Assassin in the Greenwood

boiled over at the sight and Corbett had been forced to witness Edward in one of his black rages. He kicked furniture over, pounded on walls till his fists were bloodied, scattered papers from his table and dragged hangings from their hooks. Even the royal greyhounds had the sense to cower and hide. Corbett had effaced himself until the royal rage abated.
    'Am I the King?' Edward roared. 'To be made a mockery of in my own kingdom? You will go north, Corbett, you understand? You will go to bloody Nottingham and see Robin Hood hang!'
    So Corbett had come to Nottingham. He bore the King's message of angry disapproval to the sheriff Sir Eustace Vechey but, on his arrival at the castle, discovered Vechey had been poisoned in his own chamber.
    'Tell me again,' Corbett said, breaking free from his reverie, 'how Sir Eustace died.'
    'Sir Eustace,' Branwood began slowly, 'was in the blackest pit of depression. On Wednesday evening he dined here in the hall. He hardly spoke. He ate sparingly though he drank well. At last he got to his feet, said he was retiring early and, followed by Lecroix his manservant, took a goblet of wine up to his chamber. Vechey slept in a great four-poster bed, Lecroix on a pallet in a corner of the same chamber.'
    'Was there any food in the room?'
    Branwood made a face. 'A little. A plate of sweetmeats, and of course the cup of wine. However, when Vechey's corpse was discovered, Physician Maigret tasted both the sweetmeats and what was left of the wine. Both were found to be harmless.'
    'Did anyone visit him in the night?'
    'No. Vechey locked his chamber door, leaving the key in the lock. Two soldiers stood guard outside, Vechey's personal retainers. No one came near that chamber.'
    'You talked of secret passageways?'
    'Oh, they may exist under the castle but Sir Eustace's chamber is on the floor above. Not even a rat could squeeze in there.'
    'And the windows?'
    'As here, mere arrow slits.'
    'So,' mused Corbett, 'a man is poisoned in a locked chamber. No one entered, no one could force their way through a window and there are no secret passageways. And you say he only ate and drank what you did?'
    Branwood snorted. 'Even better. He made myself, Lecroix, and Physician Maigret taste everything before he did. You see, Sir Eustace had nightmares about Robin Hood. He believed the outlaw wanted him dead, if not by an arrow or dagger then by poison.'
    Corbett shook his head and went back to the table.
    'So this man leaves the table in good health. He takes a goblet of wine upstairs, perhaps eats a sweetmeat, yet neither of these was tainted?'
    'Yes,' Branwood said softly. 'Go to the chamber yourself, Master Clerk. Naturally Sir Eustace's corpse has been removed, but on my orders and those of Physician Maigret, nothing else. The wine and sweetmeats – everything is still there.'
    'I would like to question the servant Lecroix.'
    'He will be found for you but is surely not responsible,' Branwood explained. 'Lecroix is simple-minded and deeply loved his master.'
    Ranulf-atte-Newgate spoke up clearly, tired of the way Naylor was glaring at him. 'But you said, Sir Peter, that Lecroix slept in the same chamber. Surely Sir Eustace Vechey's death throes would have woken him?'
    Branwood shrugged. 'Vechey had drunk deep, as had Lecroix. The fellow sleeps like a log. And according to Physician Maigret, certain noxious potions can kill quietly and swiftly.'
    Corbett rubbed his face and walked over to the window, drawn there by a clamour from the castle bailey below. He stared down at the small crowd of retainers who had gathered round a makeshift execution platform on which a red-masked headsman was standing. Corbett stood transfixed as a man was hustled up the steps, hands bound behind his back. His head was thrust down on the block, the axe rose, glinting in the sunlight, and fell with a loud thud. Corbett flinched and looked away as hot blood spurted in a curving arc. 'Master, what is it?'
    Ranulf and Maltote left the table and peered over Corbett's shoulder.
    'See,' Ranulf whispered to Maltote, 'the eyes still flutter and the lips are moving.'
    The round-faced Maltote, who could not stand the sight of blood, his or anyone else's, briskly walked away, praying not to faint. Corbett looked at the sheriff.
    'A bloody business, Sir Peter?'
    'No, a lesson,' Branwood replied, toying with a ring on his slim brown hand.
    Corbett flinched as the axe fell again. He caught the glint of amusement in Branwood's eyes.
    'What is