Assassin in the Greenwood

friary and hang him on the castle walls just for the sake of it. I am telling you because, as the King's Commissioner, you might reassure him.' Roteboeuf stared at them, shrugged and slipped out of the room.
    Corbett gazed at the half-open door.
    'There goes a very worried man,' he commented. 'Right, Ranulf, let's leave this accursed castle and make hay whilst the sun shines. Let us visit this man Scarlett.'
    'What about Achitophel?' Ranulf warned. 'If he is hunting you, surely he'll now be in the town waiting to seize his opportunity?'
    Corbett smiled. 'De Craon has been hunting my head for years. So far, thank God, he has never taken it.'
    They left the castle by a postern door and followed the winding path down around the crag, past the dark mouths of caves burrowed into the rock. Corbett stopped outside The Trip to Jerusalem.
    'No sign of Maltote yet,' he remarked, watching the busy yard full of horses as travellers, tinkers, pedlars and merchants crowded in to spend the profits of a morning's trade.
    They walked down a small side street, the gables of the houses jutting out above them. Children waded knee-deep in the sewer, throwing pieces of offal at the dogs or fending off the pigs with sharp little sticks. They turned a corner, went down a small lane and stopped before the main gate of the friary.
    A grumbling lay brother answered the jangling bell and ushered them along paved corridors to Father Prior's room. The latter was hardly welcoming: a tall, severe man, Prior Joachim regarded both Corbett and Ranulf with the utmost suspicion. Only when Corbett produced letters and warrants from the King did the Prior relax and offer refreshment which Corbett courteously refused.
    'So.' Prior Joachim steepled his spindly fingers and leaned across his desk. 'You wish to see Brother William?'
    Corbett stretched out his legs. 'Father Prior, what is the matter? I am the King's Commissioner. Brother William has nothing to fear from me.'
    The Prior rustled some parchment sheets on his desk.
    'Brother William has now accepted the King's peace,' Corbett insisted. 'He has nothing to fear.'
    'He thinks differently.' The Prior's head snapped back. 'Over the last few months, ever since the outlaw returned to Sherwood, Brother William has refused to meet visitors or accept any gifts. You see. Sir Hugh, Brother William is one of the most famous members of our community. His exploits with Robin Hood are legendary.'
    'But now he sees no one?'
    'Exactly.'
    'Why?'
    'I don't know.' The Prior bit his lip. 'We live in turbulent, dangerous times. Perhaps Brother William should answer that himself.'
    He led them deeper into the friary, across the cloister garth, past the entrance to the small church and into the gardens. A burly gardener crouched over the herb banks, glowered then turned his back on them as the Prior led his visitors to a stone cell which stood by itself on the borders of a small orchard. He tapped on the door. 'Who is it?' called a reedy voice.
    The Prior explained. Corbett heard shuffling steps, a key being turned in the lock and the door was flung open by a tall man dressed in a dark robe. He had a long, scraggy neck and a small, weather-beaten face, but his eyes were surprisingly bright and watchful. Prior Joachim murmured introductions. He said he would wait outside whilst Brother William ushered Corbett and Ranulf into a small, white-washed chamber, stark and severe. The room was dominated by a large crucifix and had only a few sticks of furniture. Corbett noticed how the friar locked the door behind them before gesturing at the bench whilst he sat on a wafer-thin pallet bed.
    'I have nothing to offer you.' Brother William's sunburned fingers flickered an apology.
    'We have not come to eat and drink.'
    The friar smiled, touched his white hair and winked at Ranulf.
    'Do you know this was once as red as yours, hence my name.' His smile died as his eyes became watchful. 'You are here to ask questions?'
    'Yes, Brother, and the first is why you are here?'
    'To atone for my sins, to pray to God and Christ's mother, to seek reparation for the follies of my youth.'
    'What follies, Brother?'
    The friar half-grinned and his glance fell away.
    'Oh, running as wild as the King's stags,' he murmured wistfully. 'A roaring boy in the forest, taking what I wanted and not caring about tomorrow. Now God has struck me down. My wife is dead and I see the Lord's hand against me. When I die,' he continued as if speaking to himself, 'I'll