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altar gazing up at him. 'My Lord Bishop,' Plumpton continued smoothly, 'the clerk means no disrespect. He is here on the king's orders. There is enough tension in this church. Now, perhaps if I assisted him?'
    The archbishop nodded and Plumpton waddled up the steps past the soldiers and joined Corbett in the centre of the altar.
    'Have you found the poison, Master Clerk?'
    'I have found nothing,' Corbett said, turning his back on the still fuming prelate. 'This is the principal chalice?' He picked up the beautifully engraved cup.
    'That is the only chalice,' Plumpton replied. 'It belonged to de Montfort. He was very proud of it. After all, it was given to him by the great Earl Simon himself.'
    'And he drank from this?'
    Plumpton nodded.
    'Then this was the source of his death.'
    Plumpton took the brimming cup and drained it before placing it back on the altar. 'I do not think so,' he said. 'I have drunk the consecrated wine because someone had to and, in a few minutes, you will find out if it was poisoned. I think, Master Clerk,' he smiled at Corbett, 'you already know that. The chalice is not poisoned. Remember we all drank from it at mass.'
    Corbett chewed his lower lip and nodded. He could find nothing here. 'Sir priest,' he said, 'thank you for your help. I meant no disrespect.' Corbett gestured with his hand. 'I realize the priests here must clean and tidy the altar but I order you now, and this is from the king himself, none of this must be removed from the church until it has been examined again.'
    Plumpton shrugged his shoulders. 'Of course. But,' he said, 'I understand the king waits for you now. My Lord Bishop of London has prepared a banquet for us to celebrate the king's discomfiture but the cooks are ready and de Montfort's death has surely not spoilt our appetite.'
    Corbett grinned, passed through the ranks of soldiers down the altar steps, gazed coolly at the still glowering archbishop and walked back behind the rood-screen to join the king. He found Edward had regained his composure and allowed in others of the royal household: marshals, stewards, courtiers, all bustling around, attempting to impose some order on the chaos which had broken out. The king had a silver ewer of water and napkins brought to him. He washed his hands with fragrant soap and allowed the royal barber to comb his beard and hair and replace the silver chaplet. Once that was done, Edward announced that His Grace the Bishop of London awaited them in the chapter-house and, followed by a trail of retainers, Corbett and Surrey included, the king strode back into the sanctuary. He ignored the others standing there and, walking out of the east door, went through the windswept snow-covered cloisters and into the chapterhouse of the cathedral.
    The white plaster walls of the great chapter-house were covered in costly Flemish tapestries and thick Persian carpets had been laid on the polished oaken floor. Candelabra of thick silver, each with a pure wax candle, kept away the darkness. There were braziers full of charcoal on small wheels; fresh herbs had been placed on them before their steel caps were fixed and they were wheeled into the room.
    In the far wall a huge fire roared, fed with sea coal and fresh pine logs and at the end of the hall, on a dais under a heavy rafter beam draped with red, white and gold hangings, stood the great table; behind it, carved oaken chairs. The table itself was covered by a white cloth and bedecked with silver and gold ornaments. The canons had evidently raided their treasury, removing all the precious ornaments to grace the hall and so awe the king. Corbett wondered if it was meant as a quiet jest at Edward's expense. He would have heard de Montfort's tirade against royal taxation and then been brought here and feasted at the church's expense, the bishops and canons taunting him with the treasures they so avidly denied him. The king, as if realizing the joke intended for him, did not wait for others to join him