Assassin in the Greenwood

gatehouse at Kirklees. True, My Lady?'
    'It's true,' the Prioress replied, entwining her fingers tightly and staring down at the table top. 'The wolfshead had a jagged, bubbling wound in his neck. I did what I could.'
    Corbett glanced round the table. Branwood looked as if he was carved out of marble, his mouth sagging open.
    'Ranulf!' Corbett called. 'Bring in John Little!'
    Ranulf walked into the hall, the huge giant lumbering like a bear behind him whilst Brother William brought up the rear. Naylor stood up, thrusting back his chair.
    'That man's an outlaw and a wolfshead!' he cried, his hand going to his dagger. 'He can be killed on sight!'
    'If you interrupt these proceedings again,' Corbett snapped, 'I'll have my Earl of Lincoln hang you from the beams of this hall! Master Little, you heard what I said. Do I speak the truth?'
    The ragged, bearded giant nodded. Even Corbett flinched at the hatred in the huge man's eyes.
    'Robin was dying,' Little John began, his voice surprisingly soft but tinged with a rustic burr. 'The nun's correct. She did what she could but, there again, God knows what potion she gave Robin. After he had drunk it, he grew a little stronger and asked for my long bow.' The giant's eyes filled with tears. 'He was dying and told me to open the casement window. I fitted an arrow to the string and helped him pull it back. He shot it good and true over the park.' Little John paused. 'Robin laughed. He knew his kinswoman the Prioress hated him but she couldn't refuse him Christian burial. Robin told me to find where the arrow had fallen and bury him there. After that, Maid Marion,' the giant coughed, 'the Lady Mary, came rushing up. Robin was failing.' He shrugged and wrung his great hands. 'That was it. As the light failed, so did Robin. For a while he slept, muttering about days in the forest. Sometimes he would laugh, sometimes shout out Marion's name. Once or twice mine. At last he fell silent. The Lady Mary was prostrate with grief. I bent over the bed. Robin's eyes were closed and his face cold.'
    The man scratched his beard. Despite his great size and girth, he looked like a little boy remembering a terrible accident. 'Next morning I went out. It took me many an hour to find where the arrow had fallen then I dug the grave. She,' he flung out a hand at the Prioress, 'that high-faced bitch, objected!' He smiled mirthlessly. 'But, I threatened to break her neck if she refused. I finished the grave. Before he died, Robin had whispered about poor William and Thomas so I went back along the trackway and found their corpses. They were both dead, arrows in their necks and chests. I laid them alongside Robin. The grave was deep and broad. I covered it with earth. I went back to the nunnery to comfort the Lady Mary but she was witless, beside herself with grief. I told the Prioress I would return every so often to check that grave. I never did. I didn't want to be seen in public. As for the Lady Mary…' Little John shrugged.
    'She's dead!' the Prioress interrupted. 'She had set such hopes on Robin's return. After his death, she pined away. Wouldn't eat or drink, became lost in her own dreams.' Her eyes snapped. 'I told my community she had left with Robin. No one knew the truth. However, in death I bear no man ill will. Robin is gone and so is the love of his life. I placed her alongside him.'
    Corbett stared at the hard, taut face of the Prioress. He wondered if she had secretly loved Robin and her later hatred had stemmed from his indifference.
    'What did Little John mean about the potion?' he asked. The Prioress shook her head.
    'Why didn't you report Robin's death to the King?' Lincoln shouted. 'After all, he was under royal protection, carrying letters of safe conduct.'
    'How could I?' the Prioress protested. 'Robin had been killed near Kirklees! You've heard the rogue Little John -my dislike of Robin was well known. After all,' she glared at Corbett, 'I was one of the few who knew he was coming!'
    'I thought of that,' Little John added. 'Robin didn't know who his assailants were, describing them as masked and hooded. I came to Nottingham to seek out Brother William. And then,' the fellow scratched his head, 'I began to wonder. Robin was attacked on the thirteenth of December. His assailants must have been waiting for him. Now I reasoned that many knew about Robin's leaving Scotland but few could actually plot his footsteps. Only the King and his clerks at Westminster or someone here who'd