chosen to be their pastor. These wealthy burgesses would
eventually build their own church, create a separate parish. They would
lavishly adorn their new house of prayer, using it to emphasise their own power
and dignity. Corbett grasped his wine cup and listened to the burgess’s
ill-concealed attack on the King’s military ambitions.
    ‘He
should capture Wallace, hang him and then negotiate. If there is peace in the
north it will create new markets...’
    The bells of St Edmund’s tolled again, just for a short
while. The assembled merchants simply grinned at each other. The festivities
continued unabated, as did the warlike burgess, who now delivered a long speech
against the Scottish rebels.
    ‘Aye.’ Ranulf stopped his thieving to intervene. ‘But
catching the Scottish rebel is like trying to trap moonbeams in a jug. Everyone
says it can be done but no one knows how to do it.’
    Corbett
winked at Ranulf in grateful appreciation. Ranulf continued his teasing for a
while. Corbett was about to intervene when the door was flung open. Burghesh
entered, shouldering the liveried servant aside.
    ‘Sir
Hugh!’ he shouted. ‘You’d best come!’
    Corbett
made a sign for Ranulf to follow. Burghesh hurried up and