Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

cunning, of steady wit. I gather, at first, he showed no objection to Lord Henry’s pursuit of his daughter?’
    ‘He turned a blind eye,’ Sir William agreed. ‘But Alicia has a will like steel and a tongue as sharp as a razor.’
    ‘And who else is there?’ Corbett persisted.
    ‘Brother Cosmas, the priest of St Oswald’s-in-the-Trees. As I have said, my brother was harsh. Cosmas was also a soldier, until he found God. He fought in the retinue of Henry, Earl of Huntingdon.’
    ‘And who else is there?’
    ‘My brother had strange ways, Sir Hugh. He had little time for God and even less for God’s servants.’
    ‘He didn’t like priests?’
    ‘No, Sir Hugh, he didn’t like priests. He didn’t like what he called their mumbling, mouldering words. Henry had visited the universities at Salerno and Bologna , he was aware of the new knowledge coming out of the east. He claimed there was more to man than what the Church taught. He collected grimoires, books written by magicians and wizards. He often went into the forest. There’s a witch-woman, Jocasta, and her fey-witted daughter Blanche. My brother gave them a cottage and a little plot of land.’
    ‘Why?’ Corbett asked. ‘Was your brother a generous man?’
    ‘No. Jocasta appeared about three or four years ago, her daughter trailing behind. She told some story about being cast out by the good burghers of Rye . My brother met her alone in the parlour of Ashdown Manor. They must have been closeted for hours. Afterwards I learned that he had given Jocasta a cottage and, about once a week when he was in residence, he’d visit her by himself.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘The servants claimed he was interested in the black arts. Jocasta could weave spells.’
    ‘Is that the truth?’
    ‘No, I don’t think it is. Once my brother entertained a wandering magician. The man claimed he could ask Lord Satan to come up from hell. My brother riposted, "Yes, but would he come?" and bellowed with laughter. No, to be honest, Sir Hugh, my brother probably went there for another reason. If the truth be known, I have seen no evidence that Jocasta or her daughter are witches.’
    ‘And your half-sister?’
    Sir William snorted with laughter. ‘The Lady Madeleine, prioress of St Hawisia’s? Madeleine has always been, and always will be, Lord Henry in petticoats. She is stubborn, arrogant and bows to no one.’
    ‘Was she on good terms with your brother?’
    ‘Like two cats, Sir Hugh. They would be welcoming but wary. They’d circle each other, hackles up, teeth bared, but they rarely fought.’
    ‘A clash of wills, eh?’
    ‘Sir Hugh, St Hawisia’s is deep in the forest. You are welcome to ask my half-sister whenever you Want . I am sure she will give you the benefit of her wit and wisdom.’ He pulled a face. ‘Lord Henry did recently refurbish the shrine, for Madeleine nagged him until he did.’
    Corbett looked across to where Ranulf had now fashioned a sharpened stake, his knife slicing into the white wood.
    ‘We do have one other person.’
    ‘Myself?’
    ‘Yes, Sir William, yourself. You are hardly the grieving brother. You were not present when Lord Henry was killed. You mentioned gossip. It’s possible that you disappeared into the forest, followed a trackway round the palisade, took the concealed bow, loosed the killing shaft, hid the weapon and hurried back.’
    ‘In which case, Sir Hugh, I wouldn’t have needed a horse, would I?’
    Corbett threw his head back and laughed.
    ‘There’s another possibility,’ Ranulf intervened. He threw down the piece of wood and re-sheathed his dagger. ‘Whoever killed Lord Henry was a master bowman. How do we know it was someone he knew? There are enough landless soldiers, archers from the King’s wars, who could be hired, given a horse, a bow and arrow, and instructed whom to kill.’
    ‘Are you saying that I did that?’
    ‘No, Sir William, all I said was that it could be done.’
    ‘Did you love your brother?’ Corbett asked sharply.
    Sir William put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes.
    ‘When I was a child, when Henry, Madeleine and I ran in these woods like imps from hell, there was no rancour, no jealousy, no bitterness.’ He fought to keep his voice steady. ‘Indeed, Madeleine and I, we worshipped the ground Henry trod on. We used to play in Savernake Dell. Henry was Arthur, Madeleine Guinevere and I was Sir Galahad. Summers which never seemed to end. Days which stretched like eternity. You