Paul Doherty: Assassin in the Greenwood

'Remember, Maltote,' Corbett insisted, 'a perfect square, eight by eight.'

Corbett then began to fill in the squares with the names of the chess pieces. At first Maltote watched but soon grew bored and lay for a while on his bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering where Ranulf was and how long they would stay in this benighted castle. Across the room Master Long Face scratched his head, muttered and swore to himself as pieces of parchment were tossed aside. The sun began to dip. Servants came up, declaring the evening meal was ready, but Corbett told them to go away.

Ranulf returned much the worse for drink, declaring loudly that Lady Amisia was more rested and comforted by their assurances.

'Especially,' Ranulf shouted, 'by the promises Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the Secret Seal, has given her.'

Corbett ignored him and continued with his studies.

'Aren't we going to have something to eat?' Ranulf moaned.

'Not in this castle,' Corbett replied. 'Tighten your belt and think of the banquets awaiting us in London.'

Ranulf shrugged, pulled the dice from his wallet and began to show Maltote the finer points of cheating.

At last, just when they were beginning to despair, Corbett grunted, 'I've got the bastard!'

Ranulf and Maltote wandered over. Corbett looked up, his eyes red-rimmed with tiredness.

'This chess board,' he said, 'has the solution.'

He was about to continue when there was a loud knocking on the door.

'Come in!' Corbett shouted.

Sir Peter Branwood, followed by Roteboeuf, strode into the chamber.

'Sir Hugh,' Branwood queried, 'is all well?'

Corbett stared down at the scrap of parchment.

'Oh, yes, Sir Peter, I think all is well.' He smiled apologetically. 'I am sorry, we are involved in business which does not concern the wolfshead.'

Sir Peter looked nonplussed.

'I will explain later,' Corbett gently added.

'Do you want any victuals?'

'No, no, we have drunk enough.'

Branwood pulled a face and made to leave.

'Sir Peter!'

The under-sheriff turned, one hand on the latch.

'Yes?'

'Why should Lecroix hang himself in the cellar?' Corbett abruptly asked.

'God knows. Remember, Sir Hugh, the castle was under attack. Perhaps he felt safer there.'

Corbett nodded absentmindedly. 'Yes, yes, perhaps he did.'

Once the under-sheriff had left, Corbett went back to the crude chess board he had sketched on a piece of parchment.

'Forget the outlaw,' he whispered. 'You, Maltote and Ranulf, I thank you. Apart from Philip of France, his generals on the Flemish border, perhaps Messieurs Nogaret and de Craon, we are the only people who know where his armies will attack. Look, I'll explain.'

'Let's pretend we are playing chess. We are the white pieces.' Corbett smiled at Ranulf. 'Philip's favourite colour: he sees himself as the Lord of Light. We would arrange our chess pieces as follows, going from left to right: Castle, Knight, Bishop, Queen, King, Bishop, Knight, Castle. In front of each of these pieces we'd have a Pawn. However, let's forget these and the left-hand side of the board from Castle to Queen. Instead we'll concentrate on the four pieces to the right. We now have King, Bishop, Knight, Castle.' Corbett took up his pen. 'Let us insert the letters of the alphabet above these four as follows:'

He finished the rough sketch. And now the cipher: The three kings go to the tower of the two fools with the two chevaliers".'

'Master,' Ranulf interrupted, 'the cipher talks of chevaliers, a tower and fools, not knights, a castle and bishops.'

'In French chess, Ranulf, chevalier is knight, the tower is the castle and, perhaps perceptively, the piece we term "bishop", the French call "fool"!' Corbett pointed with his quill. 'The three kings could be any of the letters in that column above the king. The same applies to the two knights or chevaliers, the bishops or fools and their castle or tower.' Corbett tapped the greasy piece of parchment. 'Some of my conclusions are based on guesswork but I have a rough map of the Flemish border towns and, using this cipher, have tried to discover which border town would fit the riddle.'

'Why have you only used one half of the chess board?' Maltote crossly interrupted.

'Don't you remember?' Ranulf snarled. 'The Riddle Master had neatly creased his chess board into two. Continue, Master,' Ranulf added with an air of superiority.

'One word,' Corbett replied, 'fits the cipher based on this chess board and answers the riddle. COURTRAI!' Corbett wrote the name out carefully. 'The three kings are the letters A, I and U. The two knights or chevaliers are the letters C and O. The bishops or fools are the letter R twice whilst the castle or tower is the letter 'I.' Corbett unrolled a greasy piece of parchment displaying a crude map of the Franco-Flemish border. 'Courtrai is a good choice,' he mused. 'The Flemings would never expect the blow to fall there. What Philip intends to do is over-awe this city, force it to capitulate, then spread the news as his forces advance on the next.'

'In other words,' Ranulf added, 'Philip does not intend to flood Flanders with soldiers but hop from one principal city to another?'

Corbett threw his quill down. 'I think so,' he muttered. 'I hope so, because that's the best I can do. No other Flemish city agrees with this cipher.'

'What now?' Ranulf asked.

'Maltote, I want you and Ranulf to go into Nottingham and buy whatever victuals we need; a jug of wine, bread, fruit and marchpanes will suffice.'

'And you, Master?'

Corbett piled together the pieces of manuscript on his table.

'I am going to write down all I have learnt or seen since arriving here. Everything I know about Sir Eustace's death as well as anything and everything I have discovered about this outlaw.' Corbett rubbed his eyes. 'I have suspicions, vague unsubstantiated ones, particularly after my journey to Kirklees. Now I want to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. If I can make no sense of it by this time tomorrow, we shall return to London. If I can…'Corbett shrugged. 'Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'

Ranulf and Maltote needed no second bidding, though on the stairs Ranulf told Maltote to wait and went back to see Corbett.

'Master!' he called, closing the door softly behind him.

'Yes, Ranulf?' Corbett asked. 'I thought you had gone.'

'Your promise, Master.' Ranulf fairly danced from foot to foot. 'I mean, it was you who unlocked the secret of the cipher.'

Corbett smiled. 'We don't know if it's correct, Ranulf. We won't know until Philip moves. In any case, you will be responsible. I shall tell His Grace the King that your involvement in this matter was invaluable.'

'But what if it's wrong?' Ranulf cried, ever wary of what the future might hold.

'In which case, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, it will be too late to do anything. By then the King will have given you a solemn promise to elevate you to the post of clerk in the Royal Chancery.'

Ranulf fairly skipped down the steps. Once they were out of the castle, he solemnly assured Maltote that when he reached high office he, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, would not forget his friends.

They visited Amisia at the tavern. Ranulf once again offered his condolences and gave more money to the landlord for Rahere's body to be treated, coffined and transported to St Mary's for burial.

'What will happen to me?' Amisia asked, seated on the edge of the bed, her beautiful face now white and swollen with tears. The soft-hearted Maltote just stared at her pityingly whilst admiring Ranulf's delicate care of her.

'Everything will be all right,' he assured her. 'Master Long Face, Sir Hugh Corbett,' he explained, 'has a great deal of influence at court. Tell me,' he added, 'did your brother own any property or tenements in England?'