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was correct, there was little he could do with the information except wait, so he decided to turn his attention to his companions. Lancaster and Richmond he tended to leave alone, Eastry was a cold fish and spent most of the time in his own small chamber, so he concentrated on Waterton. The latter had proved himself a brilliant clerk, the document he drew up summarising the meeting with Philip reflected an ordered, logical mind. As a courtesy, the English and French had exchanged memoranda of the meeting at the Louvre and Philip IV had been so impressed by the English scribe's work as to send him a purse of money as a gift.
    Nonetheless, Waterton puzzled Corbett: he was secretive and withdrawn, using every opportunity to leave his colleagues to wander out in the streets and, unless his services as a scribe were needed, he would not return until the early hours the following morning. Corbett did not regard this as too suspicious for Paris and its fleshpots were an enduring attraction but, as the days passed, Waterton became even more secretive. Corbett also noticed that when French officials or messengers visited the lodgings, they always made a point of asking if Monsieur Waterton was in attendance, sometimes they brought gifts and, on one occasion Corbett thought he saw one of the French slip Waterton a piece of parchment.
    Corbett finally asked Ranulf to follow Waterton on one of his nightly expeditions but his servant returned to announce he had been unsuccessful. 'I followed him for a while,' Ranulf wearily commented, 'but then a group of drunkards surrounded me and, when they found out I was English, they began to taunt and jostle me. By the time I was free of them, Waterton was gone.' Corbett his suspicions now aroused, decided to question Waterton.
    He chose his moment carefully: one Sunday after Mass he found Waterton alone in his small, windowless chamber. The English scribe was seated at a table busily drafting a letter, surrounded by rolls of parchment, pumice stones, pens and inkhorns. Corbett, apologising for the intrusion, began a desultory conversation about the weather, the recent meeting with the French and the possible date of their return to England. Waterton was polite but cautious, his long narrow face showing nothing except signs of fatigue and tension. As he talked, Corbett noted his companion's very costly dress, the soft leather boots, the pure woollen cloak, hose and doublet with a frothy cambric lace showing at the neck. He wore a silver link chain round his neck and an amethyst ring on the little finger of his left hand. Quite the lady's man, Corbett thought.
    'You find me interesting, Master Corbett?' Waterton suddenly asked.
    'You are a very skilful clerk,' Corbett replied. 'Yet, so secretive. I know little about you.'
    'Why should you?'
    Corbett shrugged, 'We are all locked up here together,' he replied. 'We face a common danger, yet you wander around Paris, even after the curfew. It is unsafe.' Waterton picked up a slender, wicked-looking paper knife and began to cut a piece of vellum, drawing carefully along the ruled line and rubbing the parchment with the grey pumice stone until its surface glowed like soft silk. He stopped and looked up.
    'What are you implying, Corbett?'
    'Nothing. I am implying nothing, I just asked you a question.'
    Waterton pursed his lips in annoyance and threw down the pumice stone. 'Look, Corbett,' he snapped. 'My business is my own. You scrutinise me like some village gossip. My father was a well-to-do merchant, hence my relative wealth. My mother was French so I am both fluent in the language and not afraid of walking about a French city. Satisfied?'
    Corbett nodded. 'I am sorry,' he replied, not feeling the least contrite. 'I was only asking.'
    Waterton scowled at him and returned to scraping the parchment, so Corbett left, bitterly regretting the meeting had achieved nothing except alerting Waterton and putting him on his guard.
    Corbett did not share his