Free Hugh Corbett 10 - The Devil's Hunt by Paul Doherty Page B

them in. Corbett was immediately struck by the contrast between the Hall and the hostelry: here, bright oaken wainscoting covered most of the walls, above this hung coloured cloths and tapestries; rush matting lay across the paving stones; candles glowed in brass holders and small, tin pots, full of fragrant herbs, were placed on shelves or in comers.
    Moth led them silently into the parlour, which was a comfortable, cosy chamber. Tripham and Lady Mathilda were sitting in box chairs before the fire. Moth, helped by a servant, brought stools for Corbett and his companions. Greetings were stiffly exchanged, the offer of wine and small portions of toasted cheese made and taken. Tripham must have caught Ranulf’s sardonic glance at the luxuries round the room: the tapestries, Turkish rugs, pewter and silver pots glistening on shelves; the small, metal coffers and three long chests standing under a table in one corner.
    ‘Sir Hugh,’ Tripham apologised, sipping from his wine, ‘I appreciate that the hostelry is, perhaps, not the best or most luxurious of quarters.’
    Corbett quietly kicked Ranulf before he could reply.
    ‘I’ve slept in worse,’ Corbett retorted. ‘Master Norreys does his best!’
    ‘You see,’ Lady Mathilda spoke up, ‘the statutes of Sparrow Hall make it very clear. My brother, God bless his memory, decreed this was a house of study and, apart from myself, no other visitors can be lodged here.’
    ‘You are not a visitor,’ Tripham declared tactfully.
    Lady Mathilda just sniffed and looked away.
    ‘How long has the college been founded?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Thirty years,’ Lady Mathilda replied. ‘The year after King Edward’s coronation. My brother -’ her eyes brightened ‘- wanted a place of scholarship, of books and manuscripts. Sparrow Hall has produced clerks, scholars, priests and bishops,’ she continued proudly. ‘My brother would have been pleased, though,’ she added darkly, ‘perhaps his contribution to the hall and its founding have not been fully recognised.’
    ‘Lady Mathilda,’ Tripham sighed. ‘We have been down this path many a time. Our resources are few.’
    ‘I still believe,’ Lady Mathilda sniffed, ‘that the Hall could find new resources to found a Chair in the University in my brother’s name.’ She pulled at the skin of her throat. ‘Soon all those who knew my brother will be dead and his great achievements forgotten.’ She glanced at Corbett. ‘The King, too, is ungrateful: a grant of monies...’
    ‘His Grace cannot grant,’ Corbett replied, ‘what he has not got.’
    ‘Ah yes,’ Lady Mathilda agreed. ‘The war in Scotland. It’s a pity.’ She picked up her wine cup and stared at the fire. ‘It’s a pity Edward has forgotten my brother and the day he defended the royal standard at Evesham when de Montfort fell.’
    ‘No one forgets,’ Tripham interrupted tactfully.
    ‘No, and neither do I,’ Lady Mathilda retorted. ‘Perhaps the Hall’s accounts should be examined more carefully.’
    ‘What are you implying?’ Tripham’s scraggy neck tensed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a cork in a pond.
    Ranulf and Maltote sat bemused at the rancour between two of their hosts. Corbett, embarrassed, stared at the sparrow carved above the motto on the stone mantelpiece. He translated the Latin, a quotation from the Gospel, ‘Are you not worth more than many sparrows?’ Lady Mathilda must have noticed Corbett’s distraction for she sighed, gesturing at Tripham that these matters would have to wait.
    ‘Sir Hugh, do you make any sense of Passerel’s death? Could he have been the Bellman?’ Tripham asked. ‘I mean, the attack by the students was unforgiveable. But—’ He pulled a face. ‘Ascham was a well-loved master, child-like in his innocence. He did scrawl most of Passerel’s name on a piece of parchment before he died.’
    ‘It would be tempting,’ Corbett replied, ‘to claim Passerel as the Bellman; to think that he murdered