Assassin in the Greenwood

and other such ambushes. How Sir Eustace at first did not notice anything but then became suspicious about a high-ranking traitor in the castle, whereupon Branwood decided to kill him.
    'They killed others,' Roteboeuf sobbed. 'The only fly in the ointment was those fire arrows loosed on the thirteenth of every month. Branwood suspected that one of Robin's old companions knew the truth, so he dispensed ruthless justice to any amongst the outlaws who opposed him. He killed Vechey. Naylor killed Lecroix, Hecate, and the young man in the tavern, the Riddle Master; Sir Peter believed he was another spy. I swear this is the truth!' he cried, eyes wild. 'I will swear the same before the King's Justices!'
    Lincoln got to his feet. 'Sir Peter Branwood, King's Under-Sheriff in Nottingham, I ask you solemnly, do you have any defence against these allegations?'
    Branwood lifted his face from his hands. 'Defence?' he whispered. 'Defence, you silly, wine-sodden, old man! Against what? Killing an outlaw and doing what he did? After all, if the King can pardon Robin of Locksley and take him into his own chamber, why can't he pardon me?' He turned and glared at Corbett. 'It was worth it!' he snarled. 'I brought the outlaw down with his swagger, his Lincoln green and his love of the common man. I made two mistakes. No, three! I should have taken his head like I took that silly fool Gisborne's. I should have killed Roteboeuf. And above all, Corbett, I should have killed you!'
    Lincoln strode down the table and beckoned to his soldiers.
    'Make him stand up!'
    The soldiers hustled Branwood to his feet. He spat defiantly at Lincoln who struck him across the face then dragged the chain of office from round his neck.
    'Sir Peter Branwood, you are a thief, a murderer and a traitor! I arrest you for high treason, as I do you, John Naylor! As for you,' he glanced disdainfully at the kneeling, sobbing Roteboeuf, 'you will be detained until the King's pleasure is known. Sir Hugh.' He looked at Corbett. 'Sir Hugh
    Corbett came round the table and stared at Branwood who looked defiant despite his dishevelled appearance and the burgeoning bruise where Lincoln had hit him.
    'You are wrong, Branwood,' Corbett murmured. 'Robin of Locksley was an outlaw but he was also a dreamer, an idealist. He had a genuine love for the common man whereas you are a silent assassin, a conniving thief and a bungling traitor. You used your high office for cold-blooded murder as well as for the theft of the King's money. God forgive me! You are the only man I ever wanted to see die!'
    'Take them away!' Lincoln ordered.
    The soldiers pushed the three prisoners out as Lincoln went to the top of the table and filled wine cups. He brought one back to Corbett and thrust this into the clerk's hand, telling his soldiers to seal the hall doors. Then he stared round the assembled company.
    'Robin of Locksley is dead. He deserved a better end, as did those others whom Branwood so coldly murdered. The traitor will stand before King's Bench at Westminster and his trial will be very brief. For the rest, you are bound to silence on what you have seen and heard tonight.' He sipped from the wine cup. 'Though I gather the truth will soon be out.'
    Lincoln gazed round the sombre, shadow-filled hall.
    'The King must come here,' he murmured. 'This place has to be purged and cleansed!' He summoned one of his household knights, whispered to him then glanced at the Prioress. 'My Lady, I will give you suitable escort back to your convent tomorrow morning. John Little, I suggest you stay in the friary with Brother William till fresh letters of pardon are issued. For the rest,' he shrugged, 'these proceedings are now finished. You are all free to leave.'
    Corbett and Lincoln watched as everyone filed out of the hall, still subdued and shocked.
    'You are probably right, Corbett,' Lincoln murmured. 'We'll find a great deal in the cellars. Perhaps tomorrow I will visit Sherwood myself and give the outlaws there something to remember, now they are bereft of their leaders.'
    'The Blue Boar tavern?' Corbett asked.
    Lincoln grinned. 'My mounted serjeants will meet you there before dawn. But, Hugh, listen. Why did Roteboeuf tell you about Scarlett?'
    'They couldn't touch the old outlaw,' Corbett replied. 'He was wary and kept hidden by Holy Mother Church. So Branwood gambled. I was given Scarlett's name to see if the old friar knew anything as well as to depict Branwood as the righteously angry royal