crossbow bolt smashing into the shutter of the guesthouse chamber, the disappearance of Griskin and the strong possibility that he had been murdered. Castledene grew agitated, lacing his fingers together, and now and again leaning forward towards the brazier to catch some of its warmth.
‘You have been threatened again?’ Corbett asked harshly.
Castledene nodded. ‘You know I have, the same as Paulents.’ He closed his eyes. ‘“You have been weighed in the balance . . . you have been found wanting.” I am to be punished for the death of his brother.’ He opened his eyes and glanced at Corbett. ‘Beneath this robe, Sir Hugh, I wear a shirt of light chain mail. I carry a dagger, and where I go, Wendover or my guards always follow. This is a time of judgement.’ He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘Hubert has come back to harvest his revenge against Paulents, against me and against the Crown. He intends all three to suffer.’
He paused as an usher came in to announce that the physician Peter Desroches was waiting downstairs.
Castledene lifted a hand. ‘Ask him to wait for a while,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Then he can join us.’
‘Paulents wasn’t threatened in Germany?’
‘No,’ Castledene agreed. ‘It was only when he arrived in Dover.’
‘And you?’
‘Yesterday, and again this morning,’ Castledene replied. ‘The same way: a small scroll of parchment was found lying in the hallway below amongst other common petitions. The tag on a piece of string bore my name. A clerk brought it up. You wish to see it?’ Without waiting for an answer, he rose and moved to the small side table, unlocking a coffer and bringing back what Corbett had expected: a yellowing piece of parchment which could have been cut from anything. The words inscribed in thick ink, like those in a child’s horn book, repeated the earlier warnings.
‘Anyone,’ Castledene muttered, ‘could have written that.’
‘Do you have a description of Hubert the Monk?’ Corbett asked. ‘If he was Canterbury born, people must know him.’
‘As a young man in the Benedictine order,’ Castledene sat down, ‘they described him as comely faced, always personable, courteous, a brilliant scholar. He later joined the community at Westminster but left to become a venator hominum . One thing I have discovered: Hubert very rarely, at least to our knowledge, came in to Canterbury. He tended to prowl between the Cinque Ports on the south coast and as far north as Suffolk, around the town of Ipswich: good hunting ground for the likes of him. He would trap outlaws and bring them in. Of course when he did, he would always be hooded and visored; there is no law against that. After all, he could argue that he needed to disguise his appearance so as to apprehend those who lurk in the twilight of the law.’
‘So you have no real description of him?’
‘None whatsoever,’ Castledene conceded. ‘Nor have we discovered anything about his habits, where he eats, drinks or sleeps. Does he own property? What shire or town does he live in? He is a veritable will o’ the wisp, Sir Hugh; he comes and goes like the breeze.’
‘But how can he be in two places at once?’ Ranulf asked. ‘A message was delivered at Dover on Monday to Paulents, and around the same time to you in Canterbury.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course, it’s possible for someone, despite the snow, to travel from Dover to Canterbury and deliver both messages.’
‘Or arrange for them to be delivered,’ Corbett declared. ‘I could go down into the street and hire a dozen boys who are prepared, in return for a penny, to take a missive to this person or that.’
‘But the abbey?’ Castledene asked. ‘How could he get into the abbey church of St Augustine?’
‘Again very easy,’ Corbett conceded. ‘I suspect our Master Hubert is well disguised. He can dress as a lay brother and scale the curtain wall. It wouldn’t be difficult. People are going to
‘You have been threatened again?’ Corbett asked harshly.
Castledene nodded. ‘You know I have, the same as Paulents.’ He closed his eyes. ‘“You have been weighed in the balance . . . you have been found wanting.” I am to be punished for the death of his brother.’ He opened his eyes and glanced at Corbett. ‘Beneath this robe, Sir Hugh, I wear a shirt of light chain mail. I carry a dagger, and where I go, Wendover or my guards always follow. This is a time of judgement.’ He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. ‘Hubert has come back to harvest his revenge against Paulents, against me and against the Crown. He intends all three to suffer.’
He paused as an usher came in to announce that the physician Peter Desroches was waiting downstairs.
Castledene lifted a hand. ‘Ask him to wait for a while,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Then he can join us.’
‘Paulents wasn’t threatened in Germany?’
‘No,’ Castledene agreed. ‘It was only when he arrived in Dover.’
‘And you?’
‘Yesterday, and again this morning,’ Castledene replied. ‘The same way: a small scroll of parchment was found lying in the hallway below amongst other common petitions. The tag on a piece of string bore my name. A clerk brought it up. You wish to see it?’ Without waiting for an answer, he rose and moved to the small side table, unlocking a coffer and bringing back what Corbett had expected: a yellowing piece of parchment which could have been cut from anything. The words inscribed in thick ink, like those in a child’s horn book, repeated the earlier warnings.
‘Anyone,’ Castledene muttered, ‘could have written that.’
‘Do you have a description of Hubert the Monk?’ Corbett asked. ‘If he was Canterbury born, people must know him.’
‘As a young man in the Benedictine order,’ Castledene sat down, ‘they described him as comely faced, always personable, courteous, a brilliant scholar. He later joined the community at Westminster but left to become a venator hominum . One thing I have discovered: Hubert very rarely, at least to our knowledge, came in to Canterbury. He tended to prowl between the Cinque Ports on the south coast and as far north as Suffolk, around the town of Ipswich: good hunting ground for the likes of him. He would trap outlaws and bring them in. Of course when he did, he would always be hooded and visored; there is no law against that. After all, he could argue that he needed to disguise his appearance so as to apprehend those who lurk in the twilight of the law.’
‘So you have no real description of him?’
‘None whatsoever,’ Castledene conceded. ‘Nor have we discovered anything about his habits, where he eats, drinks or sleeps. Does he own property? What shire or town does he live in? He is a veritable will o’ the wisp, Sir Hugh; he comes and goes like the breeze.’
‘But how can he be in two places at once?’ Ranulf asked. ‘A message was delivered at Dover on Monday to Paulents, and around the same time to you in Canterbury.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course, it’s possible for someone, despite the snow, to travel from Dover to Canterbury and deliver both messages.’
‘Or arrange for them to be delivered,’ Corbett declared. ‘I could go down into the street and hire a dozen boys who are prepared, in return for a penny, to take a missive to this person or that.’
‘But the abbey?’ Castledene asked. ‘How could he get into the abbey church of St Augustine?’
‘Again very easy,’ Corbett conceded. ‘I suspect our Master Hubert is well disguised. He can dress as a lay brother and scale the curtain wall. It wouldn’t be difficult. People are going to
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