Paul Doherty: Assassin in the Greenwood

'Ranulf-atte-Newgate, My Lady.'

'Yes. And the earl, a foul-mouthed…'

'You mean the King's cousin, Henry de Lacey, Earl of Lincoln, Guardian of the Prince of Wales and the King's most successful general in Gascony?'

The Prioress bit her lip as she realised she had gone too far.

'What do you want?' she snapped, flouncing down into a chair.

Corbett nodded to Ranulf. 'Please wait outside.' He looked at the young nun who had accompanied the Prioress. 'And you too.' He smiled. 'My manservant has a number of droll stories that may interest you.'

Lady Elizabeth made to rise again.

'You, My Lady, will sit down!' Corbett ordered. 'I must take some of your time. If you had told me, the King's Commissioner, the truth the first time we met, then your journey and this meeting would not have been necessary. If you have objections to speaking now, then take them to the King. I assure you, you will spend your remaining years on bread and water in some forlorn nunnery at the other end of the kingdom.'

Ranulf heard these last few words as he closed the door behind him. He was tempted to eavesdrop for he knew Master Long Face was closing in on his quarry. However, the door was thick and the young nun rather pretty. Ranulf soon had her giggling at his own tale about the miller's wife, the miller's daughter and the lecherous clerk.

An hour later Corbett left the room, a smile on his face.

'I think your Prioress needs you,' he murmured. 'She has to unpack and prepare herself for this evening's banquet. And you, Ranulf…'

He took his manservant by the elbow and led him down the stairs, whispering quiet instructions about what he was to do that evening. Corbett then returned to his chamber, prepared himself, and wrapping certain items in his cloak, went down to the great hall for what Sir Peter Branwood grandly termed his 'victory banquet'.

The under-sheriff had done his best to transform the hall. The floor had been cleaned, tapestries hung against the walls and the great table had been moved from the dais to accommodate all of Sir Peter's household as well as de Lacey, Corbett, Ranulf, and a very grim-faced Lady Prioress. Sconce torches spluttered against the darkness whilst the tables, covered in white cloths, were bathed in pools of candlelight. Sir Peter's cooks had prepared a veritable feast: mutton cooked with olives, royal venison, chicken boiled and stuffed with grapes, a dressed peacock, bowls of salad, pike in galantine sauce, buttered vegetables, and the best wines from the castle cellars. Everyone except Corbett ate well and drank deeply, though Lincoln kept a wary eye on the clerk, sensing a mystery. Once the main dishes had been served and cleared away, Sir Peter stood up and gave a charming speech welcoming the Earl of Lincoln, toasting his martial prowess.

'Well, Corbett,' Branwood concluded with a grin, 'this grand design is all yours. What do you propose?'

'A story,' he began, rising to his feet and looking around. He pushed back his chair and stood behind it, leaning on the back. 'Many years ago this kingdom was riven by civil war. He glanced at de Lacey who shifted uneasily. 'Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, fought His Grace the King. De Montfort had a dream which turned into a nightmare of treason and treachery – the idea that every man is equal before the law. Now de Montfort met with defeat but one of his followers, Robin of Locksley, kept the dream alive, albeit tinged with self-profit. Robin objected to the harsh forest laws and became an outlaw in Sherwood where he robbed the rich and helped the poor. He fought mailed men, knights, sheriffs, verderers, but to my knowledge never raised a hand against an innocent man, woman or child.'

Corbett stared round the now silent group at the table. Branwood looked puzzled, Naylor sombre, Roteboeuf had his head in his hands, Maigret the physician seemed half-asleep but Friar Thomas was listening intently, as was the Earl of Lincoln and the Lady Prioress who, by her flushed cheeks, had apparently drunk deeply to hide her discomfort. Corbett glanced down the hall where Lincoln's henchmen and knights of the household were gathered. Ranulf, standing by the door, nodded imperceptibly, his face illuminated by the sconce torch spluttering above him. Corbett could tell from the look on his servant's face that Ranulf had others with him waiting in the shadows. Corbett took a deep breath.

'Now this outlaw's fame became widely known and when our King came north he offered Robin Hood a pardon. The outlaw accepted and his band broke up. Will Scarlett entered a monastery, Little John, his lieutenant, went back to his small village of Haversage, whilst Robin's love, the Lady Mary, took refuge in a nunnery at Kirklees. Robin went to fight in the King's wars in Scotland but grew sickened of the slaughter and wrote to the King asking to be released from military service. His Grace the King, who always liked a merry rogue, gave Robin licence to return home and sent a copy of the same to Sir Eustace Vechey and Sir Peter Branwood, sheriffs of Nottingham. Robin came south with two companions, William Goldberg and a man called Thomas.'

'Two companions?' Friar Thomas asked.

'Yes, they're mentioned in the King's letter of safe conduct.'

'We know all this,' Naylor interrupted. 'Then for some strange reason the wolfshead broke his word and went back to Sherwood Forest.'

'Ah!' Corbett smiled. 'You are wrong. Robin came south only to be murdered! I will not go hunting the outlaw tomorrow, Sir Peter, that was a ploy to protect myself until the Earl of Lincoln arrived.'

An immediate clamour broke out but the clerk stood silent. Eventually Lincoln raised his hand as a sign for him to continue.

'Oh, Robin of Locksley returned,' Corbett continued, walking round to stand behind the Prioress. 'He visited his manor at Locksley, paid his respects to old Father Edmund, then recommenced his journey, eager to see the Lady Mary at Kirklees Priory. He also hoped his henchman, Little John or John Little, would be waiting for him for they had agreed to meet there. However, on that lonely forest track he and his two companions were maliciously attacked. William Goldberg and the man called Thomas were killed immediately. Robin escaped but had received his death wound. Perhaps he crawled away. In any event his assailants left him for dead.' Corbett tapped the Prioress on the shoulder. 'Nevertheless, the wolfshead was made of sterner stuff. He managed to reach Kirklees Priory for the ambush, I suspect, occurred near the Priory gates where John Little was waiting for him. It's fortunate he was, isn't it, my Lady?'

The Prioress flinched.

'Now,' Corbett continued, 'our Prioress told me how Robin had ridden into Kirklees. She lied. Robin was a poor horseman, and would have walked. She also said Little John was with him. Another lie. The outlaw's lieutenant had agreed to meet him there.'

'So?' Lincoln bellowed. 'What happened then?'

'The dying Robin was taken up to the lonely, isolated gatehouse at Kirklees. True, My Lady?'

'It's true,' the Prioress replied, entwining her fingers tightly and staring down at the table top. 'The wolfshead had a jagged, bubbling wound in his neck. I did what I could.'

Corbett glanced round the table. Branwood looked as if he was carved out of marble, his mouth sagging open.

'Ranulf!' Corbett called. 'Bring in John Little!'

Ranulf walked into the hall, the huge giant lumbering like a bear behind him whilst Brother William brought up the rear. Naylor stood up, thrusting back his chair.

'That man's an outlaw and a wolfshead!' he cried, his hand going to his dagger. 'He can be killed on sight!'

'If you interrupt these proceedings again,' Corbett snapped, 'I'll have my Earl of Lincoln hang you from the beams of this hall! Master Little, you heard what I said. Do I speak the truth?'