Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

something, master clerk?’
    Brother Cosmas and the hermit walked over.
    ‘I think I have.’ Corbett stretched out his hand. ‘But I can’t guess what they signify.’ He put the items back in his purse. ‘I have one last favour.’
    ‘I must be getting back to my church!’ Brother Cosmas announced. ‘I have other duties, sir, apart from being host to a royal clerk and a digger of ditches!’
    Corbett fished in his purse for a coin but the friar shook his head.
    ‘Keep your silver, sir. Let’s have done what you want.’
    ‘Just lead me to St Hawisia’s,’ Corbett asked. ‘I must have words with Lady Madeleine.’
    A short while later the friar, still surly and withdrawn, left Corbett at the main gate of the priory and walked away without a by your leave. Corbett watched him and Odo go. He felt his suspicions were, perhaps, unworthy but, then again, they had deceived him. Both lived in Ashdown and both certainly had the motive and means to kill Lord Henry. He sighed and pulled at the bell rope. The small postern door in the main gate opened and an exasperated Sister Veronica waved him into the courtyard.
    ‘I knew it was you!’ she rasped. ‘I looked through the grille and saw you coming with that precious pair!’
    ‘Sister, for the love of Christ, don’t you have any charity?’
    ‘More than you, sir. But it’s up to me how and when I dispense it!’
    She took him through the rose garden towards the priory buildings.
    ‘I would like to see Lady Madeleine.’
    ‘Well, I know you haven’t come to see me. You’ll go, like the rest, to the guest house and wait for her there.’
    Corbett plucked at her sleeve. The little nun stopped and peered up at him.
    ‘What is it, clerk?’
    ‘Why don’t you take me to the prioress?’
    ‘Lady Madeleine has her own house,’ Sister Veronica explained slowly as if Corbett was dim in wit. ‘She has her own house,’ she repeated. ‘Garden, stable and kitchen. No man is allowed in there.’
    ‘I’ll remember that.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Nothing. But, Sister Veronica, one more question? You remember the corpse of the young woman left at the postern gate?’
    ‘Of course I do. I heard the bell ring. I opened the gate and it was lying there.’
    ‘Naked?’
    ‘Oh no, wrapped in a grey blanket or cloak, I forget which.’
    ‘And who looked after it?’
    ‘Well, first, I sent a message to Lady Madeleine.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘She ordered the corpse to be brought into our death house. It’s a small building in our cemetery. One of the labourers picked it up and put it there. When our prioress graciously agreed to have it buried here, I washed the corpse and put it in one of our gowns; a short while later it was buried. Any more questions, master clerk?’
    ‘No, no, I haven’t.’
    Sister Veronica strode on. She took Corbett round the church to a small, pleasant, two-storied building, through the wooden porch and into a large, whitewashed chamber. The guest room was stark and sparsely furnished. A large, black crucifix was fixed to one side of the window and a carving of St Hawisia to the other.
    ‘This is our rest room,’ she explained. ‘The prioress will probably see you here.’ Sister Veronica gestured at a stool before closing the door. ‘Sir down. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink.’
    A short while later Sister Veronica returned with a jug of mead and a small dish of sugar-coated pastries.
    ‘Lady Madeleine will see you when she can.’
    Corbett wanted to question her further but Sister Veronica, despite her age, almost ran from the room, slamming the door behind her, so he picked up the jug of mead and went to the window to look out across the yard. He tried to make sense of everything he had learned this morning but he knew he would need Ranulf’s help to untangle the different strands. He was pleased with what he had found but now conceded he had made little progress. He knew who the Owlman was but how much closer was he to unmasking the murderer? Or was it a group of assassins? People who lived in Ashdown, hated Lord Henry and plotted together to destroy him? And, of course, there was de Craon and his party. But how could he question them? De Craon was an accredited French envoy who would be only too delighted to refuse to answer Corbett’s questions. Even if he did, Corbett mused as he sipped from the tankard, de Craon would scarcely tell him the truth.
    ‘You are here yet again, royal clerk.’
    Startled, he