Assassin in the Greenwood

lead their horses. We'll skirt the town and re-enter the castle by a postern gate.'
    Corbett and Ranulf walked with the rest as Sir Peter's soldiers trudged back along the lanes, the horses blown and covered with foam. The men were in no better state. One was grievously wounded, the rest suffering from cuts and slight scratches. The injured soldier, an arrow embedded just below his knee, was forced to sit in the saddle, white-faced and swaying. He would have fallen off if his companion had not removed the arrowhead with his knife, cleansed the wound with some coarse wine and tightly bound the bleeding gash with strips of cloth.
    Corbett was thankful to be unscathed. Ranulf seemed relieved just to be out of the forest.
    'You look dreadful,' he whispered to Corbett and stared at his master's tousled hair and face scratched by overhanging branches.
    'We could all have died!' Corbett exclaimed. 'That was stupid. What is more, it was no chance meeting. Those outlaws were waiting for us.' He raised his voice. 'Sir Peter!'
    The sheriff joined him.
    'That ambush,' Corbett said, 'who could have told them?'
    Branwood shook his head. 'I don't know, Sir Hugh. But if I do find out, I'll tell you just before I hang the bastard!'
    Despite Branwood's route, his return to the castle was observed and his disgrace noted. News of their defeat had somehow gone before and townspeople gathered on either side of the cobbled trackway leading up to the postern gate. Corbett bore it philosophically but he felt for the under-sheriff who couldn't fail to hear the sniggers and muffled laughter. Sir Peter's humiliation was complete. He rode more like a man being taken out to death than the King's representative.
    Once back in the castle, Physician Maigret and Friar Thomas came down. The former attended the wounded whilst the friar took personal care of Sir Peter, leading him gently away, murmuring softly as if consoling a beaten schoolboy. Corbett threw his reins at an ostler and stood for a while with Ranulf watching the soldiers unsaddle their horses and stack their weapons. Once the news of their return and their losses had spread, the keening and mourning began. Corbett turned away in disgust.
    'Come on, Ranulf. This is a royal castle in the King's shire of Nottingham, not some outpost on the Scottish march.'
    They went back to their chamber where they washed and cleaned their own wounds.
    'Discretion is the wisest course of action,' Corbett muttered, lying down on the bed. 'I do not think Sir Peter will wish to to see us today.'
    Ranulf sat on a stool and chewed his lip.
    'Master, who could the traitor be?'
    'Anyone,' Corbett replied. 'Anyone in this castle who knew we were leaving. Sir Peter had to display his authority, but was it really worth it?'
    'But how is the outlaw to be caught?' Ranulf asked. He moved over to the window but stood warily to one side for he had not forgotten the previous day's attack.
    'Our sweet Robin,' Corbett sardonically commented, 'will not be caught by floundering about in the forest. I have no intention of returning there to blunder about waiting for an arrow to take me in the throat. The wolfshead must be enticed out, but what can we use as bait?'
    'There is another way,' Ranulf replied. 'If you found his spy here…'
    Corbett sat up. 'Strange you should say that. Did you notice Naylor went with us into the forest, Maigret and Friar Thomas were waiting for our return, but have you caught sight of Master Roteboeuf?'
    'Do you think he could be the traitor?'
    'Yes, he might be. He showed little grief over Sir Eustace's death and, as you remarked, is capable of bearing arms. So why didn't he come with us or at least wait for our return?' Corbett chewed the quick of his thumb nail, then grinned at his tousled-headed, white-faced manservant. 'Don't worry, Ranulf, we are hardly likely to go back into the forest but you are right. If we catch the traitor we remove Robin Hood's most powerful supporter and, more importantly, we'll probably hang the murderer of both Sir Eustace and poor Lecroix.' Corbett swung his legs off the bed. 'Let's stay busy, Ranulf.'
    'And do what?'
    'Well, we can't question Lecroix. He has gone to meet his maker. So let's pretend to be two mummers in a play and re-trace Vechey's steps the night he died. At the same time, we'll send for Roteboeuf.'
    Corbett filled his wine cup and went down to the hall. Except for one servant whom Corbett sent to summon Roteboeuf, the place was deserted as the