vair, surveyed the stalls and made their purchases. A jester offering to do a somersault wandered amongst them, his head, completely shaven, covered in glue and decorated with duck feathers. An old woman with a tray shrieked how she had night herbs which would cure all ailments. Beside her a chanteur, a professional story-teller, explained how in Ephesus the Seven Sleepers had turned on to their left side, a gloomy sign of how the times were growing more perilous. Carters tried to force their way through, whilst more enterprising citizens pulled sledges full of produce. Dogs yipped and yelped; a piglet, specially greased, had been released by a group of children and ran loose across the thoroughfare, pursued by a legion of its young tormentors.
They passed the main entrance to the cathedral. Ranulf wished to go in but Corbett replied that they would visit it later. They continued on their way up into the great courtyard of the Guildhall, a three-storey building, wattle-daubed and timbered on a honey-coloured stone base. Servants ran up to demand their business, but as soon as they saw Corbett’s warrant they immediately became obsequious, offering to take his horses. Once Ranulf had dealt with this, they entered the Guildhall, turning right into the main chamber, a long, draughty room, its doorways and windows protected by heavy cloths.
For a while they just sat on a bench whilst a common serjeant loudly listed the goods of some dead citizen: ‘three canvas cloths, twelve barrels, two tubs, four bottles, six leather pots . . .’ Corbett listened to the man’s sonorous voice rise and fall. He could have stood upon his authority, showed his seal, demanded immediate access to the Mayor, but he wanted to collect his thoughts, and looking at Ranulf, he believed his companion felt the same. At last the cold began to seep out of his fingers and he relaxed in the glow of warmth from the braziers, piled high with charcoal, which spluttered and sparkled in every corner. He was about to rise to his feet when an usher suddenly burst through the door and gestured frantically at them.
‘Sir Hugh, Master Ranulf!’ he gasped. ‘His Worship’s apologies, please, please follow me.’
He took them up some stairs to a richly furnished room draped with thickened arras and warmed by chafing dishes laid out along the great table which ran down the centre. Corbett and Ranulf had scarcely arrived and taken off their cloaks when Sir Walter Castledene entered. He was dressed in a long robe of dark murrey, a silver cord around his waist, a gold chain of office about his neck, soft buskins on his feet. He had shaved, his hair was freshly oiled, and he looked more calm and composed than earlier in the day. He greeted Corbett and Ranulf and gestured to the high-backed chairs placed before a specially carved brazier; this was capped with a pointed lid and perforated with small holes to allow the sweet fragrance of the herbs sprinkled on top of the coals to seep through the room. Once seated, ushers served them biscuits sweetened with saffron together with mulled wine smelling strongly of cinnamon. After the usher had left, securing the door behind him, Sir Walter explained that this was his own private parlour. He pointed out its various treasures: the gilt-edged jasper salt-cellar; the spoons, porringers, dishes, ewers, bowls, cups, jugs and goblets, all precious metalled and studded with gems, which adorned the open-shelved aumbry against the far wall. He then described the origins of the diptychs on the tables and chests as well as the pictures on the embroidered arras, which depicted the city arms, those of Castledene as well as grisly scenes from the martyrdom of Becket.
After these pleasantries had finished, Corbett politely brushed aside Castledene’s speculations on what had happened at Maubisson and succinctly informed the Mayor about what had occurred since he left that brooding manor earlier in the day: the attack in the woods, the
They passed the main entrance to the cathedral. Ranulf wished to go in but Corbett replied that they would visit it later. They continued on their way up into the great courtyard of the Guildhall, a three-storey building, wattle-daubed and timbered on a honey-coloured stone base. Servants ran up to demand their business, but as soon as they saw Corbett’s warrant they immediately became obsequious, offering to take his horses. Once Ranulf had dealt with this, they entered the Guildhall, turning right into the main chamber, a long, draughty room, its doorways and windows protected by heavy cloths.
For a while they just sat on a bench whilst a common serjeant loudly listed the goods of some dead citizen: ‘three canvas cloths, twelve barrels, two tubs, four bottles, six leather pots . . .’ Corbett listened to the man’s sonorous voice rise and fall. He could have stood upon his authority, showed his seal, demanded immediate access to the Mayor, but he wanted to collect his thoughts, and looking at Ranulf, he believed his companion felt the same. At last the cold began to seep out of his fingers and he relaxed in the glow of warmth from the braziers, piled high with charcoal, which spluttered and sparkled in every corner. He was about to rise to his feet when an usher suddenly burst through the door and gestured frantically at them.
‘Sir Hugh, Master Ranulf!’ he gasped. ‘His Worship’s apologies, please, please follow me.’
He took them up some stairs to a richly furnished room draped with thickened arras and warmed by chafing dishes laid out along the great table which ran down the centre. Corbett and Ranulf had scarcely arrived and taken off their cloaks when Sir Walter Castledene entered. He was dressed in a long robe of dark murrey, a silver cord around his waist, a gold chain of office about his neck, soft buskins on his feet. He had shaved, his hair was freshly oiled, and he looked more calm and composed than earlier in the day. He greeted Corbett and Ranulf and gestured to the high-backed chairs placed before a specially carved brazier; this was capped with a pointed lid and perforated with small holes to allow the sweet fragrance of the herbs sprinkled on top of the coals to seep through the room. Once seated, ushers served them biscuits sweetened with saffron together with mulled wine smelling strongly of cinnamon. After the usher had left, securing the door behind him, Sir Walter explained that this was his own private parlour. He pointed out its various treasures: the gilt-edged jasper salt-cellar; the spoons, porringers, dishes, ewers, bowls, cups, jugs and goblets, all precious metalled and studded with gems, which adorned the open-shelved aumbry against the far wall. He then described the origins of the diptychs on the tables and chests as well as the pictures on the embroidered arras, which depicted the city arms, those of Castledene as well as grisly scenes from the martyrdom of Becket.
After these pleasantries had finished, Corbett politely brushed aside Castledene’s speculations on what had happened at Maubisson and succinctly informed the Mayor about what had occurred since he left that brooding manor earlier in the day: the attack in the woods, the
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