Prince of Darkness

embarrass the English crown? Or was the assassin sent by the King, his son, Gaveston, or even the French?
    Ranulf coughed.
    'Of course, Master, there is one final explanation.' 'Which is?'
    'That the Lady Amelia is a liar. She could have gone to Lady Eleanor, murdered her, and then moved the body downstairs.'
    Corbett nodded. Ranulf's theory made sense. Lady Eleanor would have opened the door to her Prioress.
    'Or,' Ranulf grinned, 'perhaps the ancient ones, Dame Elizabeth and Dame Martha – maybe they are not as innocent as you think. The same could apply to one of the Sub-prioresses.'
    Corbett smiled. Ranulf was correct So many suspects, yet so few answers. He let the conversation drift. Ranulf teased Maltote about his love life while Corbett ordered the evening meal: roasted capons stuffed with herbs, hare cooked in wine, and a dish of vegetables, leeks and onions smattered with garlic and thyme. They were half-way through their meal when the landlord appeared in the middle of the room, shouting: 'Master Corbett! Is there a Hugh Corbett here?'
    The noise in the taproom stilled for a moment, even the fanners in the comer drunkenly arguing about the price of wheat; two harridans from the town shrieking at each other over an upturned barrel; and a group of young bloods, garishly dressed in costly silks, noisily roistering before a night out on the town. Corbett rose and beckoned the fellow over.
    'There's a boy outside,' the landlord said. 'He has a message for you.' 'From whom?'
    The fellow wiped his dripping nose on the back of his hand.
    'By St Paul's, I'm a taverner not a messenger! The urchin simply said he had a message which he must give only to you.'
    'Then bring him in.'
    'He says he's afeared.' The landlord turned and spat into the dirty rushes. 'For God's sake, man, he's just outside the door!'
    Corbett shrugged, told Ranulf and Maltote to keep the flies off his food and went out. In the gathering dusk he saw the boy, his back to him, staring down the darkening street
    'What is it, lad?'
    The boy turned. Corbett couldn't make his features out because of the hood pulled over his head. He saw the pig's bladder lying at the boy's feet, very similar to the one he had seen two children playing with on Holborn thoroughfare. The boy turned and Corbett suddenly sprang back. The long, thin stiletto missed his stomach by inches.
    'Who are you?' Corbett whispered, backing away. 'What is it, boy?'
    He was defenceless. He had left his sword belt and dagger in the tavern. He could hardly believe a young boy of no more than ten or eleven could be playing such a deadly game. The small, cowled figure shuffled towards him. Again the knife snaked out Corbett caught the boy by the wrist and gasped in surprise at his strength. He shoved his would-be assassin away and, as he did so, the hood fell back and Corbett stood transfixed in fear. No boy but a manikin, a midget of a man. Corbett had never seen such evil in someone so small: black hair slicked back against the head like the ears of a wet rat; tiny, soulless eyes and a face as twisted and as sour as a rotten apple. To his left Corbett heard a slithering on the cobbles. He glanced over and his heart jumped into his throat. A second small figure now crept out of the darkness and started to edge towards him. Corbett glimpsed the arbalest in the midget's hand and, in the poor light, the shimmering sharpness of the lethal bolt waiting to be tired.
    'Oh, Christ!' he murmured.
    He heard a click and stepped back quickly as the bolt thudded into the wall of the derelict house behind him. Corbett lost his footing and went down, his flailing hands seeking something to grip. He touched a lump of rotting offal and, scooping it up, throwing it at the first assassin now tripping towards him. The handful of dirt caught the dwarf in the face, making him gag and drop his guard. He stopped to wipe away the excrement which blinded his eyes and coated his lips. Corbett rose swift as an arrow.
    'Aidez moi!' he shouted. 'Ranulf!'
    And, using all his force, he ran and crashed into the second assassin, who was winching back the arbalest for another bolt. Both clerk and dwarf roiled and scrabbled in the mud. Corbett felt as if he was in a nightmare; the very smallness of the man made him a false opponent, almost cutting off Corbett's blood lust and desire to protect himself. The dwarf strained against him as they rolled and struggled in the mud. Corbett, determined the dwarf wouldn't reach the