Assassin in the Greenwood

and his party down through the three floors of the great keep, along dusty passageways, under arches where the stone was fretted in a dogtooth pattern, and out into the dusty baileys. In the inner bailey the makeshift execution platform was now being washed down. Beside it, the decapitated corpses of the criminals were being shoved into arrow chests, the tops nailed down before burial in one of the town cemeteries. A grey-haired woman keened beside one of these whilst the hard-bitten soldiers took the decapitated heads and fixed them on poles, as if they were pumpkins, to display along the castle walls.
    Half-naked children played in the dust, impervious to the horrors around them. Farriers were busy, the fires of the smithies blowing hot and fierce, and the sound of hammer on anvil was deafening. Chickens scrabbled for corn, competing with the lean, dirty pigs. A group of castle women washed clothes in vats of greasy water whilst a small girl, armed with a wand, tried to impose order amongst a flock of geese alarmed by the snarling of one of the mastiffs. In the outer bailey soldiers were training in a half-hearted fashion until Naylor appeared when they set to vigorously against the quintains and stuffed figures fastened on poles.
    The castle was a military stronghold circled by walls, the great keep its hub whilst the garrison and their families slept in rooms and outhouses built against the walls. It was well served: Corbett saw the fowl coops, the small rabbit warren, its burrows already covered with nets as the warrener hunted for fresh meat and a large dovecot standing on the outskirts of a small orchard. Although the garrison seemed busy and purposeful, Corbett sensed that the castle was under siege, as if the garrison dare not venture beyond the gates.
    'How many soldiers do you have here?'
    Branwood stopped and stared up at the red-gold sky.
    'A full muster. One knight, five serjeants-at-arms led by Naylor, twenty mounted halberdiers, thirty foot and about the same number of archers.'
    Corbett looked up at the castle wall where Sir Peter's pennant, three golden castles on a sarcenet background, snapped defiantly in the evening breeze.
    'Do you think it is wise to enter the forest tomorrow?'
    'As I have said,' Branwood snapped, 'I have no choice. I have to display defiance to the outlaw. But, come, I will show you the cellars.'
    He led them back into the keep, through an iron-studded door and into dark, cavernous cellars, well above a man's height, which stretched under the floor of the keep. The cellars had small alcoves or recesses; two mangy cats hunted in their darkness as Sir Peter led them by hogsheads of wine, iron-hooped barrels of beer, sacks of grain and other supplies.
    'You said there were secret entrances?' Corbett asked.
    Sir Peter, who had taken a sconce torch from the wall, beckoned them over to an alcove, moved a sack of grain and showed them a trap door.
    'As I have explained, the castle is built on a stone crag riddled with passageways and tunnels. This is one entrance but there could be others we do not know about.'
    'Don't these make the castle vulnerable?'
    'No. If a siege began these trap doors would be sealed.'
    He led them back up the steps and ordered Naylor to show them their own chamber, saying he had other pressing duties to attend to.
    Corbett ignored the polite snub. Naylor took them to their own room on the second floor of the keep, the same passageway as Sir Eustace's. The chamber was long, low and black-beamed but fairly clean. The hard stone floor was swept and laid with fresh rushes, some still green and supple. The sheets and blankets on the trestle beds were clean. There were chests and coffers, some with their locks unbroken, a table, one box chair, a bench and a number of stools. The walls had been freshly limewashed though rather hastily: the workmen covering the flies that had died there and barely disguising the scrawled picture of a lion drawn by some long gone artist. There were pegs for their clothes and a large black crucifix bearing the twisted, tortured figure of the dead Christ.
    Once Naylor was gone, a servant brought up a wooden tray bearing a jug of cold ale and some cups. All three drank thirstily and then began to unpack the saddlebags. Corbett saw Maltote pick up his sword belt to throw on the bed.
    'No, Maltote!' he ordered.
    The messenger dropped it as if it was hot and Ranulf grinned at him.
    'I have told you before,' he whispered. 'Old Master Long