Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

have a bow and a quiver of arrows. Bring them across.’
    Ranulf hastened off. Corbett tried to put himself into the mind of the assassin.
    ‘This was no hunting accident,’ he said confidently.
    He walked up and down and, at last, chose his spot where he stood until Ranulf returned. Corbett took the bow, selected an arrow from the quiver and stared at the cruel, steel-pointed head.
    ‘This is a war arrow?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Sir William replied. ‘If we were hunting, Sir Hugh, it would be sickle-shaped.’
    Corbett held the cord grip round the middle of the yew bow and notched an arrow to the string. He took a deep breath and lifted the bow up. Once the shaft came level with his eye, he pulled back.
    ‘Right, Ranulf!’ he ordered. ‘Start counting!’
    Corbett lowered the bow again and looked across to where Lord Henry had been killed. Then he raised the bow and took careful aim. He was conscious of a slight breeze on his cheek; his eyes remained fixed on that spot as he steadied his breathing. He could feel the power of the bow, the two forefingers of his left hand grasped the shaft just behind the grey goose quill. He sighed and, as he did, loosed the arrow. In a blur the shaft hurtled across the glade and disappeared into the trees on the far side. Ranulf had reached the number nine as he lowered the bow.
    ‘A very short time,’ Corbett declared. ‘A few seconds. The assassin has found his mark, now he must retreat. Across the glade all is chaos and consternation. What would the assassin do now, Ranulf?’
    ‘If it was I, master, I’d have left a horse some way off. I’d run as fast as I could, put as much distance between myself and here as possible.’
    ‘Sir William?’
    ‘I’d do the same.’
    ‘But that’s not the problem, is it?’ Corbett mused, handing the bow to the manor lord. ‘The assassin would have fled. The real danger wasn’t in that.’
    ‘It was beforehand, wasn’t it?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Yes. It took me some time to find a spot, the best place to shoot. Now the assassin may have known that Lord Henry intended to organise a hunt in Savernake Dell but he wouldn’t know where the manor lord would be standing. Nor would he know if he’d get a good view of him.’
    ‘Of course,’ Ranulf said. ‘The assassin may have come here, only to find Lord Henry screened by his retainers and his guests.’
    ‘Precisely. In which case our assassin may have tried to kill Lord Henry before or even waited for another day.’ He smiled over his shoulder at Sir William. ‘But there’s a weakness in what I say?’
    The manor lord stared stonily back.
    ‘You know there’s a weakness, Sir William. Your brother Lord Henry was a man of power. He would stand second to no one. He would have to be in the front. He was the host, the great huntsman.’
    ‘But anyone would know that,’ Sir William stammered.
    ‘You mean not just his family?’ Ranulf taunted.
    ‘As Sir Hugh says,’ Sir William replied defensively, ‘Lord Henry was the first in all things. First born, first in the tournament, in the cavalcade and, yes, in the hunt.’
    Corbett walked away, studying the great oak trees. He strode across to an ancient, hollowed one, probably struck by lightning. It was at least two yards in girth. Others, similar, stood nearby.
    ‘What is this place?’
    ‘We are on the edge of Savernake Dell,’ Sir William replied. ‘But they call this " Hollowman Place " after the oak trees. My father, when he was a boy, told of a great storm in which some of the trees were struck by lightning.’
    ‘And?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘It’s well known as a lovers’ tryst or a place where children play.’ William gave a lop-sided smile. ‘My brother and I often came here to play "Catch and See".’
    Corbett stepped into one of the hollowed oaks, where he smelt the strong odour of mildewed wood, fungi and forest bracken. It was like being in a small cell. He peered up at the sky. Such a place would be favoured by any child or outlaw, or an assassin waiting for his victim to appear.
    ‘Ranulf! Search the other hollow trees!’
    ‘What am I looking for?’
    ‘When you find it, you’ll know.’
    Sir William stood nonplussed as Corbett and Ranulf moved from tree to tree in that dark-green glade. At each one Corbett crouched down, sifting among the soft moss and fern, dry twigs and rotting leaves. The hollowed trunks were dark but there was enough light to search carefully.
    ‘Over here!’ Ranulf