So the bloody chess game was played: pawn against pawn, knight against knight. Knowledge was the prize at stake. When would Philip give the orders to march? Where would his troops attack in Flanders? If Philip kept the advantage of surprise then all would be well, but if Edward of England got to know then so would his Flemish allies who would mass their forces against Philip's advance.

Publicly, however, Edward and Philip were the best of friends – the closest of allies even. Edward had married Philip's silver-haired sister Margaret whilst his own son, the Prince of Wales, was to be betrothed to Isabella, Philip's one and only daughter. The French sent Edward a pair of costly silken gloves with jewels crusted around the cuff. Edward responded with a Book of Hours, each page a glorious tapestry of colour. Philip called Edward 'his dear coz'. Edward replied, sending tender greetings to 'his dear brother in Christ'. Yet in the alleyways and musty taverns, each King waged a silent war.

In The Fleur de Lys tavern which stood on the corner of Rue des Capucines, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, Corbett's manservant and ostensibly Edward's unofficial envoy to the French court, sat in the corner of the taproom with Bardolph Rushgate. A young man of indeterminate parentage and mysterious past, Bardolph, despite his boyish features and golden love-locks, was a perpetual English student, financed by the English Exchequer to visit this university or that. He was instructed not to take any degree or study the mysteries of the Quadrivium but to collect information on behalf of his masters at home. Now he leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, pretending to be much the worse for drink. Ranulf, too, acted as if in his cups, his red hair tousled, eyes half-closed, mouth slack. He had even rubbed some chalk into his white face to make himself look more pallid. To all outward appearances they were two Englishmen who found the strong wines of Paris too rich to stomach.