Paul Doherty: Assassin in the Greenwood

'No, Sir Peter, you are a murderer,' Corbett continued evenly, staring at him from the other side of the table. 'You hated Robin of Locksley for past humiliations. You resented his acceptance into the King's grace and, I suspect, despised the King himself for showing such mercy to a man you would have killed. You, together with Sir Eustace, received the letter from the royal chancery at Westminster, saying that Robin was returning to Nottingham under royal protection. You noticed the dates and the times and planned that ambush. Your two creatures here, Naylor and Roteboeuf, were responsible. I am sure, when my story's finished, one of them will be wise enough to turn King's Evidence and confirm this. You killed William Goldberg and the man called Thomas. You left Robin of Locksley for dead.

'Perhaps at first you thought you might leave it at that but then you saw what opportunities presented themselves. What a way to revenge yourself on the dead man's name and reputation! On the King himself, as well as line your own pockets! And it would be so easy. Who could prove what you had done? Everyone else, from the King in London down to the lowliest serf in Nottingham, believed Robin of Locksley had returned to his old ways. As I have demonstrated, only three other people knew of his death. One, a former outlaw, would not be believed and could be killed on sight; then there was a friar, old and weary, immured in his own monastery and a Prioress who hated Robin;'

'But it's impossible.' Lincoln spoke out. 'How could Branwood here move from the castle to the forest?'

'My Lord, beneath this castle lies a warren of secret tunnels and passageways known only to a few. Everyone is concerned that someone could steal into the castle by these secret routes, it is equally true that such tunnels can be used for people to leave the castle – as Sir Peter discovered to his own profit.' Corbett sipped from his wine cup before continuing. '1 have studied the attacks of the outlaw over the last three months. They did not occur daily but once or twice a month, the most profitable being the attack on the King's tax-collectors. In their role as outlaws, Sir Peter, Naylor and Roteboeuf left the castle by their secret routes. Perhaps the clerk occasionally stayed behind to cover for his master's absences. Some of the tunnels, I understand, come out into the town, a few well beyond the city walls.

'In one of these passageways Branwood and Naylor would change into Lincoln green, as well as their hoods and masks, and go to their pre-arranged meeting place in the forest. Those two outlaws Master Naylor is supposed to have captured provided some insight on how the outlaws would assemble at a certain place when the signals were given. Let us take, for example, the attack on the tax-collectors.' Corbett drummed his fingers against his belt. 'It would have taken Sir Peter no more than a few hours. Naylor acted the role of Little John and the wench from The Blue Boar that of Maid Marion. The outlaws would assemble, orders would be issued and the attack made.'

'You claim we could do all that?' Naylor sneered.

'Oh, yes,' Corbett retorted. 'The wench from the tavern would not know your true identities but just act a part. The rest of the outlaws would be summoned before the tax-collectors even left Nottingham, closely followed by one of your coven. The tax-collector's cavalcade would be slower than men moving on foot through a forest.' Corbett narrowed his eyes at the candle flame. 'Willoughby said he was captured late in the afternoon and fell asleep after dark. No more than five or six hours. Once he was asleep, his retinue was massacred, the spoils shared out and Branwood returned to the castle.' Corbett pointed at Roteboeuf. 'Perhaps you stayed to explain away Sir Peter's absence, claiming he was in his chamber or the town? Anyway, who would notice? Father Thomas busy in his parish? Poor old Vechey, troubled and confused? Or Lecroix, slow-witted and anxious about his master?'

'But surely,' Friar Thomas interrupted, 'Branwood would be recognised.'

'Oh, come, Father. A mask and a hood, the voice deliberately changed. Words kept to a minimum. After all, didn't you tell me yourself that the outlaw approached you in your own church? Did you suspect?'

Friar Thomas smiled and shook his head.

'No, of course not, Father,' Corbett continued. 'In your mind Robin was still alive. And who would suspect the upright, law-abiding under-sheriff was really the outlaw in disguise? The wench from the tavern? Well, as I've said, she played her part. Tomorrow morning she and her father will wake up to find my Lord of Lincoln's men searching every nook and cranny of their house.'

'Did Vechey suspect?' Father Thomas asked.

'Oh, no! He was too busy hunting the traitor in the castle who was providing the outlaws with vital information. Branwood skilfully planned his death.' Corbett pulled the bundle from underneath his chair and took out a soiled napkin. 'Do you remember, Physician Maigret, where you saw this last?'

'Why, yes,' the physician cried, peering across the table. 'That's the one from Vechey's chamber. He used it to wipe his mouth.'

'No, he didn't!' Corbett replied. 'When Sir Eustace went up to his chamber he was carrying a goblet of wine. He sipped that then he and Lecroix ate some of the sweetmeats. Afterwards, Sir Eustace washed his hands and face. He picked up a napkin, dried himself and retired to bed.' Corbett chewed his lip and stared at Branwood. 'But we both know, Sir Peter, that the napkin Vechey used was coated in the most potent poison you could buy from that witch Hecate – deadly nightshade. Oh, yes, I have heard of a case in Italy where a woman dipped one of her husband's shirts in such a potion and killed him. Now, naturally, Lecroix would not use the same napkin as his master, I wonder if that's what Lecroix meant by the last words he said to us before he died? Do you remember, Maigret? "My master was tidy."'

'Yes, I do,' he replied: 'And you are right, Sir Hugh. Vechey would have gone to bed, his lips and hands coated with that noxious substance.'

'Ah, but what would have made it easier,' Corbett continued, 'was that Sir Eustace had sores on his mouth. These would give the poison direct entry into his blood and other humours. Yet that napkin, Sir Peter, was your greatest mistake. The next morning you, with the rest, came up to see Sir Eustace's chamber and, during the confusion, exchanged one stained napkin for another. And you were very cunning. The replacement napkin carried wine stains and sweetmeats, even blood, as if Sir Eustace had opened the sores on his lips. Now, Physician Maigret.' Corbett passed the soiled napkin over. 'Pull across a candle. Examine the napkin left in Sir Eustace's chamber and, bearing in mind what I have told you, what is wrong with it?'

Maigret did as he was told. At first he shook his head but then he glanced up, smiling. 'Of course,' he said. 'There are the stains from the sweetmeats and there are the blood marks, but the two are quite separate. The blood stains are quite distant from the other marks. They should be together, even mingling.'

'Exactly!' Corbett retorted, taking the napkin back and tossing it down the table at Lincoln. 'That's what I concluded when I re-examined it.'

'But,' Maigret exclaimed, 'Sir Peter too was ill.'

'Oh, I think that's due to one of two reasons. Remember, Sir Peter did not go to you until after Sir Eustace's body had been discovered. This could have been due to Sir Peter's trying to pose as a possible victim himself, or perhaps he had tinged himself, or thought he had, with some of the potion from the poisoned napkin.' Corbett pulled a face. 'Who would suspect? Branwood probably left the napkin there before the banquet began. It was the one thing in that room Vechey would not share with Lecroix, a mere servant.'