Assassin in the Greenwood

of.
    Inside the cavernous taproom a more genteel class of customer, the wandering scholars, pilgrims and occasional merchants, broke their fast on small white loaves covered in a fish gravy and pewter jugs of beer. The landlord took one look at Corbett and came bustling up-tall, gross, bald-headed, his face wreathed in a mock smile, eyes a mixture of arrogance and guile. The sort of man, Ranulf thought, who could sniff a profit from across a crowded room. Whilst Corbett ordered the food, Ranulf carefully scrutinised the great taproom, noting the clean rushes on the floor, the walls painted thickly with lime, huge barrels of beer, ale and malmsey in one corner and polished shelves bearing mugs and cups of the finest pewter.
    'You keep a fine house, Master…?'
    'Robert Fletcher, your honour.' The landlord bowed to Ranulf as if he was the Emperor or the Great Cham. 'But such a room is not for the likes of your excellencies.'
    He led them across the taproom, down a small corridor and ushered them into a small parlour, a well-furnished chamber with tables and stools as well as a bed with clean linen sheets and bolsters.
    'My special guests are always taken here,' the landlord explained.
    Aye, Ranulf thought, noting the bed. Any young gentleman and his doxy.
    'And what is your pleasure?'
    'Two cups of watered wine,' Corbett replied. 'Perhaps some bread and cheese.'
    'Your wish is my command. My own daughter will serve you.'
    Bowing and scraping, the landlord backed out. Corbett and Ranulf sat down, grinning at each other. A few minutes later a slim, blonde-haired girl with the face and eyes of a spoilt angel brought in the wine and bread. Ranulf hastened to help her, whispering one compliment after another. The girl's blue eyes rounded in an affectation of innocence though this was betrayed by a lewd smile and the saucy pertness of her manner.
    'We have heard of you,' she announced, stepping back and wiping her hands on a very rounded bodice. 'Friar Thomas says you ask a lot of questions.'
    'And you are too saucy.'
    An old man hobbled into the room. His lined face seemed to crumple round a huge nose; his eyes were small and rheumy and a blood-crusted patch covered the spot where his right ear should have been. He tapped the girl playfully on the rump.
    'Come on, Isolda.' He nodded at the guests. 'Don't play the greenwood wanton with these gentlemen.'
    'Shut up, Grandfather!' The girl's mouth pulled into a bitter line. 'Shame on you. I am not even allowed to go into Nottingham by myself, never mind the forest.'
    She glanced quickly at Corbett but the clerk pretended to be more interested in his drink. Yet the old man had blundered, made a mistake, the first Corbett had detected since arriving in Nottingham. The old man hobbled out as quickly as he could whilst the girl fled back into the taproom.
    'That was a mistake,' Ranulf breathed. 'Perhaps you should arrest her, Master?'
    Corbett shook his head. 'I suspect, Ranulf, most of the cottagers and tavern-keepers around Sherwood know something about the outlaw. As Elias puts it, no outlaw worth his salt can move or travel without the connivance of innkeepers and, in this case perhaps, their daughters. But when we go fishing it's the trout we catch. We leave the minnows alone.'
    Ranulf was about to object when suddenly there were shouts and sounds of commotion from the courtyard. Corbett heard the customers in the adjoining taproom fall quiet then begin an excited babble. He and Ranulf went out, forcing their way through the throng to see a group of mounted men-at-arms wearing the blue and silver livery of the sheriff. The day had grown hot so they had removed their heavy helmets. Corbett recognised Naylor as he bellowed for a cup of water and a stoup of ale, anything to wash the dust from his throat. The real focus of interest, however, was two men, their clothes tattered and weather-stained, faces and hair covered in thick grey dust. They crouched gasping on the ground, whimpering for relief from the cruel ropes tied around their wrists, the other end being attached securely to the saddle horns of Naylor's men. Corbett strode forward.
    'Master Naylor, what is this?'
    Naylor's face broke into a smile as he recognised Corbett.
    'Two outlaws!' he bellowed triumphantly. 'I caught them red-handed with bows and quivers on the edge of the forest.'
    'A surprise catch, Master Naylor,' Ranulf teased. 'They just walked up and surrendered?'
    The serjeant-at-arms glowered back. 'No!' he