Read Online Satan's Fire (A Medieval Mystery Featuring Hugh Corbett) by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online

the bottom of the paper. He studied the blood-red seal of the Holy Inquisition as well as the personal signature of the master grand inquisitor and his two witnesses.
    ‘So,’ Edward leaned forward, ‘this is a serious threat.’
    De Craon nodded tersely. ‘My master has already written to Pope Boniface the Eighth demanding the order be investigated.’ He rose and sank to one knee before the king. ‘But I shall inform my master about your safe deliverance. And,’ he added slyly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Corbett, ‘your sacred vow to go on Crusade.’
    ‘In which,’ Corbett intervened, ‘my master will call on other Western princes to join him.’
    De Craon got to his feet and bowed at Corbett. ‘You shall not find Philip of France lacking. He is ready to spill his blood, as his grandfather did, to win back God’s fief.’ And, making further obeisances, de Craon left the room as swiftly as he had arrived.
    ‘It must have been hard,’ Corbett declared, going over to make sure the door was closed. ‘For de Craon, once in his life, to tell the truth.’
    ‘Go to Framlingham,’ Edward declared. ‘Take up residence there. Tell their grand master that if any Templar is found outside the grounds of that manor, he will be arrested on suspicion of high treason!’
     
    Ranulf and Maltote complained bitterly at being pulled away from their game of dice with the royal archers. Their wails grew even louder as Corbett told them where they were going.
    ‘Stop moaning,’ their master ordered. ‘First, it’s only a matter of time before the archers realise you cheat. Secondly, Ranulf, a period of abstinence from chasing the ladies will do your soul the world of good.’
    As they later rode through the streets of York, Corbett did not bother to look, though he knew Ranulf was scowling behind him and muttering under his breath about ‘Master Long Face’ and his killjoy actions. Maltote was more resigned. As long as he was with horses and able to know what the great lords of the soil were planting, he was content. So, he let Ranulf mutter on whilst trying to manage a vicious sumpter pony who deeply resented being plucked from a comfortable stable and taken through the noisy, dusty streets of York.
    Ranulf, who had got to know the city well, eventually pushed his horse alongside Corbett’s.
    ‘Master, surely we should be going in the other direction? Framlingham lies beyond Botham Bar to the north of the city.’
    Corbett paused just before they entered the Shambles, York’s great meat-market.
    ‘We have business, Ranulf, with Master Hubert Seagrave, King’s vintner and proud owner of the Greenmantle tavern in Coppergate. We are to take the grand master a present.’
    Corbett stared down the narrow streets ahead of him. He saw the blood and offal which coated the cobbles in a bloody mess; from the stalls on either side of the street hung the gutted carcases of sheep, lambs and pigs. He pulled his horse’s head round.
    ‘Let’s find another way.’
    As he turned, an arrow bolt whirred by his face, smashing into the plaster wall of the house alongside. Corbett stared open-mouthed: Ranulf seized the reins of his horse, pulling it into a gallop down a narrow alleyway leading into Coppergate. Tradesmen, apprentices, beggars, children, scavenging dogs and cats fled before the pounding hooves. The more quick-witted picked up fistfuls of refuse and threw it at these three riders, for Maltote had quickly followed suit. Once in Coppergate, Corbett reined in.
    ‘Who fired that?’ he demanded.
    Ranulf wiped the sweat from his face. ‘God knows, but I don’t intend to go back and find out.’
    Corbett hurriedly dismounted, ordering Ranulf and Maltote to do the same.
    ‘Keep the horses on the outside!’ he urged.
    They walked down Coppergate. A trader ran up, protesting at their feckless ride. Ranulf drew his sword, shouting that they were on the king’s business, so the fellow backed away.
    ‘What was