Paul Doherty - The Demon Archer

Ranulf blushed. ‘You misunderstand me, madam.’

‘Do I now? I have never misunderstood a man in my life! All sweetness and light, ready to play Cat’s-Cradle?’

‘That is not the case!’ Ranulf snapped, spots of anger high on his cheeks. He was mystified, baffled by what was happening, but the young woman’s face, her mannerisms, the shifting moods in those eyes, entranced him. Ranulf quietly cursed. He was tongue-tied. Strange, the woman reminded him of Lady Maeve, Corbett’s wife: she had the same effect. If he was honest, Ranulf felt overawed, even frightened, and this made him angry. He, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, clerk, bully-boy, fighting man! Alicia was still studying him.

‘You are telling the truth, aren’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘You really don’t mean any offence? I’ve never seen a man blush before.’ She gathered the reins up. ‘I am sorry if I was brusque.’

She stretched out a hand. Ranulf seized it and kissed the back of the leather glove. He glanced up. Alicia glimpsed the passion in his eyes and withdrew her hand.

‘They said your master was a strange one. But he keeps even stranger company.’ She raised a hand. ‘I bid you adieu, Master Ranulf-atte-Newgate.’

And, turning her horse, she cantered out of the yard. Ranulf watched her go. He felt like running after her, explaining exactly how he felt. Had he done the right thing? Shouldn’t he have offered to escort her? He heard a snigger and looked across. Two stable boys were watching him. Ranulf’s hand brushed the hilt of the dagger and both boys suddenly remembered they had tasks to do. He walked back into the taproom, where Corbett had finished his meal.

‘Ranulf, are you well?’ He gestured at the half-full trauncher. ‘Won’t you finish your meal?’

‘I don’t feel hungry.’

Corbett got to his feet. ‘Ranulf, in God’s name, what is the matter? Do you know that young woman?’

‘I wish to God I did!’

‘Ah, that’s it!’ Corbett put a hand gently on his shoulder. ‘Ranulf-atte-Newgate, the terror of the ladies, the man who even thought of becoming a priest!’

‘Don’t taunt me!’

‘I’m not taunting you.’ Corbett’s hand fell away. ‘It happens, Ranulf, it always happens as a terrible shock, and like death, we never know when.’

He studied Ranulf’s face, which looked paler than usual. Two red spots burned high in his cheeks, a rare sign when Ranulf was disturbed or agitated; his green cat-eyes gleamed as if he had been drinking.

‘There’s a time and a place,’ Corbett said. He took Ranulf by the arm and led him out through the taproom into the garden. ‘Always remember, Ranulf, the garden is the best place to plot.’ He grinned. ‘As well as to pay court. No listening ears, no watching eyes.’

They sat on a turfed seat. Corbett took his chancery ring and moved it so the sun glinted in the reflection.

‘What do we have here, Ranulf? Sunbeams or substance? Shadows or something more tangible? It’s the old dance, isn’t it? Whenever a murder takes place, people tell you what they want you to hear, make you see what they want you to see.’ He nudged his companion sharply. ‘Less of the lovelorn squire. Where is the keen-witted clerk of the Green Wax? Item.’ Corbett used his fingers to emphasise the points he made. ‘Lord Henry Fitzalan is very rich, powerful, disliked by all and sundry and he is killed during a hunt.’ He glanced at Ranulf but his manservant’s mind was elsewhere. ‘Item,’ Corbett continued. ‘Lord Henry was disliked by his younger brother over whose purse strings he kept strict control. Sir William was not present when Lord Henry was killed. Item — we have Robert Verlian, chief verderer. He hated Lord Henry for his lecherous intentions to his daughter. He, too, was not present when his lord was killed and inexplicably flees. Item — Sir William seems intent on placing the blame fairly on Verlian’s shoulders. Item — St Hawisia is now standing in that carp pond over there. Don’t you agree, Ranulf?’

‘Yes, yes, of course!’

‘Ranulf!’ Corbett exclaimed. ‘You are not listening to a word I am saying.’

The woebegone clerk mumbled an apology. Corbett secretly wondered if this was the first time the notorious Ranulf-atte-Newgate had been so smitten.

‘Item — we know that Sir William has been assisting his lord, the Prince of Wales. He probably brought Gaveston into Ashdown. He was helped in this by his sister, the indomitable Lady Madeleine. I suspect the man Sister Fidelis observed slipping into Lady Madeleine’s house was no less a person than the Gascon favourite. He probably sheltered in the priory waiting for the Prince of Wales to arrive. And?’

‘Item — ’ Ranulf spoke up. ‘We have an outlaw, a wolfs-head. He seems to do little damage but he has waged a vexatious war against Lord Henry, despatching cryptic messages, making reference to the “Rose of Rye”. We now know the owners of that tavern killed themselves, the result of Lord Henry’s lechery.’

‘Good,’ Corbett mused. ‘Item — we have the corpse of the young woman killed by an arrow to the throat. Her naked body is buried in the forest; it is later dug up and placed outside the priory gates. Item — we have a number of local notables whom we would like to interrogate more closely. The Franciscan, Brother Cosmas, had no love for his dead manor lord and we know he was an archer.’

‘So is our taverner,’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘We also have this hermit. He may have known, seen or heard something.’

‘True,’ Corbett agreed. ‘But there’s one person missing, isn’t there? Or rather two. This mysterious physician Pancius Cantrone. What was his relationship to Lord Henry?’

‘And who else?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Why, most learned of clerks, the lady we have just met.’

Ranulf started.

‘Don’t jump like a hare in March.’ Corbett patted him on the knee. ‘And don’t let your wits be fuddled. Alicia Verlian is a redoubtable young woman. I would wager that she can draw a bow and hit the mark.’

‘But she was at home the morning Lord Henry was killed!’

‘No, Ranulf, her father said he left her there. How do we know she didn’t follow, take a bow and quiver of arrows with her? We do know that someone left such weapons in one of the hollow oaks. She also has a horse. She could murder as quickly and expertly as anyone else.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Ranulf set his mouth in a stubborn challenge.

‘Fine, fine,’ Corbett replied softly. ‘But let’s keep up the hunt, Ranulf. What else do we know?’

‘That the King is not being truthful with us.’

‘Yes.’

‘And why did the French want Lord Henry to lead the English envoys to France? In the main,’ Ranulf concluded, ‘that’s the challenge which faces us.’

Corbett got to his feet. ‘So, I will leave you to think sweet thoughts and compose a poem. Tonight we journey to Ashdown Manor. It harbours all our opponents.’ Corbett rubbed his hands. ‘And, of course, there’s one name I must not forget, my arch-enemy, that Lucifer in the flesh, Seigneur Amaury de Craon.’

Corbett strode back into the tavern. Ranulf watched him go and then put his face in his hands. He couldn’t understand what was happening. One minute he was eating his food, the next he was looking on a face which made his heart skip, his blood race. ‘Lecherous and hot as a sparrow’ Maltote had once called him. But not now! He felt no spurt of lust! Ranulf just wanted to be with the woman, to sit on a chair and watch the different expressions on that lovely face. Engrossed in this way, Ranulf was hardly aware of the shadow which slipped into the garden and stood beside him until the unexpected guest shuffled his feet and coughed loudly. Ranulf glanced up.