Edward's own grandfather, John, had lost all of England's possessions in northern France and had to face a French invasion of England. Was the pattern going to repeat itself? Edward frowned and cracked his knuckles. He had made a serious mistake, he had underestimated Philip IV, nicknamed 'Le Bel', the French King had fooled everyone with his coy, blond looks, frank blue eyes and honest, down-to-earth approach. Now Edward knew better. Philip was intent on creating an empire which would have made Charlemagne gasp in amazement.

Edward flexed his fingers above the brazier. There must be a way out, he thought; he would reinforce the Welsh garrisons and send an army north to smash the Scots. And Philip IV? Edward sighed. He would grovel to the Pope, kiss his satin sandal, place England and its territories under his protection. Grandfather John had done the same with brilliant results. If anybody attacked England, they would, in fact, be assaulting the Holy Father and all the might of the Catholic Church. Edward grinned, he would send bushels of gold to that old reprobate, Pope Boniface VIII, and ask him to intervene, arbitrate. At the same time, he would root out the traitors here in Westminster. But whom could he trust? Whom would Burnell have chosen? Edward thought and his grin almost broke into a laugh. Of course! The King of England had chosen his man.

Hugh Corbett, senior clerk in the royal chancery of England, knelt before the statue of the Virgin in the palatial, incense-smelling lady chapel of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Boulogne-sur-Mer. The English clerk was not a religious man but he believed that the good Christ and his mother should be treated with every courtesy, so he prayed when he remembered to. Corbett found prayer hard, he did most of the talking while God always seemed too busy to answer him. Corbett had lit a pure beeswax candle and now knelt in its circle of light, desperately trying to fulfil his vow.