Paul Doherty: Assassin in the Greenwood

The ragged, bearded giant nodded. Even Corbett flinched at the hatred in the huge man's eyes.

'Robin was dying,' Little John began, his voice surprisingly soft but tinged with a rustic burr. 'The nun's correct. She did what she could but, there again, God knows what potion she gave Robin. After he had drunk it, he grew a little stronger and asked for my long bow.' The giant's eyes filled with tears. 'He was dying and told me to open the casement window. I fitted an arrow to the string and helped him pull it back. He shot it good and true over the park.' Little John paused. 'Robin laughed. He knew his kinswoman the Prioress hated him but she couldn't refuse him Christian burial. Robin told me to find where the arrow had fallen and bury him there. After that, Maid Marion,' the giant coughed, 'the Lady Mary, came rushing up. Robin was failing.' He shrugged and wrung his great hands. 'That was it. As the light failed, so did Robin. For a while he slept, muttering about days in the forest. Sometimes he would laugh, sometimes shout out Marion's name. Once or twice mine. At last he fell silent. The Lady Mary was prostrate with grief. I bent over the bed. Robin's eyes were closed and his face cold.'

The man scratched his beard. Despite his great size and girth, he looked like a little boy remembering a terrible accident. 'Next morning I went out. It took me many an hour to find where the arrow had fallen then I dug the grave. She,' he flung out a hand at the Prioress, 'that high-faced bitch, objected!' He smiled mirthlessly. 'But, I threatened to break her neck if she refused. I finished the grave. Before he died, Robin had whispered about poor William and Thomas so I went back along the trackway and found their corpses. They were both dead, arrows in their necks and chests. I laid them alongside Robin. The grave was deep and broad. I covered it with earth. I went back to the nunnery to comfort the Lady Mary but she was witless, beside herself with grief. I told the Prioress I would return every so often to check that grave. I never did. I didn't want to be seen in public. As for the Lady Mary…' Little John shrugged.

'She's dead!' the Prioress interrupted. 'She had set such hopes on Robin's return. After his death, she pined away. Wouldn't eat or drink, became lost in her own dreams.' Her eyes snapped. 'I told my community she had left with Robin. No one knew the truth. However, in death I bear no man ill will. Robin is gone and so is the love of his life. I placed her alongside him.'

Corbett stared at the hard, taut face of the Prioress. He wondered if she had secretly loved Robin and her later hatred had stemmed from his indifference.

'What did Little John mean about the potion?' he asked. The Prioress shook her head.

'Why didn't you report Robin's death to the King?' Lincoln shouted. 'After all, he was under royal protection, carrying letters of safe conduct.'

'How could I?' the Prioress protested. 'Robin had been killed near Kirklees! You've heard the rogue Little John -my dislike of Robin was well known. After all,' she glared at Corbett, 'I was one of the few who knew he was coming!'

'I thought of that,' Little John added. 'Robin didn't know who his assailants were, describing them as masked and hooded. I came to Nottingham to seek out Brother William. And then,' the fellow scratched his head, 'I began to wonder. Robin was attacked on the thirteenth of December. His assailants must have been waiting for him. Now I reasoned that many knew about Robin's leaving Scotland but few could actually plot his footsteps. Only the King and his clerks at Westminster or someone here who'd received letters saying that Robin was coming back. The only people who knew that were the sheriffs, Sir Eustace Vechey and Sir Peter Branwood. And, of course, their clerk.'

'Little John shared his anxieties with me,' Brother William interrupted. 'I, too, became frightened. I begged Father Prior to give Little John a position as gardener at our house and he agreed. I listened to what John had told me and drew two conclusions. Either His Grace the King or someone in Nottingham was the murderer.' Brother William stared at Sir Peter Branwood. The King loved Robin. He would not lift his hand against him in such a treacherous way. This left me with one conclusion: someone in Nottingham, who knew Robin was journeying south, planned that ambush. God knows, there were enough lords in this shire who hated Robin. At first I thought his murder was an act of revenge then we heard these mysterious stories of how Robin was once again hunting in Sherwood Forest, but this time he was different. Oh, he bought the peasants' silence but this Robin was harsh, his hand against every man, ruthless in quelling any opposition, even killing those who had once been close to him.' Brother William wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Of course, I knew it was not Robin of Locksley but someone using his name.' He spread his hands. 'Yet what could we do? If I tried to object, who would believe me? What proof did I have? And as for Little John here, his size alone prevented him from walking the streets of Nottingham. So we both hid in the friary where no one could harm us, for whom could we trust? Not even you, the King's Commissioner.'

Corbett tapped the giant on the chest.

'But you fired the arrows?'

The giant's face broke into a gap-toothed grin.

'Three fire arrows,' Corbett declared. 'Your requiem every month on the thirteenth, the date Robin died.'

'He fired them,' Brother William intervened. 'He would slip out of a postern gate and loose them into the night sky. A reminder to Robin's assassin in Nottingham as well as a prayer, three times repeated, that God would comfort our dead friend's soul.'

'But you never knew who the assassin was?' Corbett continued. 'And that was the evil beauty of his plan. The Lady Prioress here could not reveal Robin's death. Who would believe her? Some might even accuse her of having a hand in it. After all, her intense dislike for her kinsman was well known. Little John might have his suspicions but he was an outlaw and could be killed on sight. Brother William had no proof. And, as he has said, any of Robin's old companions who did suspect went the same way as their master. Now.' Corbett walked briskly up the table. 'My Lord of Lincoln, I would like a man-at-arms on either side of Sir Peter, his clerk Roteboeuf and Master Naylor.' Corbett drew his own dagger and stood behind the burly serjeant-at-arms. Branwood sat slumped on his chair. Roteboeuf blinked like a frightened rabbit but Corbett saw Naylor's hands go beneath the table.

'Please sir,' he ordered, 'your hands where I can see them.'

The serjeant-at-arms peered over his shoulder. Lincoln's soldiers thronged around. Reluctantly Naylor did as Corbett asked. Lincoln barked out orders. Branwood, Naylor and Roteboeuf offered no resistance as their swords were taken from them.

'In the castle,' Corbett continued, 'Sir Eustace Vechey must have thought a nightmare had returned. He had fought Robin in the old days. Now the outlaw was back, causing even more mischief. Now I don't think the old sheriff knew what had happened but, as the outlaw's depredations grew worse, he did suspect a hjgh-placed traitor in the castle. A lonely, suspicious man, Vechey would trust no one but, as his mind began to ramble, so did his tongue. Perhaps he began to hint at things; even his face or eyes may have betrayed something. So he had to die and you, Sir Peter, killed him, as you murdered Robin Hood and took his place in Sherwood Forest!'

'This is nonsense!' Branwood shouted, trying to assert himself. 'My Lord of Lincoln, the clerk raves. He is as mad as a hare on a moonlit night!'

Branwood's protests were belied by the expression on his face and the beads of sweat coursing down his cheeks. One of Lincoln's knights grasped him by the shoulder and pushed him down on to his chair.