Assassin in the Greenwood

possessed and Corbett found it hard to keep up with him. He noticed with wry amusement that Father Thomas was a better horseman than Naylor who kept slipping in the saddle.
    I wonder when Maltote will return? Corbett suddenly thought as they thundered past The Trip to Jerusalem into Friary Lane. Any further speculation ended as he tried to keep his horse away from the sewer and a watchful eye on the overhanging tavern signs and the gilded boards of the furriers, cloth-makers and goldsmiths. Thankfully few people were around and those who were flattened themselves against the walls as Sir Peter and his party thundered by. Shop doors abruptly slammed shut as apprentices, preparing the stalls for a day's business, saw or heard the horsemen and fled for safety. Two dung collectors, their carts half-full of stinking ordure, blocked the route until Sir Peter beat them aside with the flat of his sword.
    The city gates were hastily opened and Branwood led them across dew-drenched fields, following the same track as they had yesterday which aimed like an arrow towards the dark sombre line of trees. Corbett's stomach lurched in fear. Surely, he thought, not back there?
    'Sir Peter!' he shouted. 'What is this nonsense?'
    Branwood failed to hear but spurred his horse faster. Corbett hung on grimly, then suddenly Sir Peter reined in, pulling his horse up savagely, shouting at them to stop.
    'Well, where, man?' he bawled at the soldier, who looked as if the recent ride had jarred every bone in his body. The young man blinked and stared at the forest. He turned his horse to the side and galloped along the fringe of trees, Branwood and the rest behind. Abruptly the guide stopped and pointed a dirty, stubby finger.
    'I saw them,' he gasped. 'I saw them as I came in after visiting my mother in the village.'
    Corbett stared hard. At first he could see nothing then Sir Peter leaned over and clutched his wrist.
    'Look, Sir Hugh!' he whispered hoarsely. 'Look at that tree, the huge elm!'
    Corbett followed his gaze. The blur of white he had glimpsed before now became clear. Two corpses, their dirty white skin gleaming like the underbelly of landed pike, swung by their necks from one of the high branches of the tree. Friar Thomas pushed his horse further forward, Branwood and Corbett followed, whilst the young soldier leaned over his horse's neck to vomit and retch. The bodies were grotesque in death. They were naked except for loin cloths, their faces a mottled hue; half-bitten tongues protruded from swollen mouths, their staring eyes were glazed and empty.
    'Two of the soldiers,' Sir Peter murmured, 'who went missing yesterday.'
    The horses smelt the corpses and began to whinny and fret. Corbett turned away in disgust whilst Sir Peter began to roar out orders to Naylor to cut the men down and get a cart from the castle to bring the cadavers in.
    'Let's return,' the sheriff moodily announced.
    'I cannot,' Friar Thomas spoke up. 'I must visit my church. Sir Hugh, you will stay with me?'
    Corbett readily agreed; Sir Peter at the best of times, was a graceless companion, but now he looked like a man awaiting condemnation. Friar Thomas murmured a prayer, sketching a blessing in the direction of the corpses, then led Corbett back to his small parish church. This stood about two miles from Nottingham on the road going west to Newark. Around the church were grouped the stone and wooden houses and tiny garden strips of the villeins and peasants.
    'Most of them are free,' Friar Thomas proudly announced. 'Or nearly so. They grow their own crops and only spend two boon days working on the manor lord's domain.'
    Corbett nodded. The Franciscan seemed well liked. As they rode into the village he was greeted by a host of thin-ribbed, near-naked children who jumped round like imps from hell, chattering and calling, pointing at Corbett and asking Friar Thomas a stream of questions in high reedy voices. Their parents, faces earth-stained or burnt brown by the sun, also welcomed their priest as they came back from the fields to hear mass and break their fast before returning. Friar Thomas greeted them genially and, by the time they reached the church, a small procession had formed behind him. Outside the cemetery, the friar and Corbett dismounted, two peasant lads taking their horses whilst Thomas led Corbett into the musty darkness of the church. It was a simple building with no pillars or glass windows. The floor was beaten earth, the altar a simple stone