Paul Doherty: Assassin in the Greenwood

'You can shut up!' he hissed. 'You liked him as much as I did! Master, do you think Amisia is also guilty?'

Corbett pursed his lips and shook his head. 'I doubt it. It's a fairly common trick. I mean, apart from the Lady Maeve, how many other people know of the human filth we wade through, Ranulf? It's a well-known device,' Corbett continued bitterly, 'and one used time and again. A group of monks go through Dover; seven are genuine, the eighth is a spy. A collection of merchants go to Canterbury; all seem honest burgesses but one's a spy. Or the troupe of jugglers, the gaggle of students. In this case, Ranulf, it's the beautiful sister who'll attract attention, not the merry rhymester.' Corbett added. 'Yet she will still have to be questioned.'

'But,' Maltote interrupted briskly, 'if Rahere came to Nottingham, Master, he had no guarantee of meeting you.'

'Achitophel was no back-street thug or roaring boy, Maltote,' Corbett replied. 'He was a skilled assassin. He would search out the terrain, plan his move and carry out murder as swiftly and silently as a plunging hawk. Three days ago I left for Locksley. Ranulf chatters to Amisia, Amisia chatters to her brother who hastens after me. And what better way of killing one of the King's clerks? All the coroner would declare was that I ate something which did not agree with me. I would be dressed for burial, coffined and laid beneath the sod before anyone really knew who I was.'

'I am sorry, Master,' Ranulf apologised. 'I was tricked like some coney in the hay.'

Corbett shrugged. 'Don't apologise, Ranulf. Your friendship with Rahere might still bear fruit. You see Rahere, or Achitophel, would have two orders. One was to kill me but the second would be to discover if I had broken the cipher.' Corbett stared directly at his manservant. 'You did discuss the cipher with the Riddle Master?'

Ranulf closed his eyes. 'Yes,' he mumbled. 'But, as God is my witness, I never gave him the reason why.'

'You wouldn't have to,' Maltote tactlessly retorted, and got a swift kick in the shins for his pains.

'Of course,' Corbett continued, ignoring the pantomime, 'Achitophel soon realised we hadn't broken the cipher, and planned my death. That's why he wanted to meet me. Like an executioner who studies a man's weight and stance before putting the noose round his neck and turning him off the ladder. Perhaps I might reveal some weakness or details of a journey I was planning.' He looked over at Ranulf. 'I don't suppose he was any help with the cipher?'

'No, Master, but what's in those pieces of parchment?'

'Nothing remarkable. Letters from friends and acquaintances which may be ciphers carrying instructions and other messages. My colleagues at Westminster will enjoy studying them.' Corbett sifted amongst the pieces of paper on the bed. 'Nevertheless…'

'Who killed him?' Ranulf suddenly asked.

Corbett began to laugh softly, much to the surprise of Ranulf and Maltote who could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Master Long Face laughed in a week.

'Master, what is so funny?' Ranulf snapped.

'Can't you see, Ranulf? Rahere or Achitophel made the greatest mistake which can beset any assassin or hunter. Indeed, he has much in common with Gisborne. In both cases the hunter became the hunted. We know there is a traitor in the castle. He would watch us and become intrigued by your constant visits and deep conversations with a mere Riddle Master in a Nottinghamshire tavern.'

Realisation dawned on Ranulf.

'Of course!' he breathed. 'And the traitor would think Rahere some agent of the King, a spy providing valuable assistance to us here in Nottingham?'

'Correct! Did you see anyone from the garrison keeping a close watch on you, Rahere or this tavern?'

Ranulf shook his head. 'Never once.'

'Of course our traitor would have to be very careful. And what do you do with a problem you can't resolve, Ranulf, eh?' Corbett pulled a face. 'The simplest solution is to remove the mystery and murder Rahere. For his part, Achitophel was so intent on watching us, so confident in his own disguise, he would never suspect danger from another quarter. I suppose he left the tavern this morning on some personal errand, was attacked, quickly garrotted, and his purse and boots removed to make it look as if he was the victim of some alleyway assault.'

'Amisia will blame us,' Ranulf mournfully replied.

'No,' Corbett assured him. 'For the moment, Ranulf, do not tell her why we are here, or indeed anything about her brother's secret profession. She will take time to recover from this grievous wound alone. Further revelations might drive her out of her wits.'

Corbett resumed his sifting amongst the pieces of paper on the bed.

'What are you searching for, Master?'

'Achitophel or Rahere was an intelligent man, a well-paid agent, a trusted spy of King Philip, but he would not know the cipher until you gave it to him. Tell me, Ranulf, if you were in his position, bored, waiting for events to develop as you lounged about some tawdry provincial town, what would you do? You are, by nature,' Corbett continued, 'a solver of riddles.'

'I would try to solve this one,' Ranulf reflected. 'I would see it as a challenge.'

'Exactly! Of course, Rahere would never tell you but he would have to satisfy himself. Remember, Ranulf, he was a well-placed agent who knew the minds of his masters in Paris. What I am looking for is some indication of the path he followed.'

'He always told me it could be some poem or song,' Ranulf crossly added.

'So we will ignore all those,' Corbett muttered, much to Maltote's delight.

Corbett checked the papers again. Most of them bore riddles or rhyming poems. One piece, however, caught his eye and he plucked it out. Corbett studied this carefully: a crude portrayal of a chess board.

'I wonder?' he scratched his head and sat on the edge of the bed.

The landlord came back and asked if there was anything they wanted. Corbett absentmindedly asked for some wine, a quill, and an ink horn. Then, with Ranulf and Maltote craning over his shoulder, he began to add to the manuscript, writing down each piece: king, queen, bishop, knight, castle, pawn.

An hour passed, the wine jug emptied and Corbett's exasperation grew.

'You see,' he commented loudly as if talking to himself, 'every cipher is based on something: the titles of books, verses from the scriptures, the names of angels or the first letter of certain towns. But this is different.'

Ranulf jabbed a dirty finger.

'Why is the piece of parchment so neatly divided down the middle?' he asked. 'It's as if Rahere specially creased it, to cut the chess board neatly in half, four rows of squares on either side.'

Corbett held the piece of parchment up to the sunlight pouring through the unshuttered window.

'I wonder?' He got to his feet. 'Look, Ranulf, Maltote, put everything back as you found it. Amisia will soon awaken. Ranulf, stay here and comfort her. Swear the landlord to silence about what we have done. Assure Amisia that I will give her every protection but see if you can learn anything fresh about her brother's activities. Maltote, you come back to the castle.' Corbett became lost in his own thoughts again, the piece of parchment wrapped tightly in his fist.

With Maltote trailing behind, he went back to the castle, taking care to go up the Brewhouse stairs through the postern gate, slipping along the walls, making sure no one stopped or bothered them. For the first time since his arrival in Nottingham, Corbett felt a thrill of pleasure. Somehow he might break the cipher. He laughed softly at how Philip's own agent had provided the key.

Once back in his chamber Corbett laid his writing implements out on the table, ordering Maltote to help in drawing up crude chess boards.