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Ranulf?’ Edward tried to hide his embarrassment by punching Corbett’s manservant playfully on the shoulder. ‘A man much loved by the maidens, eh?’
    He turned and beckoned a squire who came hurrying across with a tray of goblets. Edward filled three, although the man had been running so fast the silver tray shook. Once Edward had served the three cups he cuffed the man sharply on the ear, and the squire retreated, hand to the side of his head.
    ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Corbett protested.
    ‘No, no, it wasn’t.’ Edward took a gulp of wine and turned. ‘Rushlett!’ he bawled.
    The aggrieved squire came tottering back. Edward pointed to the three cups.
    ‘I am sorry I hit you. When we’ve finished, the three goblets and the tray, they are yours to sell.’
    His squire retreated, profusely thanking him.
    ‘They are not mine to give,’ Edward admitted. ‘They belong to the Bishop of Winchester but, by the time he realises, they’ll be sold. Anyway, he’s rich enough to buy them back. You are off to Ashdown!’ he continued in a rush. ‘Lord Henry’s been killed and the French envoy frets for a replacement. Father’s in such a hurry to get me married, eh?’
    ‘You look forward to your nuptials?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Don’t play the innocent fool with me, clerk!’ the Prince replied. He sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to marry the bloody wench! For the rest of my life I’ll have Philip on my back. That sanctimonious, hypocritical, conniving...’
    ‘Future father-in-law!’ Corbett finished the sentence.
    The Prince wiped the sweat from his face and took another sip from the goblet.
    ‘When Father dies,’ he added viciously.
    ‘May that day be far off,’ Corbett interrupted; even to discuss the King’s death was petty treason.
    ‘Yes, yes, but die he must! Anyway, when he dies, Corbett, Ranulf, I want you in my household. I’m going to need you. The nobles don’t like me, the bishops cluck their tongues like chickens.’
    ‘It’s not you, sire, it’s...’
    ‘Yes, yes, I know, Piers Gaveston!’
    Corbett relaxed, now the name was out. The Prince of Wales’ favourite, some even whispered lover, was regarded as a Gascon upstart, the son of a witch who seemed to exercise undue influence over the King’s heir. Gaveston was sharp of wit, a born jouster and horseman. A beautiful man, Gaveston played Jonathan to Edward’s David. Rumours had abounded, gossip that the two had been found alone in bed and the King, infuriated, had exiled Gaveston from the kingdom.
    ‘I want Piers back!’ Edward stamped his foot. ‘If I cannot have my friends, what use a kingdom?’
    Corbett glanced warningly at Ranulf.
    ‘I may join you at Ashdown.’ Edward turned away, watching Corbett out of the corner of his eye.
    ‘You were friends with Lord Henry?’ Corbett asked.
    Edward waggled a finger playfully. ‘You stand there, Corbett, as pious as a nun with those innocent eyes and guileless face. You should have been a lawyer in King’s Bench. I had no great friendship with the Lord Henry but with his brother, Sir William, yes. And, as you well know, I have made pilgrimages to St Hawisia’s shrine.’
    ‘And you stayed at Ashdown Manor?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘There or that tavern on the Ashdown road. There’s good hunting in the forest though.’ He grimaced. ‘Lord Henry found it different, didn’t he? So, when do you leave?’
    ‘As soon as possible, sire. Your father has given us orders and to Ashdown we must go.’
    Edward nodded. He absentmindedly clapped Corbett on the shoulder and, whispering under his breath, sauntered back to his retainers.
    ‘What was all that about?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Corbett replied. ‘This is a tangled web, everybody’s telling lies. Philip’s a liar. De Craon wouldn’t know the truth if it hit him on the nose. Our King hides the truth while Prince Edward ploughs his own lonely furrow. What hour do you think it is?’
    Ranulf peered up at the