Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

because, in the forest, we have the Owlman, an outlaw different from the rest. Indeed, he intrigues me. When I was sitting in the taproom this morning I thought about him. He is an outlaw who does not prey on travellers, at least, there’s no proof that he does. He does not hunt the King’s venison. Indeed, his only quarrel seems with the Fitzalan family. He sends them threatening messages tied to a yard shaft but no one ever sees him! No one ever hears him! No one even knows what he looks like.’
    He glimpsed the puzzlement in Verlian’s eyes, glanced quickly at Alicia then swiftly up at the friar. Brother Cosmas had turned away as if distracted by the candle spluttering on the altar. Corbett got to his feet.
    ‘Now this is truly a conundrum.’
    ‘I hadn’t thought of it,’ Verlian declared. ‘It’s now autumn and the Owlman has been in this forest since spring. I have never seen anything suspicious nor have any of my verderers or huntsmen.’
    ‘Are you saying that he’s someone else?’ Alicia asked.
    ‘That’s one possibility,’ Corbett agreed. ‘He might even be one of you three. But, I tell you this...’
    ‘Sir Hugh! Sir Hugh Corbett!’
    Ranulf went to the mouth of the rood screen. The door of the church was flung open and archers wearing the Fitzalan livery stood in the entrance, a woman behind them. She had her arm round someone’s shoulder. Ranulf couldn’t see clearly because the figure was cloaked and cowled.
    ‘Ah, our guests have arrived.’ Corbett smiled. ‘Brother Cosmas, if you could help us?’
    ‘And you will reach your conclusions, clerk?’
    ‘In time, but, if I could use that as my desk?’ Corbett pointed to the offertory table.
    Brother Cosmas helped Corbett and Ranulf move the table and place it at the top of the nave. He then brought benches from the transepts and a stool for himself. Corbett made himself comfortable. Ranulf opened his writing bag and laid out his sheaf of parchments, an ink pot carefully sealed and a velvet pouch of ready-sharpened quills.
    ‘Who have you there?’ Corbett called.
    The archers shuffled their feet.
    ‘The woman Jocasta, her daughter and the hermit who calls himself Odo.’
    ‘I would be grateful if you would bring Jocasta forward. No, no!’ Corbett got to his feet and leaned over the table. ‘You stay in the porch, Brother Cosmas. Bring another bench for the lady to sit on.’
    Ranulf was already writing down the woman’s name and that of her daughter Blanche according to Chancery regulations.
    Jocasta took her seat on the bench opposite him, one arm round her slack-jawed, wary-eyed daughter. Corbett quietly cursed the poor light. Jocasta’s face was hidden in the shadow yet there was strength in those high cheekbones, the sharp, slightly slanted eyes, the strong mouth and firm chin. Her black hair was unveiled and slightly tinged with grey. Corbett noticed the strong fingers and clean nails. The woman wore a dark-brown smock; a silver chain with a small gold crescent moon hung round her thick brown neck.
    ‘You are the woman Jocasta?’
    ‘And who are you?’ The voice was low and throaty.
    ‘You know who I am, mistress: Sir Hugh Corbett, King’s clerk, and Ranulf-atte-Newgate...’
    ‘By what authority am I brought here?’ she interrupted. ‘Am I on trial?’
    Corbett took the King’s commission from his pouch and spread it out on the table.
    ‘You are not on trial, mistress, but I have the right to question you as my commission attests.’
    ‘I cannot read, clerk, but I know letters bearing seals are important.’ She glanced at Brother Cosmas. ‘Good morrow, priest.’
    ‘Good morrow, Jocasta. It is good to see you here at last.’
    Ranulf’s pen was moving across the page; when its tip broke, he quietly cursed, took another one out and dipped it in the ink pot.
    ‘You are not one of Brother Cosmas’ parishioners?’
    ‘She is most welcome here,’ the Franciscan interrupted.
    ‘I do not come to St Oswald’s,’ Jocasta replied sharply, her arm protectively round her daughter. ‘They say,’ she closed her eyes, ‘this is the House of God and the Gate of Heaven: a terrible place.’
    ‘Why do you not come?’
    ‘I am unworthy and my daughter becomes frightened.’
    ‘Is that the truth?’
    ‘Do you know any different, clerk?’
    ‘They say you are a witch.’
    ‘Who do?’
    ‘So, you don’t deny it?’
    ‘Don’t play words with me, clerk!’
    Corbett raised his head. ‘I am sorry, mistress.