Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

still left from where the Palisade had stood.
    ‘You see that, master?’
    ‘As sure as I do the nose on your face.’
    Baldock turned away and Ranulf glimpsed a ‘Riick movement of his arm. The ostler’s hand came UP in an arc; the knife, a thin-bladed stabbing dirk, flew through the air and hit the pole dead centre.
    ‘I learned that,’ Baldock boasted. ‘A wandering mountebank taught me. I’ve won many a coin in the taverns.’
    ‘And what else can you do?’ Ranulf had now forgotten Corbett. ‘Do you play dice, Baldock?’ He fished in his pouch and took out two of his genuine dice.
    The change in the ostler’s face was wonderful to behold. Such a woebegone expression, anyone would have thought he had been threatened with a hanging.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ Ranulf purred. He pointed down to the piece of level ground. ‘Throw the dice!’
    Baldock was about to refuse.
    ‘I am a royal clerk,’ Ranulf told him softly.
    Baldock’s lower lip jutted out stubbornly.
    ‘Go on!’ Ranulf urged. ‘Look!’ He fished out a penny and threw it at Baldock, who deftly caught it. ‘For the love of God, man, throw the dice. I am paying you to!’
    Baldock finally took the dice and crouched down.
    ‘You’ll see why,’ he grumbled. ‘You’ll see why and leave me alone.’
    He let the two white polished dice fall. Ranulf blinked.
    ‘Two ones!’ he exclaimed. ‘Throw them again, Baldock!’
    The young ostler heaved a sigh but obeyed.
    ‘Two ones! I don’t believe this! Again!’
    This time it was a one and a two. Baldock picked up the dice and thrust them back into Ranulf’s hands.
    ‘I didn’t tell you my full name,’ he confessed. ‘Unlucky Baldock!’
    ‘No, no.’ Ranulf, intrigued, dug into his purse and took out another die heavily weighted to fall on six. ‘Go on, Unlucky Baldock, I’ll prove you wrong!’
    The young ostler blinked. ‘Must I?’
    Again another coin exchanged hands. Ranulf watched in fascination; he’d used these dice so many times to fleece an opponent. Baldock rolled the die along the ground until it turned over on the three.
    ‘It must be the forest floor,’ Ranulf whispered. ‘That’s never happened!’
    ‘If you think that’s bad,’ Baldock said, ‘have you ever heard me sing?’ His pale face had become flushed, his eyes gleaming with anger. ‘If you really want to make fun of me, I know you’ll go back to the manor and tell people what you saw, then they’ll all jeer and say, "Didn’t you hear him sing?"‘
    Before Ranulf could answer, Baldock opened his mouth.
    ‘A nut brown maid...’
    The horses reared and whinnied. Ranulf cursed and dug his heels in, at the same time grasping more firmly the reins of Corbett’s horse. But the more Baldock sang, the greater the horses’ agitation grew. Ranulf had never heard such a terrible sound, whether in tavern brawls, street fights, or from men suffering from the most hideous wounds. Baldock’s voice was indescribable, a harsh grating noise, like a man slowly choking.
    ‘Stop it!’ Ranulf bellowed. ‘For the love of God, stop it!’
    Baldock closed his mouth. Ranulf quietened the horses and the young ostler came over and whispered to both of them. The horses whinnied and relaxed. Baldock fished into his purse and brought out an apple which he cut and fed half to each.
    ‘There! There!’ he crooned. ‘Unlucky Baldock is sorry. So, sir.’ He held the bridle of Ranulf’s horse, the cast in his right eye more pronounced. ‘Now you know why they call me Unlucky Baldock. Cross-eyed, crossed in luck and crossed in love!’
    ‘Ranulf!’ Corbett was standing at the edge of the glade looking impatiently across at him.
    His manservant threw Baldock another penny before he dismounted and led both horses across the dell.
    ‘What is the matter?’ Corbett demanded. ‘What was that terrible noise?’
    Ranulf hid a smirk. ‘Master, I’ll tell you later. We were discussing poor Maltote and I may have found a replacement.’
    Corbett looked askance at him as he grasped the reins of his horse and walked into the trees.
    ‘If I remember rightly, the priory must be this way. So, if we get lost, Ranulf, it will be my fault.’
    Ranulf quietly cursed and hung back. He hated the forest, the noises he couldn’t identify, the shapes and shadowy forms which seemed to move between the trees. Corbett walked ahead of him, lost in his own thoughts. The previous evening, the tavern master of the Devil-in-the-Woods had