He lifted the latch, slipped quietly in and looked around. The flagstoned passageway was dark and empty. A candle flickered weakly in its brass holder fixed high in the wall, affording some light as he climbed the rickety wooden staircase. Eudo was pleased. How fortunate he had been to find Mistress Celeste, a plump young doxy, rosy-cheeked and fresh from the Norman countryside. Eudo had used her charms to bait and trap one of Philip's clerks from the Royal Chancery at the Louvre Palace: the wench proved to be intelligent, sweetly protesting her innocence, promising all sorts of delights as she wheedled one secret after another from the gullible French clerk.

Eudo reached the top of the stairs and gently pushed open the chamber door. The room was dark and he tensed. Something was wrong. Surely Celeste would leave a candle burning? He stood like a dog, sniffing the darkness, his eyes strained against the gloom. He caught the heavy fragrance of Celeste's perfume and made out the sleeping form of the young prostitute on her pallet bed underneath the small, half-open window. Eudo relaxed and grinned. Perhaps the girl was tired after a busy night? Perhaps he could savour some of the joys the young French clerk had experienced?

'Celeste!' he whispered. 'Celeste, it is me, Eudo!'

Silence greeted his words.

'Is there anything wrong?' he asked softly.

Alarmed now, he paused, ears straining for a sound.

He heard the house creak and groan but it was old and the beggar on the corner would surely have alerted him to any approach. Eudo drew his dagger and walked over to the bed.

'Celeste!' he hissed, and gave the girl a vigorous shake.

Her body flopped over and Eudo opened his mouth in a silent scream. Celeste's throat had been slashed from ear to ear and the viscous red blood soaked the bodice of her dress and coagulated in dark pools on the blanket. Eudo felt something warm and sticky on his fingers.