Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

morning Lord Henry was killed, the naked corpse of a young woman was left outside the postern gates of St Hawisia’s priory. Naturally, it sent the good sisters all a-flutter. We don’t know the identity of the girl, where she came from or who loosed an arrow straight into her throat. The corpse was decaying; soil, bits of leaves still clung to it. The nun at St Hawisia’s, who dressed the body for burial, believes this young woman had been killed some time ago and buried in a forest glade. The corpse was then dug up and, as some macabre jest, left at the priory gates.’
    ‘And what happened to it?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Lady Madeleine recalled the Corporal Acts of Mercy and gave it burial in the priory’s own churchyard before reporting the matter to the local sheriff. So you see, Hugh, we have two deaths by arrow in Ashdown Forest . Is it the work of the Owlman? Are the deaths totally unrelated? Anyway, I am sending you down there, armed with warrants to do what you have to.’
    ‘But you really couldn’t care about Lord Henry’s death?’
    ‘No, Hugh, I couldn’t give a fig if he is in heaven or hell. However, his death provides the opportunity to discover why the French demanded that Lord Henry lead the English envoys to Paris for the betrothal negotiations. I want to see if he is a traitor, and the same goes for his household.’ Edward leaned back in his chair. ‘In a few years’ time the Princess Isabella comes of age. She will marry my feckless son, who will do his duty and beget an heir.’
    ‘And that heir will be Philip IV’s grandson?’
    ‘Precisely! Now, I am bound to this marriage by solemn treaty and papal decree. But, if I can find that Philip has broken this truce by conspiring with one of my magnates...’
    ‘You will send your lawyers to Avignon ,’ Corbett finished the sentence. ‘And demand that the peace treaty be rescinded. No treaty, no marriage, no grandson of Philip IV sitting on your throne at Westminster .’
    Edward grinned. ‘You have a marvellous way with words, Hugh.’
    Corbett put his hand over his mouth and looked down at the table. The old wound in his chest still ached but Corbett was trying to hide his feelings. Was Edward using him as bait? What happened if he Went to Sussex and one of de Craon’s assassins struck? Could Edward lay his death at Philip’s door, scream for justice and rescind the papal peace treaty? Or worse? What if he went to Ashdown and Edward sent his own assassin? Would the King turn on him? Sacrifice him on the altar of expediency and then blame the French? Corbett looked up quickly. Edward was gazing at Ranulf. The clerk knew that look. Would Ranulf be the assassin? Would his ambitious clerk hold their friendship as something which could be bought and sold for further preferment? No, surely not!
    ‘You seem a little anxious, Hugh?’
    Corbett shifted in the chair. He picked up the goblet and held it out. He wanted to show that he didn’t tremble.
    What happens, sire, if Fitzalan’s death is nothing to do with de Craon?’
    ‘That is possible.’
    ‘And what happens, sire, if I travel down to Ashdown, the cheese to de Craon’s mouse? Seigneur Amaury might not be able to resist the temptation of sending one of his assassins after me.’
    ‘Continue.’ The King’s voice was almost a purr.
    ‘Wouldn’t you then turn round and lay my death at his door? Send the most irate letters to His Holiness in Avignon , loudly bemoaning the death of your senior clerk at the hands of a French assassin?’
    ‘Hugh, Hugh, how could you say that?’
    ‘You are being very blunt!’ de Warrenne snapped.
    Corbett studied the old earl. You are a lecher and a drunkard, Corbett thought, but I had you wrong. You have a sense of honour. You may not like me but you, too, suspect that the King could be plotting. De Warrenne dropped his gaze.
    ‘I say you are very blunt, clerk,’ he muttered.
    ‘I’m being very honest,’ Corbett jibed back. ‘It is my life. The King himself said that de Craon may be after my head.’
    ‘But I’m not sending you there for that.’ Edward’s mood had shifted from stricken prince to angry lord. ‘Hugh, this is England . You are going to Ashdown Forest . If de Craon lifted a finger against you, I’d have his head! Do you understand me, Corbett? I’d take his head clean off at the shoulders. I’d stick it on a pole above London Bridge so the crows can pick at it like they do the rest of the vermin.’
    Corbett