Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

Lord of Misrule. One full page, and Corbett noticed that here the ink was clearer, the writing done in a most clerkly way, told the story of a devout and holy woman called Johanna Capillana. Corbett read this but it was only a list of the woman’s pious deeds, her devotion to the poor, her tending of the sick, her knowledge of herbs.
    ‘Have you ever heard of a saint called Johanna Capillana?’ Corbett asked.
    Ranulf was already lying on the bed, his blanket Wrapped round him, his face towards the wall. Corbett smiled and put the book down. He Undressed, placed his clothes over a stool, blew out the candles and stared out of the window. The tavern was now silent. He glanced down at Ranulf. Usually the clerk would be snoring his head off.
    ‘Love is a terrible thing,’ Corbett remarked. ‘A two-edged sword! It turns, it cuts and there is no cure.’
    Ranulf, lying on his bed, just smiled but didn’t answer. He heard his master settle for the night but his mind was back in that moon-washed garden and his heart fair skipped for joy. He had expected Alicia to laugh at him but she had not! She had explained how her own maid was in the room above and would have been very flattered to hear the poem.
    ‘I always go out at night,’ she had said, then pointed into the darkness. ‘There’s a brook. My father and I always visit it when the evenings are warm. I listen to the sounds of the night. I’m glad I went there.’ She drew closer and gripped his wrist. ‘I’m used to lust, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, to bold stares and saucy quips. But a poem! Read quietly in the moonlight! You are indeed a strange one. I had you wrong.’ And, standing on tiptoe, she had kissed him gently on the cheek, plucked the poem from his hand and walked quietly away.

    ‘As you are, so once were we! As we are, so shall ye be.’
    Corbett read the inscriptions around the Doom above the dark wooden church of St Oswald ’s-in-the-Trees.
    ‘In the end,’ he commented to Ranulf, pushing open the door, ‘all of us will be as God wants us.’
    He paused inside the porch. The little church was built entirely of wood: the builder had ingeniously used a row of oaks as pillars for the roof and on either side of the nave were darkened transepts with small, square windows providing light. The roof itself looked like that of a barn, great timbers running across. The rood screen at the top looked ancient; some of the carvings, St John and other saints clustered around the crucified Christ, were battered and worn. Corbett went through the rood-screen door and into the sanctuary. A man sat there dressed in a Franciscan robe. In the alcove behind was a small, thin mattress, blankets neatly piled on top of the bolster; the remains of a meal on a trauncher lay on the floor.
    ‘Robert Verlian?’ Corbett asked.
    He studied the thin-haired chief verderer. Verlian nodded and got to his feet, wincing at the pain and rubbing his right knee.
    ‘In my flight,’ he explained, ‘I must have injured it.’
    He hobbled forward, hand outstretched. Corbett grasped it. The verderer was of medium height, his face, roughened by the wind and sun, was lined and seamed, the eyes bloodshot with fatigue and worry. He was clean-shaven but had cut himself a number of times.
    ‘I apologise for my appearance,’ he explained. ‘But I am now prisoner of this place, dependent on the generosity of Brother Cosmas.’
    ‘We met your daughter Alicia.’ Ranulf, smiling from ear to ear, stepped forward.
    ‘Yes, I know. You must be Sir Hugh Corbett, King’s emissary, and his clerk Ranulf-atte-Newgate. My daughter visits me but Brother Cosmas urged her not to bring a change of clothing or food and wine.’ He glimpsed the puzzlement in Ranulf’s face.
    ‘The law of sanctuary,’ Corbett explained. ‘If it is to be maintained no one is to bring clothing, food or drink or provide any other sustenance.’
    ‘But you are safe now,’ Ranulf insisted. ‘We hold the King’s writ. There is no proof of murder and you are not guilty of any other crime.’
    Verlian shrugged. ‘I dare not leave this church, not now. Sir William’s hand is turned against me. I’d best stay here until this matter is settled once and for all.’
    ‘I would agree with that.’
    Corbett turned round. Brother Cosmas had come out of the side door leading to the sacristy. He sketched a blessing in their direction.
    ‘I received Sir William’s assurances, but I heard what you said, Robert, and I agree.