Hugh Corbett 14 - The Magician's Death Read Free Page B

clerks, as he called them, at a small auberge beyond the city walls, on the road to Fontainebleau. He had not told them much; he didn’t need to, for both Ufford and Bolingbroke were scholars of the natural sciences as well as the Quadrivium and Trivium, the logic, metaphysics, philosophy and ethics of the Masters. They had been in Paris for three years now, collecting information on behalf of the English Crown. Now their task had changed . . .
    Corbett had hired a chamber at the auberge, and had seated them close around a table whilst his henchman, Ranulf of Newgate, dressed in black leather, guarded the door. Ufford was constantly surprised at the contrast between Corbett and Ranulf. Sir Hugh was dark-faced with deep-set eyes, his clean-shaven face and regular features always composed. ‘A man of clean heart and clean hands,’ as Ufford secretly called him. Ranulf was different, red-haired, those slanted green eyes and pale face always watchful, a fighting man, expert with the sword, dagger and garrotte. Ufford had listened to the rumours, how Ranulf had once been a riffler, a roaring boy, from London’s stinking alleyways, rescued by Corbett from the gallows. Ranulf had educated himself, unlike Corbett, who had studied at the Halls of Oxford. A man of bounding ambition with the talent to match, Ranulf was now Principal Clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax.
    ‘There, I have it!’ the King of Keys exclaimed.
    Ufford broke from his reverie at the sound of a click. The King of Keys had opened the two side locks and was working busily on the three at the front.
    ‘Hurry up,’ urged Bolingbroke, leaning against the door.
    Ufford stared at his companion. Bolingbroke was usually a serene man, composed and rather elegant in his ways, fastidious in his habits, but tonight he was clearly agitated. Ufford knew the reason. One of the magistri upstairs was a traitor. Neither Bolingbroke nor he knew which one, but after all their searches they’d been informed how the University of the Sorbonne did possess a copy of the Secretus Secretorum of Friar Roger Bacon, and how its scholars were busy studying its cipher. The mysterious traitor had offered to sell the Secretus to the English Crown. At first Bolingbroke and Ufford had been cautious; they were being watched, suspected of being Secret Clerks. But, there again, it was a question of much suspected and nothing proved. Now it had all changed. Somebody had learnt about their secret meeting with Corbett. How the Keeper of the King’s Seal had urged them to find that manuscript, or a copy, steal it and bring it immediately to England . . .
    Ufford lifted his hand in the sign of peace, Bolingbroke smiled thinly back and stared down at the King of Keys busy on the coffer. Neither Bolingbroke nor Ufford knew the source of their information; letters were simply left at their lodgings in the Street of the Carmelites, above the Martel de Fer tavern, describing how the Secretus Secretorum had been handed to Magister Thibault, who kept it in a coffer in the strong room in his house.
    ‘D’accord!’ Another click. The King of Keys turned and ceremoniously lifted the clasp.
    ‘For God’s sake,’ Ufford whispered hoarsely, and gestured at the other two locks. The hour was passing, the revellers upstairs might want some more wine and they must not be disturbed. If they were arrested . . . Ufford closed his eyes; he could not bear the thought.
    During the last few days, whilst they had planned the robbery, both he and Bolingbroke had been aware of dark figures standing at the mouths of alleyways watching their lodgings. Corbett had warned them to be careful of Seigneur Amaury de Craon, Keeper of the Secrets of his Most Royal Highness Philip IV of France. He was Corbett’s mortal enemy, dedicated to frustrating the designs of the English Crown, and he had a legion of spies and informers at his disposal, nicknamed the ‘Hounds of the King’. Ufford and Bolingbroke had discussed the