Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

on his master to Lady Maeve. ‘It would only take a short while, a few minutes.’
    Corbett winced as he dabbed at his face again.
    ‘Do not tell Lady Maeve what happened.’
    Ranulf lifted one hand. ‘Oh, on that master, you have my word!’
    ‘So.’ Corbett ate a few mouthfuls of rabbit stew a pot boy had brought up and sipped from a blackjack of ale.
    ‘Chapter and verse, Ranulf, what do we have?’
    ‘First, Lord Henry was murdered by an arrow to the heart. The culprits could include his brother, the Owlman who we now know to be the hermit Odo, Brother Cosmas, Robert Verlian and, yes master, even Alicia.’
    Corbett smiled at the soft glow in Ranulf’s eyes.
    ‘We could include,’ he continued, ‘the woman Jocasta or an assassin, paid by any of the people we have mentioned. Nor must we forget Seigneur Amaury de Craon.’
    ‘Or the Lady Madeleine,’ Corbett added.
    ‘I don’t think that’s possible.’
    ‘She could have left her convent,’ Corbett pointed out. ‘Gone to one of the hollowed oaks, taken out a bow and an arrow and shot her brother dead.’
    ‘But why?’ Ranulf asked. ‘What grudge did she have against her brother? Alive or dead he meant nothing to her. And the other deaths? Moreover, I can’t imagine Lady Madeleine riding through the forest, shooting an arrow and hurrying back to her convent walls. She would be fairly distinctive in a nun’s gown. Finally...’
    Corbett lowered his blackjack of ale. Ranulf smiled in triumph.
    ‘All good archers are right-handed. You know that. A left-handed archer is always clumsy. Remember poor Maltote? He couldn’t pick a bow up without hurting himself. When we were in the priory I noticed Lady Madeleine was left-handed, the way she held a quill.’
    Corbett agreed.
    ‘What else do we have, Ranulf?’
    ‘We have the murder of that young woman, killed by an arrow to the throat. If your conclusion is right, she travelled to Ashdown as a man which was why her corpse was stripped. The clothes probably lie at the bottom of some swamp. Did you find anything?’
    Corbett took out from his wallet the two pieces of fabric he had found.
    ‘These, they’re braided cloth loops.’
    He handed them to Ranulf who went to the window to get a better view, holding each up as if it were a coin.
    ‘They are small fillets,’ Ranulf exclaimed. ‘Hair bands. Lady Maeve uses the same to braid her hair at the back. She slips it through similar ones to keep the plaiting tight.’
    ‘But the corpse had short hair,’ Corbett mused. ‘Cropped and close like that of a man? I wonder who she was? I must have words with our taverner. Go on, Ranulf.’
    ‘The Italian physician Pancius Cantrone, also killed by an arrow to the throat. He was coming from St Hawisia’s. We know that there was some connection between him, Lord Henry and Amaury de Craon.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right. Cantrone may have sold or given Lord Henry some great secret which the French were frightened of. Cantrone may have been killed by outlaws, or by one of de Craon’s men to shut his mouth once and for all. Now, we can’t question de Craon. He’ll claim diplomatic status and send a fiery protest up to Westminster . In the end, Ranulf, we have three murders. Are they separate or are they connected? Is it one assassin, two or even three? Lord Henry’s is simple. Everybody hated him. But Cantrone, and that of our mysterious young woman, we cannot fit them into the puzzle.’
    ‘Did you believe the hermit Odo?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Yes and no. He and Cosmas are still waters which run deep. On the one hand they are priests, basically good men. However, both of them, Odo in particular, nourish deep grievances against the Fitzalans.’
    He paused at a knock on the door and Baldock shambled into the room.
    ‘You always wait for Sir Hugh to call you in!’ Ranulf told him.
    Baldock grinned and shuffled his feet.
    Corbett studied the young ostler from head to toe. He had attempted to make himself clean, patting down his hair with water, washing his hands and face, though as a result he had simply pushed the dirt up around his ears.
    ‘What’s your first name?’
    ‘Baldoclc, sir. I’ve only got one name, Baldock.’ He thrust the piece of parchment into Corbett’s hand. ‘My letter of release, sir.’
    ‘For God’s sake, stand still!’ Corbett demanded.
    ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m just excited.’
    ‘Ranulf here tells me you are skilled at throwing a knife. And even better with