Free Satan's Fire (A Medieval Mystery Featuring Hugh Corbett) by Paul Doherty

king?’
    ‘God knows, Master.’
    Ranulf pulled a face at Maltote. Despite all the banter on their journey to Framlingham, Ranulf was anxious. Corbett was determined to leave the royal service and go back to Leighton Manor. The recent attack would only strengthen his resolve. But what, Ranulf wondered, would happen to him? Leighton could be beautiful, particularly in summer. However, as he had often told Maltote, one sheep tends to look like another, whilst trees and hedgerows do not contain the same excitement as the crooked alleyways of London. He now began to discuss this with Maltote, as the houses and small cottages gave way to green open fields and they entered the open countryside which Ranulf disliked so much. He watched Corbett tense in the saddle and Ranulf himself grew uneasy as the trackway narrowed. Thick hedgerows rose high on either side, and the trees leaned so close that their branches entwined to form a canopy over their heads. Now and again a wood-pigeon’s liquid cooing would be offset by the raucous cawing of hunting rooks. Ranulf tried to ignore these, listening for any sound, any movement which could presage danger. He relaxed as the hedgerows gave way and the road became broader. Corbett, however, would stop now and again, muttering to himself. He would look down at the trackway and then ride on.
    ‘For the love of God, Master!’ Ranulf shouted. ‘What’s so exciting about stones and mud?’
    Corbett reined in. ‘The severed, burning corpse,’ he remarked, ‘was found near here.’ He dismounted, ignoring Ranulf’s protests. ‘That’s right.’ He pointed to the trackway. ‘There, just before the corner near the small copse of trees: that’s where the good sisters found the remains.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Yes, their guide said they were approaching a bend in the road. The horse came pounding round and passed them. When they turned the corner, they found the corpse, or part of it, burning like a torch.’ He remounted and grinned at Ranulf. ‘Let’s see if my memory fails me. The good sisters did say that, within half an hour of leaving the spot, they reached Botham Bar. We have travelled the same distance.’
    In the end Corbett was proved right. They rode on into the small copse of trees. Corbett stared into the darkness, then down at the pebble-covered soil, and pointed to the great scorch-mark.
    ‘Why are you so interested in this murder?’ Ranulf asked.
    Corbett dismounted, crouched down, and ran the scorched earth through his fingers.
    ‘Here we have a traveller to York. We don’t know who he was, where he was going or what he was doing on this lonely road. But, apparently, he was attacked by a master swordsman.’
    ‘How do you know that?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Only a professional soldier, someone capable of using a great two-handed sword could slice a man through his waist: the horse careered off, leaving the decapitated upper part of the torso to be consumed by a mysterious fire. And where did that come from, eh?’
    ‘The Templars?’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘They carry two-handed swords.’
    Corbett smiled. ‘Now you understand my interest. So, stay where you are.’ Corbett drew his sword. ‘Right, Ranulf, you are the victim and I am your assailant.’ He grasped his sword hilt with two hands, ran forward and gently smacked the flat of the blade against Ranulf’s stomach.
    ‘Is that how it was done, Master?’
    Corbett resheathed his sword. ‘Possibly. But why should the victim ride on to the sword? Why didn’t he turn his horse and flee?’
    ‘It was night,’ Ranulf remarked.
    Corbett shook his head. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why cut a man in half then burn the upper part of his body? And, if you are the victim, some innocent traveller, why not flee?’
    ‘How do we know he was innocent?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘Well, no other weapon was found.’ Corbett stared back along the trackway. ‘So there was little resistance.’
    ‘Was the victim