Assassin in the Greenwood

design on Flanders.'
    'And we are paying the Holy Father to delay,' Nogaret replied.
    'In which case,' the French King breathed, 'Edward of England may have to wait until hell freezes over!' He sat down in the high-backed chair. 'We still have Achitophel. Has he written back?'
    De Craon pulled a face. 'He could find no news in London so forged messages to Corbett's manor at Leighton to discover his whereabouts.' De Craon smiled. 'Achitophel was in Nottingham before Edward's beloved clerk arrived there.'
    'Nottingham?' Philip looked puzzled.
    'Good news, Your Grace. Edward of England is having difficulties in controlling the roads north to Scotland. There's talk of murder and outlaws.' De Craon grinned. 'Another fly in the English ointment.' His face became hard. 'But is it wise to kill Corbett?'
    Philip stared at his enigmatic Master of Secrets then burst out laughing. His two counsellors watched, stony-faced.
    'Your Grace?'
    Philip wagged a finger at de Craon.
    'You are concerned, Amaury! I can follow your mind. If we kill Edward of England's beloved clerk then Edward will retaliate by killing one of mine.' He leaned over and pinched de Craon's wrist. 'In this case, perhaps you?'
    De Craon blinked and schooled his features. He had no illusions about his royal master. Men said Philip of France had a stone instead of a heart, dedicated to one pursuit and one pursuit only: the glory of the Capetian name. His dream was to build an empire as great as Charlemagne's. De Craon stared obliquely across the table. He or even Nogaret were mere stepping stones in such a grand design.
    Philip shook his head and stared at the alabaster carved statue of St Louis.
    'Don't worry about Master Corbett. Achitophel has his orders. The clerk is to die in a way which will provoke very little suspicion, and Edward of England will soon have more to worry about than the death of a mere commoner. Now.' He moved the chess pieces aside and quickly sifted amongst the parchments on the table. 'Everything is ready?'
    'Everything,' Nogaret agreed. 'Except the date.'
    Philip leaned back in his chair and rocked himself gently. He was sure God would give him a sign. He heard another cry from the courtyard and stared at the number of candles flickering in front of St Louis' statue.
    'By the end of June,' he murmured, 'the harvest should be ready and ripe for plucking.' He counted the number of candles again, ten in all. Philip leaned forward. 'Send the cipher to the Marshal. Tell him he is to cross into Flanders at first light on the tenth of July. Oh, by the way,' he jerked his silvery head towards the window, 'the fellow's cries are disturbing me. I have changed my mind. If he's still alive by dusk, hang him!'

Chapter 10
    Corbett found his reception at Kirklees Priory far from cordial. For a while he was forced to kick his heels in the great gatehouse before a grumbling lay sister led him across the dry grass to the Prioress's private parlour. Dame Elizabeth Stainham was just as frosty in her welcome. Tall and thin, with sharp features, she coldly acknowledged Corbett's greetings. Dame Elizabeth only mellowed, inviting him to sit and partake of some wine and sweetmeats, when the clerk brusquely informed her of his status at court and the King's confidence in him.
    'Well, well, well!' she murmured and sat back in her chair, pulling at the sleeves of her dark brown gown. Corbett noticed with amusement how these were edged with white fur and the smock beneath fashioned out of glistening satin. He gazed round the opulent room: the woollen rugs on the floor, the heavy polished furniture, the slender wax candles in their holders, the bowls of rose water, the Venetian glasses on a silver tray and cloths of gold, silver and damask hanging on the walls. Dame Elizabeth, he concluded, lived as grandly as any countess and the white wine she served him was cool and fragrant to the taste, proof that the Prioress bought her wines from the best merchants in York or London.
    'Sir Hugh?'
    Corbett blinked. The Prioress had asked a question.
    'My Lady, I am sorry, the journey was fatiguing.' Again the false smile.
    'Sir Hugh, I asked you what has the King's Commissioner to do with our humble house?'
    'Nothing really, My Lady. We are more interested in a visitor you had quite recently, as well as a woman who stayed here. You know them both well: Robin of Locksley, a distant kinsman of yours, and the Lady Mary?'
    Dame Elizabeth may have been able to mask her emotions with