Assassin in the Greenwood

returns!' Corbett exclaimed, pushing the items he had taken from Vechey's room under his bed.
    Maltote rose and limped towards him.
    'For God's sake, man,' Corbett cried, 'what happened?'
    'I went to Southwell as you said, Master.'
    'And?'
    'Guy of Gisborne kept me there.'
    'Why?' Corbett gazed in astonishment at the bandage round Maltote's knee. 'Sit down and tell us what happened.'
    'I'll tell you,' Ranulf spoke up. 'Gisborne has gone into Sherwood.'
    Corbett closed his eyes and groaned.
    'He moved his force in there last night,' Ranulf continued. 'They begin their hunt at daybreak. Maltote rode through the night to tell us the news. He found the castle barred so he stayed at The Trip to Jerusalem.'
    'Why didn't Gisborne let you go immediately?'
    'He knew you might stop him,' Ranulf answered for Maltote. 'That's why he detained him.'
    Corbett went to stare out of the window. He recalled Gisborne's face: red, weather-beaten, with a flattened nose and eyes as hard as pebbles. An excellent soldier and a born fighter, Gisborne had performed many feats on the Scottish march and, if the clerks at Westminster could be believed, had a special loathing for Robin Hood. Gisborne had never accepted the King's granting the outlaw a pardon. However, if chancery gossip could be believed, whilst serving in Scotland, Edward had made Gisborne swear an oath over holy relics that he would never raise a hand against Robin Hood. When the outlaw returned to his depredations, Gisborne, a local landowner with considerable knowledge of Sherwood Forest, had immediately offered his sword to hunt the outlaw down. King Edward had refused but, after the attack on Willoughby, had ordered Corbett north. He'd also sent writs to Gisborne to raise troops but these were only to be deployed when Corbett gave his consent. But Gisborne had been cunning. He had taken Maltote's arrival as Corbett's tacit consent to move and, by detaining the messenger, made sure Corbett was in no position to object.
    'Who else knows?' Corbett rasped over his shoulder.
    'Sir Peter Branwood,' Maltote spluttered. 'The castle guard called him down immediately.'
    Corbett pressed his hot cheek against the cold stone.
    'And, of course,' he muttered, 'Sir Peter is furious at Gisborne's actions.'
    'Worse,' Kanuit answered. 'He and Naylor have taken a small force out to the fringes of the forest – whether to assist Gisborne or stop him, I don't know.'
    Corbett spun round, came back and glared down at the boyish face of his messenger.
    'Couldn't you have returned earlier? And how were you wounded?'
    Maltote looked at the floor.
    'Two reasons,' Ranulf replied cheerily. 'First, he got drawn into a game of dice and lost everything. Secondly,' Ranulf clapped Maltote on the shoulder and grinned at Corbett, 'he tried to redeem his losses by accepting a challenge from an archer.'
    Corbett gaped.
    'You see,' Ranulf chattered on, 'our good messenger here shot one arrow, picked up a second, tripped over the bow and somehow or other,' Ranulf compressed his mouth to stop himself laughing, 'tripped and gashed his knee.'
    Corbett stared disbelievingly at him. He would have given the young messenger his usual lecture about not touching any weapon but Maltote already looked so miserable. His face was pallid, emphasising the pock marks round his eyes, the legacy of an attack some months previously when Corbett had been hunting the insane murderer of London prostitutes. Corbett tapped him gently on the shoulder.
    'Let's forget that. Listen, whilst Branwood is gone, I am travelling to Kirklees. Don't ask me why. Just watch what happens here. And, Ranulf, before you ask, I'll see your friend Rahere on my return.'
    Corbett left the castle an hour later, Ranulf and Maltote seeing him as far as the Middle Gate. The clerk led his horse through the busy teeming streets of Nottingham, pulling a cowl over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention. In the market place he had to fight his way through the crowd watching a pack of snarling mastiffs snap at a great black bear. This stood roaring its defiance in a flash of ivory teeth and thrusting cruel paws which delighted the crowd and stirred the blood lust of the dogs. Corbett went down an alleyway near St Mary's church, looking for a scribe. A water-seller directed him to the other side of St Mary's and, as he passed the church steps, he stopped and cursed as he saw the naked corpses of the outlaws sprawled there. In accordance with city regulations,