Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

him, mind you. She allowed him to peep into the chambers when others were there and allowed him the choicest wench.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Oh, not because Françoise liked him. If the truth be known, Françoise hated him. For what he was, for his wealth, for the way he didn’t care. A man, how did she put it? Yes, that’s it, deeply in love with himself . I’m a whore, master clerk. A strumpet, a bawd. But I fear God and I do not pretend to be what I’m not. If Françoise was to be believed, Lord Henry Fitzalan feared neither God nor man.’
    ‘You do not grieve over her death?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘I will grieve in my own way! And in my own time and place. So you, sir, with your cat eyes and sharp face, ask your questions and be gone for I can help you no further!’
    ‘Which of your ladies did he favour the most?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘He favoured them all. Variety is the spice of life, he would boast. Sometimes he’d take one, sometimes he’d take two or three together.’
    ‘Would any of them know?’ Corbett paused. He had to be careful how he asked this question.
    ‘Would who know what?’ she asked angrily.
    ‘Why, madam, one of the other ladies? Did Françoise have her favourites? Someone she confided in?’
    ‘I know what you are saying, clerk. However, as long as the girls keep themselves clean, cause no disturbance and make themselves available, what they do is a matter for them.’
    ‘So you cannot help us?’
    ‘No, I cannot.’
    ‘In which case,’ Corbett took the warrant out of his pouch, ‘I want the entire house roused. I want to meet all your ladies.’ He opened his purse and tossed a gold piece at the woman, who caught it deftly. ‘I want it done now.’
    Roheisia left without demur. Corbett sat back in the chair and listened to the house being roused, the clatter of feet above him; shouts, a cry of protest, footsteps on the stairs. Roheisia swept back into the room and gave the most mocking curtsey.
    ‘My lord, the ladies of the house are assembled in our hall. If you would like to favour them? You’ve paid for your introduction. But, if you touch any of the merchandise, you must pay.’
    Ranulf was about to reply but Corbett held his hand up. Roheisia, who had now fastened her gown tightly around her, pushed back the door.
    ‘They can only hold their eagerness for so long.’
    ‘Do they know who I am?’
    ‘A King’s man. But still a man.’
    Roheisia swept out of the room, leading Corbett and Ranulf down the passageway to a long, dark, wooden panelled room at the back of the house. The tousled ladies were assembled around a long dining table. Most of them wore cloaks, or robes, about their shoulders. A host of pale faces, heavy eyes, confronted the two men. About a dozen in number of different sizes, ages and, Corbett suspected, nationalities sat there. A few were beautiful. Some, who looked raddled, didn’t even bother to raise their heads when Corbett and Ranulf entered the chamber. A few looked boldly at him; one pursed her lips and blew a kiss in Ranulf’s direction. Corbett saw his embarrassment as he tapped the table with his fingers.
    ‘Ladies, accept my apologies for this rude awakening. I am the King’s clerk, I need to ask you certain questions. A member of this...’ He paused. ‘This community, Françoise Sourtillon, was murdered in Ashdown Forest .’
    Their smiles and giggles disappeared.
    ‘Do any of you know why she should go there?’
    ‘The Fitzalan lord.’ A fat, red-haired woman spoke up.
    ‘Did she say as much?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘If Françoise told me little,’ Red Hair replied, ‘she would tell even less to my sisters here.’
    ‘Do any of you know?’ Ranulf barked. He felt uncomfortable. The brothel brought back memories and this made him uneasy as his heart was now set on the chaste and beautiful Alicia.
    ‘We know nothing,’ Red Hair retorted boldly.
    Her reply was greeted with nods and murmurs of agreement.
    ‘The one who could tell you,’ said a young, flaxen-haired woman at the end of the table, ‘is Cecilia.’
    ‘And where is she?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘Gone,’ Roheisia said. ‘Lord Henry removed her from the house.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘We don’t know. We heard rumours that she had been lodged in a tavern in the town and then sent abroad.’
    ‘And why should Lord Henry do that?’
    ‘I don’t know. He bought her from Françoise, paid for her services in good gold. Cecilia left and that’s the last we heard of