Paul Doherty - Assassin in the Greenwood

'Nothing really, My Lady. We are more interested in a visitor you had quite recently, as well as a woman who stayed here. You know them both well: Robin of Locksley, a distant kinsman of yours, and the Lady Mary?'

Dame Elizabeth may have been able to mask her emotions with a cold demeanour but Corbett could have sworn she nearly dropped her wine glass. The Prioress put this back on the table and Corbett caught the nervous shaking of her hands and the flicker of anxiety in her eyes.

'Dame Elizabeth, you seem upset?'

The Prioress licked her thin lips.

'Not upset, Sir Hugh, more angry. We have heard of the outlaw's depredations. I am ashamed that we share the same blood! Even more distressed that we gave shelter to a woman who now runs wild with wolvesheads in the darkness of a forest!'

'My Lady.' Corbett leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk which separated them. 'The King is determined that this outlaw be brought to book and yet, according to what I have discovered, Robin of Locksley left the King's army in Scotland determined to marry the Lady Mary and live out his days in peace at Locksley. The priest there, Father Edmund, has said this. The outlaw's old steward repeats it. So, what happened to change Robin's mind?'

The Prioress rose to her feet and began pacing up and down, pretending to adjust the wimple on her head or smoothe the voluminous sleeves of her gown. Corbett could see she was still trying to hide her agitation.

'My Lady,' he added softly, 'I am the King's Commissioner in this matter and have asked you a question.'

The Prioress stood still and glared at him. Corbett flinched at the hatred in her eyes.

'I detest Robin of Locksley!' she spat out. 'I always have! His love of the common man. The way the vulgus recount his exploits. His swaggering arrogance and his violation of the King's laws, only to be rewarded by that same King himself.' Dame Elizabeth paused, clenching her hands.

'So why?' Corbett interrupted, studying the woman's hate-filled face. 'Why did you give sanctuary to his love?'

'Because he asked me to!' she spat back. 'Because I felt sorry for the Lady Mary. Because I thought I could rescue her and lead her back to the path of righteousness.'

Oh, I am sure you did, Corbett thought. You would have been only too happy to see the relationship end. To hide a woman Robin loved away from his eyes and those of the world.

'Did the Lady Mary become a nun?'

'No, she professed no vows but stayed here like other ladies, widows and women who seek refuge from the world of men. And she was happy until…'

'Until Robin returned?'

'Exactly!'

'Why did the Lady Mary come here in the first place?' Corbett asked.

'When Robin accepted the King's pardon, one of the conditions was that he serve for a while with the royal army in Scotland. Lady Mary was disappointed, deeply hurt that Robin could forget her so quickly and put the King's wishes before her.' Dame Elizabeth smiled thinly. 'Like many men, Robin made promises he never kept.'

'But he did come back?'

'Oh, yes, swaggering through the gatehouse. He and that great hulk, John Little, sitting on their war horses like lords come to judgement.'

'And the Lady Mary?'

'For a while she and Robin were closeted in the guest house.'

'And then?'

The Prioress shrugged and sat back in her chair.

'Like any silly girl, Lady Mary's head was turned. She packed a few belongings and rode off with the love of her life.'

'Yet they did not return to Locksley but to their outlaw ways in Sherwood?'

'I cannot answer for that,' Dame Elizabeth snapped. 'But when you catch him, if you catch him, Sir Hugh, you can ask him that question just before he's turned off the ladder on the gallows.' She leaned back, steepling her fingers. 'If you do not believe me, ask any of the sisters in this nunnery.'

Corbett was glad to escape that oppressive room. He was uneasy at what Dame Elizabeth had told him but there was nothing he could do. Whatever had turned Robin from a peace-loving soldier into an outlaw, ever ready to violate the King's peace, was still not resolved.

The problem was nagging at Corbett when he arrived back in Nottingham the following day. He found the castle in an uproar. Sir Peter Branwood met him in the outer bailey and, before Corbett could even ask for Ranulf or Maltote, led him across, through the Middle Gate, to a coffin which lay before the altar in the small chapel. Corbett, tired and bruised after his journey, watched wordlessly as Sir Peter swept away the purple pall, prised open the coffin lid with his dagger and pulled back the gauze covering.

Corbett took one look and turned away, gagging. Gisborne lay there. The embalmer, or whoever had dressed the body for burial, had done his or her best and the blood had been washed from the jagged neck, but the decapitated, bruised head still lay askew. Corbett recognised Gisborne's features despite the face being covered with purple-red bruises, as if the head had been bounced like a ball. He sat down on the altar steps and watched as Branwood re-sealed the coffin.

'So Gisborne met with failure?'

'You could say that,' Branwood sarcastically replied. 'He lost over a dozen of his own men. My Lord of Gisborne,' he tapped the side of the coffin, 'would not be advised and tried to take on the outlaw horde. We went to assist but returned within the hour. Gisborne was already too deep in the forest.' Branwood sheathed his dagger. 'Yesterday evening his body was pitched on the Brewhouse stairs with his head alongside in a barrel of pickled pork. If I may advise, Sir Hugh, in your next letter to the King, perhaps you could tell His Grace that with regard to Nottinghamshire outlaws, their capture and execution should be entrusted to those officers the King has appointed here.'

'I shall tell him that,' Corbett muttered as Branwood strode out of the chapel.

The clerk got wearily to his feet, picked up his saddlebag and cloak, genuflected to the altar and wandered across the inner bailey to his own chamber in King John's tower. He found this deserted but checked that everything was as he had left it, including those items he'd filched from Vechey's room. He washed, changed and lay for a while on the bed, half-dozing until woken by Ranulf and Maltote.

'Was your journey successful?' his manservant asked.

Corbett pulled a face.

'You have heard of Gisborne's defeat and death?' 'The whole town is buzzing with the news,' Ranulf replied.

Corbett rubbed his eyes.

'And you, Ranulf, any success with that cipher?' He mournfully shook his head.

Corbett rose and stretched. 'Maltote, be so kind as to fetch some wine and perhaps some bread from the buttery. Tell that surly cook the King's Commissioner demands it.'

He waited until the messenger had slipped out of the room.

'Ranulf, this mystery of the outlaw.' Corbett threw up his hands in exasperation. 'If a man like Gisborne cannot trap him then what chance do you and I have? The cipher is still a mystery and time is passing. Once those French troops cross into Flanders, the King will need us in London. Oh, by the way.' He walked over to Ranulf. 'On my journey to Kirklees, someone tried to poison me. Did you tell anyone here where I was going?'

Ranulf's face looked the picture of innocence as he raised his hands. 'As God is my witness, Master, I did not even discuss the matter with Maltote.'

'Well, someone tried to kill me. Either the traitor in the castle or…'

'Achitophel?'

Corbett nodded.

Maltote returned with a jug of wine, three cups and a platter containing some small white loaves and strips of dried bacon. They sat round the table, Corbett sharing out the food as he listened to Ranulf chatter about what had happened in the castle since his departure.