Assassin in the Greenwood

Corbett felt his heart sink in despair. Most of the ciphers used by the French chancery could be solved eventually, simply because they conveyed long messages. The longer the cipher, the easier it was to break.
    But this short phrase? Corbett's mind moved on. He thought of Vechey's death chamber. How could a man be poisoned in a locked chamber with a servant inside, two guards outside, and no trace of the poison ever be discovered?
    'You should apply logic, Corbett,' he declared loudly and thought of the invitation he had recently received from the Chancellor of Oxford, inviting him to give a lecture in the Schools on Aristotle's logic and its effects on the study of the Quadrivium. Corbett smiled. How Maeve had teased him! He wondered how she was faring at Leigh ton Manor. Would she supervise the bailiffs? The harvest looked as if it would be good but the grain merchants in Cornhill couldn't be trusted as far as he could spit; he really should be present when this year's produce was sold. He thought of someone trying to swindle Maeve and grinned. She would have their head! Corbett's eyes grew heavy. He dozed for a while and was abruptly awoken by Ranulf crashing into the room.
    'For God's sake, man, what is it?' Corbett snarled. 'Are we under attack?'
    'No, Master,' Ranulf replied, still fresh and eager from his conversation with Rahere. 'But I have an idea about that cipher.'
    'Go on!'
    'Could it be a poem or a song?'
    Corbett narrowed his eyes. 'What made you think of that?'
    'Just a thought,' Ranulf lied. 'Perhaps a French song or a Flemish poem?'
    Corbett shook his head. 'It might be worth pursuing,' he muttered. 'But for the moment, let's deal with present problems.'
    And Corbett told Ranulf what the prisoners had said. Hiding his disappointment at his master's curt reception of his idea, he listened attentively.
    'They probably told you the truth,' he remarked. 'The same is true of the outlaw bands in Southwark. The human rats usually scavenge by themselves, but when one of the masters of that Devil's Kitchen plans some great stratagem, such as an attack upon a merchant's house or an ill-guarded convoy, they gather together.'
    'The problem is,' Corbett interrupted, 'what Robin and his coven do in between such actions. Where does he hide? Where does he go? Is he well guarded?'
    He went back to the table, sifting amongst the papers there. He picked up a quill, sharpened it, dipped it in the ink horn and listed his conclusions.
    'First, Robin Hood accepted the King's pardon in 1297, five years ago.' Corbett ran his finger down the report drawn up by the clerk at Westminster. 'Secondly, on the twenty-seventh of November, 1301, the chancery at Westminster issued a letter to Robin Hood, serving in the King's army in Scotland, granting his release from military service there and issuing a safe conduct for him and two companies to come south. On the same day, the royal clerks wrote a letter to Sir Eustace Vechey informing him that Robin Hood was returning to Nottingham, that he was still within the King's peace, was not to be molested and should be allowed to draw on the revenues of his manor at Locksley.
    'Now.' Corbett looked up and stared at Ranulf. 'Our outlaw friend must have been back in Nottingham sometime in mid-December. Apparently he did not go back to Locksley but returned to Sherwood where he resumed his old life as an outlaw. At first a little poaching and the occasional assault, but by the spring of this year he was organising ambushes on merchants and convoys, culminating in the murderous attack on Willoughby and his retinue.' Corbett scratched his chin. 'He has the same people with him, a tall man whom Willoughby thought was Little John and a woman, Lady Mary, better known as Maid Marion. He appears to have been dressed in exactly the same way as before, clothed in brown and green, a hood over his head, his face half-masked.
    'However, there are two differences. First, according to Brother William Scarlett, he is responsible for the death of some of his old band. Secondly, he robs the rich but there is very little evidence that he distributes his gains to the poor.' He looked up. 'Have I omitted anything, Ranulf?'
    'No. The one thing which cannot be explained is the outlaw's change in conduct. He has become more ruthless, vicious even.'
    'Umm!' Corbett nibbled the tip of the quill. 'That could be old age, growing cynicism, disillusionment with the King – God knows that would be easy-or determination