Hugh Corbett 06 - Murder Wears a Cowl Read Free Page A

boots, leggings and jerkin stained with fat globules of mud. Moreover, every time the King moved he gave off gusts of sweaty odour; Corbett wondered which was worse, the King or the King’s greyhound. Edward crouched before Corbett and the clerk stared coolly back at the red-rimmed, amber-flecked eyes.
    The King was in a dangerous mood. He always was after hunting; the blood still ran hot and fast in the royal veins.
    ‘Tell me,’ Edward asked with mock sweetness. ‘Tell me what our problem is?’
    ‘Your Grace, you have a revolt in Scotland. The leader, William Wallace, is a true soldier and a born leader.’ Corbett saw the annoyance flicker across the King’s face. ‘Wallace,’ Corbett continued, ‘uses the bogs, the fens, the mists and the forests of Scotland to launch his attacks, plan his sorties and arrange the occasional bloody ambush. He cannot be pinned down, he appears where he is least expected.’ Corbett made a face. ‘To put it succinctly, your Grace, he is leading your son, the Prince of Wales and commander of your forces, a merry jig.’
    The King’s lips parted in a false smile. ‘And, Master Corbett, to put it succinctly, what is the rest of the problem?’
    The clerk glanced sideways at de Warrenne but found no comfort there. The Earl sat as if carved out of stone and Corbett wondered, not for the first time, if John de Warrenne, Earl of Surrey, was in full possession of his wits.
    ‘The second part of the problem,’ Corbett continued, ‘is that Philip of France is massing troops on his northern borders and, within the year, he will launch an all-out assault against Flanders. On the one hand, if God wills it, he will be defeated but, if he is victorious, he will extend his empire, destroy an ally, interfere with our wool trade and harass our shipping.’
    Edward rose and clapped his hands slowly. ‘And what is the third part of the problem?’
    ‘You said you had a letter from the Mayor of London but, as yet, your Grace, you have not revealed its contents.’
    The King sat down on a stool, dug inside his jerkin and pulled out the white scroll of parchment. He unrolled it and his face became grave.
    ‘Yes, yes,’ he spoke up. ‘A letter from the Mayor and the Council of London, they require our help. There’s some bloody assassin, some killer slitting the throats of whores, prostitutes and courtesans from one end of the city to the other.’
    Corbett snorted with laughter. ‘Since when have the city fathers been concerned about the deaths of some poor whores? Walk the streets of London in the depths of winter, your Grace, and you’ll find the corpses of raddled whores, frozen stiff in ditches or starving on the steps of churches.’
    ‘This is different,’ de Warrenne spoke up, turning his head slowly as if noticing Corbett for the first time.
    ‘Why is it different, my Lord?’
    ‘These are not your common night-walkers but high-ranking courtesans.’
    Corbett smiled.
    ‘You find it amusing, clerk?’
    ‘No, I don’t! There’s something else isn’t there?’
    Edward balanced the small scroll of parchment between his fingers. ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied wearily. ‘There’s something else. First, these courtesans know a lot of secrets. They have made it clear to the sheriffs and the great ones of the city that if something is not done, our ladies of the night may start telling everyone what they know.’
    Now Corbett’s grin widened. ‘I’d give every penny I have to be there when it happens. All our virtuous burgesses having their dirty linen washed in public.’
    Edward smiled at the thought. ‘I could say the same but these burgesses raise taxes for me. The city of London offers interest-free loans.’ His voice became a snarl. ‘Now you can see the problem, Corbett. I need silver to keep Philip out of Flanders and drive Wallace out of Scotland, otherwise my armies will melt away like ice before a fire.’ The King turned, hawked and spat into the rushes. ‘I