Satan's Fire (A Medieval Mystery Featuring Hugh Corbett) Read Online Free PDF

for de Warrenne to follow, ‘I want that counterfeiter unmasked. I want you to keep an eye on the Templars. There are also over a hundred petitions from our good burgesses at York. You and that green-eyed rapscallion clerk of yours, Ranulf, can deal with them.’ The king paused, one hand on the latch. ‘Oh, and to show there’s no ill-feeling between myself and the grand master; go to the vintner, the master taverner Hubert Seagrave. He owns the largest tavern in York, just off Coppergate. Ask him for a tun of his best Gascony. Tomorrow, after I have sworn the oath, take it out to Framlingham. A gift from me to him.’
    Corbett turned in his chair. ‘And will you go on Crusade, Sire?’
    Edward looked innocently back. ‘Of course, Hugh. I have given my word. Once all the affairs in England are settled, then you and I, de Warrenne and all the rest, will go on Crusade to Jerusalem.’
    And, chuckling softly to himself, the king swept out of the chamber, de Warrenne plodding behind him. Corbett sighed and got to his feet. He stared round the refectory, the huge, black cross hanging on the far wall and the brightly coloured triptych above the fireplace. He went back to the window and stared down into the courtyard. The king’s soldiers had persuaded two blind beggars to have a duel with wooden swords. The two hairy, ragged men lurched and struck at each other, staggering about, their wooden swords beating the air. Now and again the circle of soldiers pushed them back into the ring with roars of laughter.
    ‘Didn’t you have enough?’ Corbett whispered to himself. ‘Didn’t you see enough humiliation and bloodshed on the Scottish march?’
    He sat in the window-seat. Since the end of January the king had been in his northern shires, launching raids across the Scottish border, trying to bring to battle or capture the elusive Scottish leader William Wallace. Corbett had become sickened by the hamlets and villages left as a black, smouldering mess, the corpses strewn about in pools of scarlet across the damp, broken heather. The columns of grey smoke, the stench of death and putrefaction, the gibbets full of corpses naked as worms. Cattle and sheep slaughtered, their bloated bodies fouling streams and wells, all consumed by the sea of fire which Edward, in retreat, had lit to burn everything behind him.
    Corbett didn’t just want to go back to Maeve and Eleanor because he was missing them; he was also sickened by Edward’s ruthless drive to bring the Scots to heel; and by the intricacies and subtleties of court intrigues; by nobles like de Warrenne who believed they were lords of the soil and every other man and woman had been born to serve them. The two beggar-men were now crying. Corbett was tempted to ignore them but, rising, he thrust open the window.
    ‘Stop it!’ he yelled.
    One of the soldiers was about to make an obscene gesture back, but his companion immediately recognised Corbett and whispered in the soldier’s ear. Corbett called over to a serjeant.
    ‘Take the beggars to the almoner!’ He shouted. ‘Give them bread and wine and send them on their way!’
    The grizzled veteran nodded. ‘The lads are just amusing themselves, sir.’
    ‘There has been amusement enough!’ Corbett snapped. ‘Make sure your lads pay for their enjoyment. Organise a collection for the beggars!’
    Corbett waited for the serjeant to carry out his orders then closed the window. He heard a rap on the door.
    ‘Come in.’
    Ranulf, his manservant, now a fully fledged clerk in the Chancery of the Green Seal, swaggered in, his red hair tied in a knot behind his head. Proud of his clerkly tunic of light blue edged with squirrel fur, Ranulf stuck his thumbs in the broad swordbelt fastened round his waist. His cat-like eyes twinkled in a smile.
    ‘Are we going home, Master?’
    ‘No!’ Corbett snapped, ‘we are not.’ And he went back to the table.
    Ranulf quickly made a face at the blond-haired, bland-faced Maltote,