'These,' he rasped, 'would have been yours if the man had been killed.' De Craon took one of the bags between his finger and thumb, stared coolly at the Breton and dropped the bag at the soldier's feet. 'But you failed and so you only get one.' De Craon strode away, beneath his robe he clenched the bags of gold coins tightly so they bit into his hands but the Frenchman ignored the pain. He had wanted Corbett dead. He hated the man for being what he was as well as what he might do. De Craon stopped for a while and stared around the ruined chancel of the church he had met the assassins in, then he smiled, there would be other occasions to settle past debts with Monsieur Corbett.
FOUR
In Paris, Simon Fauvel, Edward I's agent to the French Court, was on his knees in a small church in the student quarter of the left bank of the Seine. Fauvel liked the tiny, close, musty church; its stark, bare walls and simple lines gave it an aura of purity, a place of prayer untouched by the glitter and gaudy colours of the outside world. Fauvel was not so much a religious man but a cynic tired of the mystery and intrigue which swirled through his normal life; the pretence, the deception, the clever words and phrases which disguised greed, power and the lust to rule. Fauvel knew all about these; as one of King Edward's agents at the French court, he kept the English king informed of developments, attempting to sift the kernel of truth from the thick dross of lies.
'A Peritus' or lawyer on Gascon affairs, Fauvel's task was to argue with French officials and lawyers ever eager to extend Philip's rights over the duchy. Now, Fauvel wearily thought, Philip IV had the duchy and seemed reluctant to give it back. Of course, Fauvel had protested but the French had just shrugged and murmured that such problems could not be solved in a day.
Fauvel tried to clear his mind and concentrate on the reason for visiting the church.