Assassin in the Greenwood

have been stalking him from the market place.'
    Corbett looked at Ranulf's white face and hastily refilled his cup.
    'And the girl?' Corbett asked.
    'As I said, she's safe. Hysterical, so I called the local physician who gave her some wine and valerian drops.'
    Corbett remembered the bow string round Hecate the poisoner's throat.
    'Come on, Ranulf, Maltote!' he urged.
    He fairly hustled the taverner and his two companions out of the chamber and down the steps. Taking great care to stay away from the castle garrison, they slipped through the postern gate of the inner bailey and down into the town.
    The Cock and Hoop tavern was quiet as they entered. The landlord explained that he had done the 'Christian thing' by having the corpse laid out in one of his outhouses for the coroner's visit.
    'God knows what will happen,' the fellow muttered. 'The wench is almost witless and all the coroner could declare was murder by person or persons unknown.'
    He led them across the cobbled yard, lifted the latch and took Corbett and his companions into a sweet-smelling stable. The man nervously lit oil lamps placed on the wall and pulled back the sacking covering the corpse stretched out on freshly laid straw.
    'Two corpses in one morning,' Corbett muttered.
    He knelt beside the Riddle Master, trying not to look at the blue-black face, protuberant eyes and tongue. He looked at the cord wrapped round the man's neck. Maltote had already backed out, his face turning a tinge of green, whilst Ranulf was caught between grief for his new-found friend and distress for the loss his sweet Amisia must now be suffering.
    'It's the same,' Corbett muttered, getting to his feet. He carefully pulled the sheet back over the man's face.
    The taverner extinguished the oil lights and they went back into the yard.
    'Apart from Ranulf,' Corbett asked, 'did this Rahere speak to anyone else?'
    'He was well known.' The landlord scratched his balding pate. 'But he kept to himself. Sometimes he would set us a riddle. He was always either here or in the market place. He did say he wanted to visit the castle, and on one occasion I think he left Nottingham.'
    'When?'
    'According to one of my customers, about three days ago. He left in a hurry but then returned.'
    Corbett stepped back. Three days ago he had begun his journey to Locksley and Kirklees. He looked angrily at Ranulf.
    'I told no one in the castle.' Ranulf was quick-witted enough to catch the drift of Corbett's thoughts. His eyes fell. 'Or here. Except Amisia.'
    Corbett dug into his purse and brought out a coin which he flashed before the inn-keeper's shrewd eyes.
    'This is for the corpse. A swift burial in a town cemetery. And this,' he plucked out a second coin, 'is permission to go through the dead man's baggage.'
    The taverner needed no second bidding but took Corbett, Ranulf and a now gaping Maltote up to the dead man's chamber.
    'It will be empty,' he explained. 'The wench, I mean the Lady Amisia, is in another chamber.'
    Corbett thanked him. Once the taverner had disappeared, Corbett ordered Ranulf and Maltote to search the chamber and pile the dead man's belongings in the middle of the bed.
    At first there was nothing: clothing, belts, baldricks, hose, change of boots, some spoons, a chased silver cup. But then Ranulf, eager now to make up for his mistake, pushed aside the bed and, using his old skills as a burglar, began to test the floor boards. He cried out in delight as he prised one loose and brought out a small coffer. It was no more than a foot long and the same wide, secured by three locks. Ranulf handed this to Corbett who, without a second thought, broke all three locks with his dagger. He then sat on the edge of the bed, sifting through the parchments.
    'Ah!' Corbett put the manuscripts aside, grabbed his dagger and jabbed at the bottom of the casket, lifting the wooden slats to reveal a secret compartment. He plucked out a small medal and a roll of parchment which he quickly studied.
    'Our friend Rahere was in truth a Riddle Master,' he commented wryly.
    Corbett tossed the unfurled parchment at Ranulf, who scanned the Norman French: signed by William of Nogaret and sealed with the Privy Seal of France, the letter instructed all seneschals, bailiffs and officers in the kingdom of France to give every support to the King's most trusted servant, Rahere.
    'It was dangerous to carry this,' he remarked.
    'Not really,' Corbett answered. 'Many French merchants carry such warrants.'
    He handed