Assassin in the Greenwood

'Wait a while, Ranulf, and all will be clear. Oh, by the way, the Lady Amisia sends her regards.'
    They went back into the hall where Lincoln had tossed his boots into a corner. Whilst one of his squires tried to put soft buskins on his feet, another was being drenched in water as the earl washed his hands and face and bellowed for a cup of sack, a goblet of wine, anything to wash the filth from his throat.
    'Oh, by the way,' Lincoln shouted, 'that soft-arsed Prioress! God knows, she's a snooty bitch. She's here too, Corbett. She was in a bloody half-faint when I left her, silly mare! Hadn't she ever heard a man curse before?'
    Ranulf was fighting so hard to stifle his laughter, Corbett thought he would have an apoplexy. He took his leave, hearing the old earl roaring at Branwood that he hadn't travelled to Nottingham for a bowl of stew and he hoped they would dine well that night.
    As Corbett hurried out of the hall, he smelt the savoury fragrances from the kitchen and realised Branwood was preparing a banquet to celebrate the hunting down of Robin Hood.
    'You wait till you see the Prioress,' Ranulf muttered, still stifling his laughter. 'What do you mean?'
    'Well, have you ever heard the story of the lecherous clerk, the miller's daughter and the miller's wife?' 'No, why?'
    'Well,' Ranulf laughed, 'the Prioress has. Lincoln insisted on roaring the story out at the top of his voice with a few choice embellishments of his own.'
    Lady Elizabeth Stainham had recovered at least some of her poise by the time Corbett met her in her comfortable quarters above Middlegate. Nevertheless she stood quivering with fury, her face white, eyes wide dark pools of malice.
    'Master Corbett,' she snarled. 'My Lady, my title is Sir Hugh.'
    'You can call yourself whatever you wish! I shall complain to the King about being dragged from my convent and forced to travel here in the company of that!' She flicked a finger at Ranulf.
    'Ranulf-atte-Newgate, My Lady.'
    'Yes. And the earl, a foul-mouthed…'
    'You mean the King's cousin, Henry de Lacey, Earl of Lincoln, Guardian of the Prince of Wales and the King's most successful general in Gascony?'
    The Prioress bit her lip as she realised she had gone too far.
    'What do you want?' she snapped, flouncing down into a chair.
    Corbett nodded to Ranulf. 'Please wait outside.' He looked at the young nun who had accompanied the Prioress. 'And you too.' He smiled. 'My manservant has a number of droll stories that may interest you.'
    Lady Elizabeth made to rise again.
    'You, My Lady, will sit down!' Corbett ordered. 'I must take some of your time. If you had told me, the King's Commissioner, the truth the first time we met, then your journey and this meeting would not have been necessary. If you have objections to speaking now, then take them to the King. I assure you, you will spend your remaining years on bread and water in some forlorn nunnery at the other end of the kingdom.'
    Ranulf heard these last few words as he closed the door behind him. He was tempted to eavesdrop for he knew Master Long Face was closing in on his quarry. However, the door was thick and the young nun rather pretty. Ranulf soon had her giggling at his own tale about the miller's wife, the miller's daughter and the lecherous clerk.
    An hour later Corbett left the room, a smile on his face.
    'I think your Prioress needs you,' he murmured. 'She has to unpack and prepare herself for this evening's banquet. And you, Ranulf…'
    He took his manservant by the elbow and led him down the stairs, whispering quiet instructions about what he was to do that evening. Corbett then returned to his chamber, prepared himself, and wrapping certain items in his cloak, went down to the great hall for what Sir Peter Branwood grandly termed his 'victory banquet'.
    The under-sheriff had done his best to transform the hall. The floor had been cleaned, tapestries hung against the walls and the great table had been moved from the dais to accommodate all of Sir Peter's household as well as de Lacey, Corbett, Ranulf, and a very grim-faced Lady Prioress. Sconce torches spluttered against the darkness whilst the tables, covered in white cloths, were bathed in pools of candlelight. Sir Peter's cooks had prepared a veritable feast: mutton cooked with olives, royal venison, chicken boiled and stuffed with grapes, a dressed peacock, bowls of salad, pike in galantine sauce, buttered vegetables, and the best wines from the castle cellars. Everyone except