Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

asked.
    ‘Here and in the priory.’
    ‘And the other matter?’
    ‘I am disappointed,’ Corbett said. ‘I really did think the Owlman was the husband of the young woman who killed herself at the Red Rose, but both are dead, so I have to think again.’
    ‘Lady Madeleine has to answer a few questions.’
    ‘She has more to answer than she thinks. You saw that hair, Ranulf? Do you think it’s a genuine relic?’
    ‘The world is full of trickery, master. Aren’t there oils, potions, herbal concoctions which could keep it supple and fresh?’
    They paused as the tavern keeper brought back traunchers with strips of crackling pork, freshly cut bread and some leeks and onions, diced and sprinkled with marjoram.
    ‘You made the Ancient One’s day,’ he told them. ‘But the other matter?’ He glanced nervously at Corbett and the clerk wondered if mine host had known the identity of his secret visitor all the time.
    ‘Act the innocent,’ Corbett advised. ‘And innocent you’ll stay.’
    The tavern keeper smiled and walked away. Corbett drew his knife, took a horn spoon from his wallet and began to cut up the pork.
    ‘Are you the King’s emissary?’
    Corbett stared and turned. The young woman appeared as if out of nowhere. She was dressed in a sea-green cloak, fringed at the hem with red stitching. It covered her from neck to toe though Corbett glimpsed muddy-toed boots peeping out beneath. Yet it was her face which fascinated him. With the hair piled back beneath a dark-grey veil, it was so composed, so perfect she reminded him of a lifelike statue of the Virgin Mary he had once seen in a church outside Paris . She was olive-skinned, blueeyed, with a perfect nose and red lips slightly parted displaying white and even teeth. She held Corbett’s stare.
    ‘Am I wasting your time, sir? I understand you are Sir Hugh Corbett, the King’s emissary.’
    Corbett rose and pulled across a stool. He took the young woman’s gloved hand and gestured that she sit.
    ‘You are Alicia Verlian?’
    The beautiful face broke into a smile.
    ‘How did you know?’
    Corbett pointed to the cloak. ‘I suppose that hides a multitude of sins. You’ve left your house rather urgently. You’ve ridden along a muddy trackway so I wonder which woman would want to seek me out so urgently. I tell a lie. I’ve heard of your beauty.’
    Corbett smiled at Ranulf, only to be shocked at the change in his manservant. Ranulf was never lost for words but now he sat like a man stricken: eyes staring, mouth gaping, a piece of meat, poised on his knife, half-raised to his mouth.
    ‘Ranulf!’
    Ranulf closed his mouth and lowered his knife but his eyes never left Alicia’s face.
    ‘My servant is tired,’ Corbett explained.
    Alicia smiled at Ranulf. ‘You’ve certainly been upsetting people,’ she said softly. ‘It’s common gossip both here and among the forest folk. Sir William came storming back to the manor and his servants were all agog.’
    ‘You want some wine?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘No, sir, I want justice.’ The young woman’s head came up, eyes bright and hard. ‘Lord Henry was a lecher, God rest him.’
    Other customers turned. Corbett gave them a warning look and they went back to their meals.
    ‘Lower your voice, madam.’
    ‘Lord Henry was a lecher!’ This time her voice was louder. ‘A cruel and vicious man who received due punishment. God’s justice has been done.’
    ‘But not for your father,’ Corbett replied evenly.
    ‘My father is innocent of any crime.’
    ‘But he was not with the hunt!’
    ‘Neither was Sir William.’
    ‘Your father fled?’
    ‘Any man of wit would have done!’ she replied. ‘He was not with Lord Henry when he was killed. It was well known we had justifiable grievances against Lord Henry. If Sir William had caught my father, he would have hanged him out of hand.’
    ‘And now your father shelters in St Oswald’s?’
    ‘He shelters, sir, because that is the only place which will protect him, until royal justice is done.’
    ‘You can continue to shout at me,’ Corbett told her. He put his fingers on her leather-gloved hand; she did not withdraw it. ‘While I am here,’ he went on, studying those beautiful eyes, ‘no man will be hanged, no sentence carried out till the truth is known.’
    ‘Pilate asked what was truth . He was a judge.’
    ‘My name is not Pilate. It’s Sir Hugh Corbett. The truth will be discovered by careful questioning.’
    ‘Such