One of their companions was unconscious, the other dying, blood bubbling from the wound at his neck. They ignored him. One sent his boot crashing against the chamber door which flew back on its leather hinges. Clothilde and de Savigny looked up in astonishment but neither the clerk nor the courtesan had time even to protest. Nogaret's men pointed their crossbows and sent a bolt deep into each lover's neck.

In the darkening streets below, the rest of Nogaret's men were pursuing Ranulf and Bardolph. The two English agents ran like the wind, slipping and scrabbling on the dirty cobbles.

'Who told them?' Bardolph hissed.

'Clothilde!' gasped Ranulf. 'Who else? She did not say who she was meeting or de Savigny would never have been allowed to enter the tavern alive. She must have told them merely that tonight we would act. She sold her favours to both camps.'

Bardolph stopped at a corner, leaned against the wall and gasped for breath.

'The lying bitch!' he breathed. 'I'll kill her!'

'No need,' Ranulf answered, pushing him on. 'She and de Savigny will already be dead – as will we be soon if you don't run!'

The two Englishmen fled deeper into the warren of alleyways. Ranulf had prepared for such an eventuality. As long as they reached the riverside they would be safe. He had the precious roll of manuscript. Others in 'Master Long Face's' service, as Ranulf secretly called Corbett, would provide safe passage to Boulogne and a ship to England.

At first they could hear the cries of their pursuers but gradually these faded. The streets were black, the cobbled alleyways running off them shrouded in darkness. The good citizens of Paris slept. No one was about except withered, hideous beggars whining fruitlessly for alms. Ranulf and Bardolph thought they were safe. They left a street of dark, high-gabled houses and were half-way across the open square when they heard a shout.