Read Online Hugh Corbett 10 - The Devil's Hunt by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online Page B

Ranulf? A bursar at Sparrow Hall was chased by a mob of students and forced to take sanctuary in a church where he was later poisoned, but no one asked why. No one showed any grief. Oh, they came to collect the corpse but they acted as if they’d returned for some forgotten baggage. Now, why is that, eh?’
    ‘Perhaps Passerel was disliked?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Corbett licked his lips and realised how hungry and thirsty he had become. ‘Come, we’ll break our fast in some tavern and then go to the hostelry to see what awaits us.’
     
    ‘You have not answered your own question, Master?’
    Corbett stopped, his hand on the latch of the door.
    ‘I wager a tun of wine to a barrel of malmsey that, before long, Passerel will be depicted as a murderer, maybe even the Bellman and - if we are foolish enough to swallow that - that the Bellman will remain silent until we are out of Oxford.’

Chapter 4
    Two hours later, as the rain clouds began to gather, Corbett and his party arrived at Sparrow Hall in Pilchard Lane. The college itself was a gracious, three-storeyed building with a grey slate roof capping yellow sandstone bricks; it boasted a fine main door with a large oriel window above it. The other windows were square and broad, with coloured glass filling the mullions. The hostelry on the other side of the lane was more nondescript. Apparently, its founder had bought three four-storey mansions, each with a brick base, the upper storeys of plaster and wooden beams, and had connected the houses by makeshift wooden galleries. The hostelry lacked the grace of the Hall; some of the windows were shuttered, and others were covered by horn paper.
    Corbett, Ranulf and Maltote went down a side lane and into the rear yard, its chipped cobbles covered in mud. This housed stables, forges and store rooms. Scholars, in various forms of dress, lounged in the open doorways. An ostler came across to take their horses. As Corbett dismounted, the scholars took a deeper interest in them, clustering together, whispering and pointing. A brick flew well above their heads and a voice in a Welsh accent shouted, ‘The royal dogs have arrived!’
    Ranulf’s hand went to his dagger. The yard fell silent. More students now thronged about. A tall, thickset, young man, languidly pushing back a mop of hair from his ruddy face, sauntered across. He was dressed in the garb of a commoner: tight-fitting hose, soft leather boots, a white cambric shirt covered by a robe which fell just above a protuberant codpiece. He wore a broad leather war belt round his waist, from which a sword and dagger hung, pushed through rings. As he sauntered over, others followed.
    The ostler hastily led the horses away, whilst the students ringed Corbett and his companions.
    ‘It’s a fine day,’ Corbett declared, throwing his cloak back over his shoulders so the students could see his sword. ‘Shouldn’t you be at your studies? The Trivium, the Quadrivium, Grammar and Logic? In the immortal words of Aristotle: “Seeking truth and turning the will to good”.’
    The leader of the scholars stopped, nonplussed. He would have liked to have quipped back in the time-honoured fashion. Corbett wagged a finger at him.
    ‘You have been neglecting your horn book, sir.’
    ‘That’s correct,’ the young man replied languidly, his voice betraying a soft, Welsh accent. ‘Hall life has been disturbed by the comings and goings of inquisitive, royal clerks.’
    ‘In which case,’ Ranulf spoke up, stepping forward, ‘you can join us at Woodstock to debate the matter in front of His Grace the King.’
    ‘Edward of England does not concern me,’ the fellow replied, grinning over his shoulder at his companions. ‘Llewellyn and David are our Princes.’
    ‘That’s treason,’ Ranulf retorted.
    The student leader took a step forward. ‘My name is David Ap Thomas,’ he declared sternly. ‘What’s the matter, clerk, don’t you like the Welsh?’
    ‘I love them,’