Prince of Darkness Read Free Page A

his breath, trying to calm his rage, and stared up at the sky. The day was now drawing to a close. A slight chilly wind snapped and fluttered the banners carried in front of the Prince. De Craon shivered and pulled his cloak tightly about him: with his sharp, pointed features, russet hair and goatee beard, the Frenchman looked like some inquisitive fox watching his prey approach. Great God, he fumed, how he hated Gaveston! The Gascon was no more than the son of a jumped up yeoman farmer and a witch from the English province of Gascony; indeed, a convicted witch who had been burnt alive, chained to a barrel in the middle of Bordeaux marketplace. What should he do about Gaveston? de Craon wondered for the umpteenth time. Before he had left Paris his master, Philip IV, had taken de Craon into his velvet-draped, secret chamber in the Louvre Palace and explained his mission. They'd sat at a table, bare except for the candle flickering in its stand.
    'Always remember, de Craon,' the French King had remarked, 'the Duchy of Gascony is in the hands of Edward of England. By rights it should be in mine!' Philip had grasped the candlestick. 'It nearly was,' he continued, 'but His Holiness the Pope intervened. Now Edward has Gascony and I have a peace treaty.'
    De Craon had watched Philip closely.
    'However,' his master hissed, 'I intend to have Gascony, the peace treaty, and much more. According to the Holy Father's dictate, Edward I of England was to marry my sister and he is welcome to her, but his feckless Prince of Wales is to wed my beloved daughter, once she is old enough for this marriage to take place. Now, if that happens, one day my grandson will sit on the throne of England whilst another becomes Duke of Gascony. So, in time, that province and perhaps England itself will be absorbed under the French crown.' Philip had paused, licking his bloodless lips.
    'However,' he continued, 'all that is in the future and there is a more immediate path I could follow. You are to go to England to confirm my daughter's betrothal, but you must insist that the Prince of Wales has no scandal attached to him. He is to remove from his person his favourite whore, Eleanor Belmont. Otherwise,' Philip gave one of his rare smiles, 'in the light of such scandal, I shall appeal to the Holy Father, the treaty will be null and void, and my troops will be all over Gascony within a week. Now the Prince may well agree to that – I hear he tires of the woman – in which case, a third path is open to me.'
    Philip had risen, come round the table and whispered the most secret instructions in de Craon's ear. The French envoy remembered these now and smiled. Perhaps he should follow that path. He clenched his fists in excitement: if he did, he might settle scores, not only with Edward of England, the benighted Prince of Wales and his male bawd, Gaveston, but also with Master Hugh Corbett, de Craon's old rival and enemy.

Chapter 2
    Hugh Corbett, senior clerk and master spy of Edward of England, was dreaming a dreadful dream. He was standing beneath the spreading branches of one of the elm trees which stood along the boundaries of Godstowe Priory in Oxfordshire. A late summer sun was shining but the air was silent, eerie, devoid of birdsong. Alongside him, from the branch of a nearby tree, hung a body, its neck broken, head to one side; it hung there like some ancient sacrifice or the Figure of Death from the Tarot. Corbett felt compelled to turn but found he could not. His gaze was fixed on the windows, like empty eye-sockets, of Godstowe Priory. He stirred. No sound broke the chill silence except the hollow screeching of cruel-eyed peacocks and, in faint cadence, the ghostly chanting of the nuns.
    In his nightmare Corbett walked across a lush green lawn, the shadows behind forcing him on. No sign of life was apparent as he crossed the gravel path up to the great door of the nunnery; unlatched, half-open, he pushed this aside and entered the cold, dark house. A