Assassin in the Greenwood

Little John?'
    The huge giant of a man, his iron-grey hair hanging down to his shoulders, stood with his hands hanging by his sides, his massive fists curled in frustration. Corbett's sword had not wavered but now lay against the man's exposed neck. Behind him Corbett heard Brother William move.
    'Don't do anything stupid, Brother!' Corbett called over his shoulder. 'After all, you are a man of God. And I swear, by the same God, I intend you no harm. You, John Little, are a declared outlaw. Your head can be taken by any man. But we have matters to discuss, haven't we?'
    The giant's clear blue eyes never left Corbett's face and the clerk could see he was wondering whether to attack or concede.
    'I mean you no harm, John Little,' Corbett repeated softly. 'Come.' He waved the man in. The giant bowed his head and shoulders and entered Brother William's cell.
    Corbett left two hours later. Neither John Little nor Brother William had been forthcoming. They had refused to answer his questions but sat staring at him, listening to all he said. At last Corbett had borrowed pen and parchment: he wrote out a letter of safe conduct summoning both to appear before him as the King's Commissioner in Nottingham Castle.
    Corbett spent the next few hours watching Branwood prepare for the military expedition into the forest. The rest of the time he kept to himself, reviewing his theories like any good clerk preparing a memorandum to place before the King. Corbett tried to hide his nervousness. He just hoped Ranulf would carry out his task and that Maltote was able to reach the King.
    On the day after Ranulf and Maltote left Nottingham, Corbett visited the Lady Amisia at the tavern and gently questioned her. He found her intelligent, witty, and clearly innocent of any involvement in her brother's crimes. He listened with amusement to the promises Ranulf had made to her on his behalf.
    'It's true, My Lady,' Corbett confirmed, getting to his feet. When I return south, I will be honoured if you will join us. We shall ensure your safe lodging with the Minoresses.'
    With the girl's thanks ringing in his ears, Corbett went back to the castle.
    He attended Rahere's funeral mass later that day, listening with half an ear to how the priest deplored the 'dreadful murder' of this stranger in their midst. Corbett watched the body being taken out to the graveyard and escorted the tearful Amisia, resting on the arm of the landlord's wife, back to the tavern.
    Corbett slept fitfully that night, his dreams plagued by nightmares of being lost in a dense, sombre forest where the very trees came to life, hunting him down, until he woke bathed in sweat. For the rest of the day he kept to his own chamber; he carefully examined the items he had taken from Sir Eustace's room and almost shouted with relief when he heard the cries of the sentries and the noise of many horsemen entering Middle Gate.
    Corbett made himself presentable and went down to the hall where a dust-stained Ranulf was busy making the aged but still fiery old war horse the Earl of Lincoln as comfortable as possible.
    'Corbett, you bloody scribbler!' the old earl bawled, his fierce face glistening with sweat, bulging blue eyes glaring at Corbett as if he held him responsible for every bump and bruise of his journey. 'Come on, man,' the earl shouted at Ranulf. 'I want some bloody wine. Hello, Branwood!' he bellowed as the sheriff entered the hall. 'Can't catch a bloody outlaw, can you? For God's sake, someone, remove my boots. Lord, my arse is as sore as a maid on her wedding night!'
    Corbett bit back a smile and quietly applauded the earl's cheerful bullying of anyone who came within earshot. Henry de Lacey, Earl of Lincoln, was no fool, however and Corbett caught his sly wink.
    'You've brought your men, My Lord?'
    'Scores of the idle buggers! Men-at-arms, some household knights, and more archers than there are hairs on my arse. And, believe me,' the earl roared with laughter, 'my arse is hairy! Go outside, Corbett, and see for yourself.'
    He took the hint and wandered into the inner bailey where men wearing the red and green livery of the earl thronged the courtyard.
    'Maltote's gone to London,' Ranulf murmured, coming up beside him. 'But that old earl, Master! He curses everyone, and he's drunk at least a pint of wine since entering Nottingham.'
    'That old earl,' Corbett softly replied, 'is a cunning old fox and I think he's guessed why he's here.' Corbett smiled at Ranulf's puzzlement.