Assassin in the Greenwood

not be buried here but next to her under the old yew tree in the village graveyard.'
    'But why do you hide now?'
    'To put it bluntly, Sir Hugh, I am frightened. I lived with Robin, I ran with him, I fought the King's soldiers by his side, I wenched and drank. But now…' his voice trailed away.
    Corbett sat and watched as Will Scarlett stroked his smooth-shaven chin and stared down at the floor.
    'At first,' he began slowly, 'we all fought for Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester, who wanted to make the lords of the soil account for what they did. After his defeat at Evesham, I and the rest, Robin, John Little, Friar Tuck fresh from ordination, Allan-a-Dale and the others, remained free in the forest. I was the oldest, just past my thirtieth summer, yet the blood beat hot in my veins. We fought the tax-collectors and the fat abbots for Robin's soul was stuffed full of de Montfort's ideas: how Adam and Eve were born naked before God, equal in everything.' The friar shrugged his thin shoulders. 'So we robbed the rich and gave to the poor.' He looked up and smiled. 'Well, not everything. We kept some for ourselves but the rest we gave away. It not only made us feel good but safe. We bribed the foresters and verderers and so kept everyone's mouth shut.' He chewed his lip. 'Robin met Lady Mary – Marion as she was popularly called – and one year passed into another. Then the old king died and Edward came north like some golden-haired Alexander, distributing gold and pardons as if they were apples from the tree. Robin accepted. He joined the King's chamber and fought his wars.' The friar's eyes became fierce. 'I accepted the pardon but would not be bought. I stayed in Nottingham whilst the rest drifted away and, when my wife died, I came here.'
    'So why are you frightened?'
    Brother William got to his feet and went to stand overlooking the window. 'Have you ever been haunted, Corbett? Do you know what it feels like when ghosts gather at your back? Vindictive ghosts spat from hell? Well, that's what's happening now.' He turned round. 'Oh, yes, Robin's back in the forest. Little John appears to have joined him. Perhaps even Lady Mary has left Kirklees Priory.'
    'Why did she go there?' Ranulf interrupted before Corbett could stop him.
    'God knows,' the old friar replied. 'There was a serious quarrel between her and Robin. She saw his acceptance of the King's pardon as a betrayal of many of us. Perhaps she was right. Now I hide behind these friary walls because I am frightened of a Robin who kills at a whim former members of his coven.'
    Ts that true?' Corbett asked.
    'Oh, yes. News trickles in here occasionally. Much the Miller's boy found drowned in a river. Hick the Hay wain strangled in a field. And who knows?' he added softly. 'Perhaps it's old Will Scarlett's turn next?'
    'In which case,' Corbett retorted, 'tell us how we can kill him?'
    The old friar turned, eyes brimming with tears. 'I can't do that,' he whispered, 'because I don't know this Robin.'

Chapter 5
    A short while later, Corbett and Ranulf left the friary and went down into Nottingham market place. Corbett walked slightly ahead, mystified by what he had learnt. Why had Robin returned, and why the change in his behaviour? He passed Pethick Lane which was usually the haunt of prostitutes, but because of the pestilence in the city the street was barred with heavy beams and iron chains slung across.
    A funeral procession of three plague victims was making its way down to St Mary's church. The elmwood coffins bobbed on the shoulders of sweating pall-bearers. The chantry priest walking in front of them, a lighted taper in his hand, could hardly be heard muttering the funeral prayers for the antics of a wild man. He was dressed completely in black from head to toe with a crude skeleton painted on his garb, and danced in front of the procession, furiously ringing a bell.
    Corbett entered the market place where people bought and sold, impervious to the death around them. The noise was deafening. Piles of rubbish, heaped up between the stalls or choking the broad gulleys which ran through the cobbled market place, reeked under the hot summer sun. The stench was so offensive anyone who went by had to cover their mouth and nose. Apprentices shouted, 'Lincoln cloth!' Another bawled, 'Good eggs!' A small group circled two fish wives who rolled on the ground, tearing at each other's hair and clothes like any city brawlers. The fight stopped immediately when a cart