Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, a woebegone expression on his face.
    ‘I talked to Alicia.’
    ‘Does she love you?’ Corbett asked. ‘I am sorry to be so abrupt but that’s what it’s all about. Not power, money or influence. Does she love you? For, as the poet says, "What is love if it is not returned?" ‘
    Ranulf put his face in his hands. ‘She doesn’t know,’ he muttered. ‘She cannot say, she will not tell.’ He stamped one foot. ‘But she’s intent on entering a nunnery, a house near Malmesbury, and her mind will not be changed. I asked her why. She said she wants peace, a time to think and reflect.’ He raised tear-filled eyes. ‘But I know, once she enters, she’ll never come out. And when she’s gone I’ve lost her for ever. I didn’t think it would be like this, master. Kiss them and tease them! But this emptiness.’ He got up and walked to the door. ‘I’ll be across the trackway.’ Ranulf didn’t turn his face. ‘You are close to the killer, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘I can see that in your eyes.’
    ‘Yes, I’m close.’
    ‘You have the evidence?’
    ‘No, Ranulf, I don’t. This is going to be a mixture of logic and trickery. I want to go through Fitzalan’s Book of Hours again.’ He paused. ‘Ranulf, where I take you and Baldock, I want your word, no violence.’
    ‘You have my word, master. No violence.’
    Ranulf closed the door. Corbett sighed and turned to his parchment. Again he listed all the victims. All the items he had learned. ‘What is common to all of these?’ he asked himself. ‘What is the single factor which answers each question?’
    Corbett scribbled down a name and then, putting the quill down, recalled all that had happened, putting himself into the mind of the assassin, watching that dark shape slip through the trees meting out death without pity or remorse. Killing and killing again for what? Corbett got up and fastened on his war belt.
    ‘It’s best done now,’ he said out loud to the empty room. ‘If de Craon is returning to Eltham, I must be there when he meets the King!’
    Corbett took his cloak, went down the stairs and out into the stable yard shouting for Baldock. They led out Ranulf’s horse and found him sitting on a fallen log across the trackway.
    ‘It’s time, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, Ranulf, it’s time.’
    On reaching St Hawisia’s priory, Corbett was in no mood for the moans and barbed comments of Sister Veronica.
    ‘I wish to see the lady prioress!’ he demanded. He thrust the King’s commission into her face. ‘And I wish to see her now, alone in the priory church! She’ll know where to meet me.’
    The little nun scuttled off, now quite frightened by this grim-faced clerk and his attendants. Corbett walked up the path, through the rose garden and in by a side door. The church was quiet, calm; the air still rich with the smell of incense and beeswax candles after the midday service.
    ‘Ranulf! Baldock! Stay at the back!’ He grasped Ranulf’s arm. ‘Promise me! You will do nothing!’
    When Corbett plucked both Ranulf’s sword and dagger from their sheaths Ranulf didn’t demur and Corbett walked up into the side chapel. He placed both sword and dagger on the great oaken sarcophagus and stared through the tinted, silver-rimmed glass at the beautiful golden hair which lay coiled on its silken couch.
    ‘Blasphemy and sacrilege!’ he whispered.
    The far door opened but Corbett didn’t look up until Lady Madeleine stopped at the tomb before him.
    ‘You’ve come to venerate our relic, Sir Hugh?’ Her voice was soft.
    Corbett glanced up. ‘Why should I do that, Lady Madeleine? Why should I venerate the hair of a whore from the town of Rye ?’
    Lady Madeleine gripped the tomb more tightly and swayed slightly. Corbett grasped her elbow and took her over to the small stone plinth which ran along the wall.
    ‘Why do you say that, Sir Hugh?’ Lady Madeleine’s face had paled, her eyes were watchful. ‘What nonsense is this?’
    ‘Lady Madeleine Fitzalan,’ Corbett replied. ‘Daughter of a noble family, half-sister to Lord Henry and Sir William. A woman who was raised in the noble tradition, an accomplished horse-rider, huntress and archer. In your golden days, before life turned sour, you played in Ashdown Lorest. You and your brothers came to know these woods better than any of the forest people, particularly Savernake Dell and the hollow oaks.’
    Lady Madeleine had her head down,