Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer (14 page)

‘No, sir, but I think I know someone who has.’ The taverner finished off his blackjack and got to his feet. ‘And that silver coin will be mine?’

Corbett tossed it over. ‘It’s yours already.’

The taverner led them out through the back door and across the garden. In the far corner was an orchard of apple and pear trees. One of the pot boys was there, picking up the fallen fruit and placing it gently into baskets. Beyond the orchard, surrounded by a small garden, stood a thatched cottage. An old man sat sunning himself on the stool outside its door, carefully munching on one of the pears.

‘My father,’ the taverner said. ‘We call him the Ancient One.’

Corbett could see why. The old man looked as old as Methuselah with his lined, seamed face, milky-blue eyes, scrawny beard and moustache. He peered up as they approached.

‘Is that you, son?’

‘It is, oh Ancient One of days,’ the taverner replied jokingly. ‘I’ve brought visitors.’

‘I’m ninety-five years of age,’ the old man cackled. ‘Do you realise that? I remember the King’s grandfather, John Lackland. He came through Ashdown when he was on his way to Runnymede. I’ve seen them all. They call me the Ancient One but my memory’s still good.’ His smile widened in a display of half-munched pear. ‘But I always says, it’s not what’s between your ears, but between your legs, which counts.’ He peered at the ring on Corbett’s right hand. ‘You are a King’s clerk, aren’t you?’

Corbett crouched down.

‘Father.’ He touched the old man’s hand. ‘It is good to see you.’

‘Plums,’ the Ancient One replied. ‘It’s autumn now and there’ll be damsons ripe and full like a young maid’s tits.’

Corbett marvelled at this old man, who must have been a lad when King John led his armies against his barons.

‘What is it you want?’ The old man’s head came forward like a bird.

‘Father, did you know a tavern called the Red Rose outside the town of Rye?’

‘I knew a wench we called Red Rose. She lived in Rye. We called her Red because that’s the colour she painted her tits.’

‘A tavern, Father?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Owned by a young man and his wife. She killed herself.’

‘Ah, I remember that.’ The old man tapped the side of his nose. ‘People tell me everything. There was such a tavern, but it’s now called the Golden Cresset. It was a brothel once you know, in the King’s father’s time, often visited by the soldiers, then it changed hands. The sheriff cleaned it up. A young man owned it, yes, that’s right, Alwayn, Alwayn Rothmere and his wife, I think she was called Katherine. Well, the Fitzalan boys used to visit it. One thing led to another.’

‘This was about twenty or twenty-five years ago,’ Corbett interrupted.

‘They were just lads at the time. All mouth and cock,’ the Ancient One declared. ‘Henry was the bad one. Not a bodice he didn’t rip or a petticoat he wouldn’t lift. He acted the young lord, nimble on his feet, quick of wit and sharp of eye. He seduced her. Alwayn found out, so the poor girl killed herself, stepped on a table she did then hanged herself.’

‘And Alwayn, he disappeared?’ Corbett asked.

‘No, he didn’t disappear. You’ve only been told half the story.’ The old man cackled and peered at his son. ‘I don’t think I’ve told you this, have I? Alwayn found the corpse and took her down.’ The old man sniffed. ‘Then he hanged himself in the same place.’ He must have glimpsed the astonishment on Corbett’s face. ‘Both gone,’ he murmured sadly. ‘Into the dark! I am sure they were there to greet Lord Henry.’

Corbett and Ranulf left the Ancient One and walked back into the tavern. Mine host hurried off to cut slices of pork.

‘My, my, my,’ Ranulf exclaimed as they took their seats. ‘If the King knew of this, he would have one of his royal rages.’

‘The King will know of this,’ Corbett replied. ‘It would appear that Gaveston, who is supposed to be exiled, has now returned to England and is hiding in these parts.’

‘That’s why the Prince of Wales wanted to see us, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, I think it was. Sir William Fitzalan is one of the Prince of Wales’ coterie. I suspect, at the Prince’s insistence, Sir William brought Gaveston up into Ashdown. He stayed here where he was arrogant enough to wear his insignia. I also believe he was Lady Madeleine’s secret visitor. The Prince of Wales, full of false piety, came to Ashdown, ostensibly to hunt or pray at the famous shrine; but secretly, he was meeting his lover.’

Ranulf stared back alarmed.

‘If the King heard that,’ he replied, ‘your friendship, Sir Hugh, would not save you.’

‘The King knows the truth,’ Corbett replied drily. ‘The Prince of Wales is a man who likes the best of both worlds. Oh, he’ll marry whatever princess is trotted out.’ Corbett’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I suspect the true love of his life is, and always will be, the Gascon Piers Gaveston.’

‘And he sheltered here?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Here and in the priory.’

‘And the other matter?’

‘I am disappointed,’ Corbett said. ‘I really did think the Owlman was the husband of the young woman who killed herself at the Red Rose, but both are dead, so I have to think again.’

‘Lady Madeleine has to answer a few questions.’

‘She has more to answer than she thinks. You saw that hair, Ranulf? Do you think it’s a genuine relic?’

‘The world is full of trickery, master. Aren’t there oils, potions, herbal concoctions which could keep it supple and fresh?’

They paused as the tavern keeper brought back traunchers with strips of crackling pork, freshly cut bread and some leeks and onions, diced and sprinkled with marjoram.

‘You made the Ancient One’s day,’ he told them. ‘But the other matter?’ He glanced nervously at Corbett and the clerk wondered if mine host had known the identity of his secret visitor all the time.

‘Act the innocent,’ Corbett advised. ‘And innocent you’ll stay.’

The tavern keeper smiled and walked away. Corbett drew his knife, took a horn spoon from his wallet and began to cut up the pork.

‘Are you the King’s emissary?’

Corbett stared and turned. The young woman appeared as if out of nowhere. She was dressed in a sea-green cloak, fringed at the hem with red stitching. It covered her from neck to toe though Corbett glimpsed muddy-toed boots peeping out beneath. Yet it was her face which fascinated him. With the hair piled back beneath a dark-grey veil, it was so composed, so perfect she reminded him of a lifelike statue of the Virgin Mary he had once seen in a church outside Paris. She was olive-skinned, blue-eyed, with a perfect nose and red lips slightly parted displaying white and even teeth. She held Corbett’s stare.

‘Am I wasting your time, sir? I understand you are Sir Hugh Corbett, the King’s emissary.’

Corbett rose and pulled across a stool. He took the young woman’s gloved hand and gestured that she sit.

‘You are Alicia Verlian?’

The beautiful face broke into a smile.

‘How did you know?’

Corbett pointed to the cloak. ‘I suppose that hides a multitude of sins. You’ve left your house rather urgently. You’ve ridden along a muddy trackway so I wonder which woman would want to seek me out so urgently. I tell a lie. I’ve heard of your beauty.’

Corbett smiled at Ranulf, only to be shocked at the change in his manservant. Ranulf was never lost for words but now he sat like a man stricken: eyes staring, mouth gaping, a piece of meat, poised on his knife, half-raised to his mouth.

‘Ranulf!’

Ranulf closed his mouth and lowered his knife but his eyes never left Alicia’s face.

‘My servant is tired,’ Corbett explained.

Alicia smiled at Ranulf. ‘You’ve certainly been upsetting people,’ she said softly. ‘It’s common gossip both here and among the forest folk. Sir William came storming back to the manor and his servants were all agog.’

‘You want some wine?’ Corbett asked.

‘No, sir, I want justice.’ The young woman’s head came up, eyes bright and hard. ‘Lord Henry was a lecher, God rest him.’

Other customers turned. Corbett gave them a warning look and they went back to their meals.

‘Lower your voice, madam.’

‘Lord Henry was a lecher!’ This time her voice was louder. ‘A cruel and vicious man who received due punishment. God’s justice has been done.’

‘But not for your father,’ Corbett replied evenly.

‘My father is innocent of any crime.’

‘But he was not with the hunt!’

‘Neither was Sir William.’

‘Your father fled?’

‘Any man of wit would have done!’ she replied. ‘He was not with Lord Henry when he was killed. It was well known we had justifiable grievances against Lord Henry. If Sir William had caught my father, he would have hanged him out of hand.’

‘And now your father shelters in St Oswald’s?’

‘He shelters, sir, because that is the only place which will protect him, until royal justice is done.’

‘You can continue to shout at me,’ Corbett told her. He put his fingers on her leather-gloved hand; she did not withdraw it. ‘While I am here,’ he went on, studying those beautiful eyes, ‘no man will be hanged, no sentence carried out till the truth is known.’

‘Pilate asked what was truth. He was a judge.’

‘My name is not Pilate. It’s Sir Hugh Corbett. The truth will be discovered by careful questioning.’

‘Such as?’

‘Where was your father when the hunt was taking place?’

Alicia swallowed hard. ‘My father was with the others, the verderers.’

‘No, he wasn’t. He was with you, wasn’t he?’

Alicia blinked and nodded. ‘My father was terrified that Lord Henry would use the hunt, and his absence, to slip back and . . .’

‘Meet you?’

‘No, Sir Hugh, accost me! Kick down the door, force himself upon me. As he tried to do on numerous occasions. I was frightened. My father was agitated. He came back to our house on the estate. I told him all would be well, then he left, hurrying back before he was missed.’

‘And during that time Lord Henry was killed?’

‘My father arrived at Savernake Dell shortly after the assassin struck. He took one look at what had happened and ran back to me. He wanted to flee, reach one of the ports, Rye, Winchelsea, go abroad.’ The young woman paused. ‘I refused. I said it was unjust to flee from a crime of which we were both innocent.’

‘Why didn’t you flee before?’ Corbett asked.

‘Sir Hugh, where could we go? My father is a verderer. The roads are full of landless families while Lord Henry’s arm was both strong and very long. Why should we give up our lives because of his lust?’

‘Are you glad he’s dead?’

‘He can burn in Hell for what he did to me and my father.’

‘And now?’ Corbett asked.

‘Sir William is one of the same stock. But, deep in his heart, I think he’s shamed by what his brother did.’

‘And so, why have you come to me?’

‘My father’s in sanctuary.’

‘You can still visit him.’

‘For how long?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Corbett replied quickly. ‘Tomorrow I will hold court in St Oswald’s church. I will summon all those involved in this matter and search out the truth. Is that not correct, Ranulf?’

Corbett was now alarmed by his manservant: he hadn’t touched his food or uttered one syllable but stared fixedly at Alicia. Usually, in the presence of a pretty young woman, Ranulf was all merry-eyed and quick-witted, ever ready to flirt. Now he sat like a moonstruck calf, though Alicia seemed not to notice.

‘I must return.’ She moved back the stool and rose.

‘I . . . I will see you to your horse.’

Ranulf pushed his trauncher away and rose like a sleepwalker. He took the young woman’s arm and gently escorted her across the taproom and out to the stable yard. A groom led across a sorry-looking cob, the saddle across its back battered and worn. Ranulf made an angry gesture with his hand and grabbed the reins himself. He then helped Alicia up into the saddle.

‘You ride like a man?’ He found the question stilted and clumsy. He just wished this young woman would notice him and not ride away. She glanced down.

‘You must be Ranulf-atte-Newgate?’

‘Yes,’ he answered in a rush. ‘Senior clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax.’

She smiled. ‘Do you always stare at women?’

Ranulf rubbed sweat-soaked hands on his jerkin.

‘I’ve never seen anyone like you before.’

Alicia laughed. ‘With two heads!’

‘No, you’ve only got one,’ Ranulf replied seriously. He grabbed the reins again and stared fiercely up at her. ‘Your father’s innocent,’ he said hoarsely. ‘He must be innocent.’ He caught the look of disquiet in her eyes. ‘No, no, you wait and see. Old Master Long Face in there, I mean Sir Hugh, he will discover the truth.’

‘Are you looking for a bribe?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Is that why you are here, Ranulf-atte-Newgate? Are you like the rest, your brains in your hose?’