Crown in Darkness

sardonically. 'Why don't you ask Benstede these questions? I am sure he will give you satisfactory answers.' Corbett then turned on his heel and strode out of the room and made his way back up the alley. He tensed himself, ears straining, wondering if the French would pursue him and, when he safely reached the top of the alleyway, breathed a sigh of relief and continued on his way back to the Abbey of Holy Rood.
    Eventually Corbett was free of the town and into the stretch of countryside which surrounded the abbey. The rain was falling more heavily. He pulled his cloak more firmly round his body and threaded his way through the trees. He was still on his guard, fearful of any pursuit by de Craon or his men. The trees on either side were dark and quiet, the only sound being the rustling of branches and the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the leaves. Then he heard a noise. He thought it was a twig breaking but then something jolted his memory. Corbett had heard such a sound many times during his war in Wales and, without thinking, threw himself on his face. He heard the sound again, followed by the whistle and thud of a crossbow bolt whirring overhead to slam into the nearest tree. Corbett waited no longer. He knew that the archer would have to load and winch his bow, so he rose and ran with all his force, clearing the trees, almost breathless as he stumbled up the muddy causeway leading to the main abbey gate. He made the mistake of turning round, stumbled and fell on one knee and then rose, sobbing in terror as he clawed his way to the main gate, hammering on it with all his might. The door opened and he staggered, almost fell, into the arms of the astonished lay brother. Corbett quickly regained his composure, gave the monk a hasty lie, and hurriedly made his way to the Prior's quarters. The chamber was empty so Corbett went straight to his room, threw himself down upon his cot and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

EIGHT
    For the second time that day, Gorbett was shaken awake, an insistent voice calling his name. He opened his eyes and started as he recognised the white anxious face, staring green eyes and tousled hair of his servant, Ranulf, whom he had last seen in the infirmary of Tynemouth Priory. Gorbett shook himself awake. 'Ranulf! When did you arrive?' 'About an hour ago,' Ranulf replied, 'with my horse and a pack mule. I remembered your instruction to join you at the Abbey of Holy Rood. I have spent most of the day just finding my way here from the castle.' He looked Corbett up and down. 'Where have you been? You're covered in mud!' 'A long story,' Corbett testily replied. 'I will tell you later. For the time being, find the Prior and tell him that I am back and arrange for some hot water to be brought here.' Ranulf swiftly departed. His master, he thought, was as strange as ever, close, careful, even secretive and still intent on cleanliness. He wondered what had brought Corbett north; he had tried to find out all the way to Tynemouth but Corbett remained taciturn, so Ranulf became sullen. He owed his life to Corbett who had saved him from a choking death at Tyburn, yet Corbett was still mysterious; working constantly, his only pleasure being the flute, some manuscript or sitting quietly over a cup of wine brooding about life. Ranulf had cursed his departure from London away from the young wife of a London mercer. He felt a tightness in his groin and muttered foul oaths: she was a fine lady with her laces and bows and arrogant looks but, between the sheets, a different matter, soft and pleading, turning and twisting beneath him. Ranulf sighed heavily, a long way from this dour monastery and his secretive master.
    Corbett was, in fact, very pleased to see Ranulf again. He would not admit it but he felt secure with Ranulf who would guard his back. Corbett was completely mystified by his servant's energy and zest for life and passionate attachment to any woman who arched an eyebrow at him. But Ranulf was here and while Corbett bathed and changed his clothing, he wondered how Ranulf could protect him from the secret assassins now stalking him. The attack in the forest was attempted murder and he now drew the same conclusion about the dagger thrown at him the previous day.
    Corbett spent the rest of the evening analysing what he knew and had learnt but soon realised that he had been drawn into a maze of marshy morass and the more he probed, the more puzzled he became. He did not talk to Ranulf about the