Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer

thanks you for the presents your messenger brought from Windsor .’
    Corbett shuffled his feet; he was becoming impatient.
    ‘De Craon’s back in England ,’ Edward announced.
    ‘I heard.’ Corbett smiled. ‘My spies along the south coast keep me closely informed of his journey into Sussex , to Lord Henry Fitzalan’s manor at Ashdown. I understand Lord Henry has been chosen to lead the English envoys to France .’
    ‘He won’t be going. Surrey here will have to shift his arse and, for once in his life, do something useful.’
    De Warrenne belched and smiled to himself.
    ‘Lord Henry Fitzalan,’ the King explained, ‘took de Craon and his entourage, his brother and members of his household to Savernake Dell. I’ve been there, it’s a clearing in the forest, a good place to drive the deer in so they can be shot at leisure.’ He waved his hand. ‘You know how these things are organised. The hunters stand at one side of the clearing behind a palisade and the deer are driven in. Apparently two were but they escaped. Lord Henry was furious. He was about to loose again when an arrow came out of the trees on the far side of the dell, some fifteen to twenty yards away, and took him clean in the heart.’
    ‘A hunting accident?’ Corbett queried, ignoring de Warrenne’s snort of ridicule.
    ‘Hunting accidents do occur,’ the King explained smoothly. ‘But not this time. The arrow was not I one used in hunting. It came from a longbow, sharp and pointed, fit for war and the killing it did.’
    ‘A good archer,’ Corbett agreed. ‘An arrow to the heart, that would be difficult to dismiss as an accident.’
    The King wondered how much he should tell Corbett; he was pleased to see the clerk was now sitting up straight, eyes watchful. You are a good hunting dog, Edward thought. I’ll let you loose in Ashdown Forest and we’ll see what you and your red-haired cur can dig up.
    ‘Lord Henry was a strange man,’ the King continued. ‘He owned vast estates in Sussex and elsewhere. A soldier, a diplomat and a courtier. I sent him on missions to Avignon , Rome and Paris .’ The King paused.
    ‘Why strange, sire? De Warrenne’s done the same.’ Corbett kept his face straight. ‘And the Earl of Surrey is not a strange man.’
    ‘Watch your tongue, Corbett!’ the Earl warned.
    ‘Lord Henry was always a rebel,’ the King said. ‘His father fought with the rebels led by de Mont-fort but then changed sides, just in time. Lord Henry, well, I trusted him. He was fluent in at least three languages. He could read and write as well as a scholar. He’d even been to the Halls of Cambridge.’
    ‘You did say strange?’ Corbett persisted.
    ‘Lord Henry’s views on religion...’ the King paused, ‘were, how can I put it, er, quite original. He journeyed to Palestine . He’d stayed with the Templars. Let me just say he found it difficult to accept some of the Church’s teaching.’
    ‘He dabbled in the black arts?’ Corbett asked. ‘There are reports from the Justices, rumours, whispers, gossip.’
    ‘He sometimes travelled into Ashdown,’ Edward agreed. ‘And consorted with a witch, or a woman suspected of being one: Jocasta, half-Spanish, the relict of some sailor who settled down outside Rye and was driven out of there. She has a daughter, and Fitzalan gave them a cottage in the forest, a plot of land near a well.’
    ‘But that’s not all?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘No, it certainly isn’t. Lord Henry was a lecher. No woman in Sussex was safe from him. He never married and often boasted that he had no need to sip from one cup when he could pick from so many. Now, according to what we have learned, his chief verderer Verlian had a rather comely daughter, Alicia. Lord Henry entered the lists to win her heart and take her body.’
    ‘And Verlian objected?’
    The King shrugged. ‘He didn’t really have to. Alicia did it for him. I met them both once when I was visiting Lord Henry’s manor. Alicia’s small, dark-haired, with a face like an angel and a body which would set our preachers about their ears. Now Verlian was in charge of the hunt yesterday morning at Savernake Dell but he never appeared. Indeed, he seems to have fled and the finger of accusation has been pointed at him.’
    ‘That would be the logical conclusion,’ Corbett mused. ‘This would not be the first time an irate husband or father had slain a notorious philanderer.’
    ‘Do you know what that means?’ the King teased de