Free Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer by Paul Doherty Page B

younger brother has.’
    ‘I did. For a while I served as a knight banneret in the retinue of the Prince of Wales. Prince Edward often came to Ashdown as a child.’
    ‘Yes, yes, he did.’ Corbett held Ranulf’s gaze. So far he was secretly impressed by this manor lord’s candour and honesty, but was Sir William only telling the truth as far as he could see it?
    ‘Well, you can guess what happened.’ Sir William got to his feet and stretched. ‘The Prince of Wales is not a warrior, Sir Hugh. He prefers to dig a ditch, fight a mock tourney, be a Lord of Misrule. There was no profit in his service and so I came home. Oh, Henry was generous enough: silver, gold, horses, armour, but he was always the lord and I the constant petitioner. I had to beg, and sometimes I hated him.’
    ‘Enough to kill him?’ Corbett asked abruptly.
    Sir William lowered his face, tears brimming in his eyes.
    ‘God forgive me, clerk! We all carry the mark of Cain within us, but Lord Henry was no Abel.’ He stood back. ‘Now, Sir Hugh, I am the manor lord. I own Ashdown and its estates. I bend the knee to no one except the King. You’ve listed possible assassins, but you forget one: the Frenchman de Craon.’
    Corbett shook his head. ‘Sir William, on my oath, I may forget many things but I can never forget, will never forget, Seigneur de Craon! He is constantly in my thoughts.’
    ‘Why should de Craon want Lord Henry dead?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘I don’t know. You are the royal emissary. De Craon is a mystery, an enigma, eager for my brother to lead the English envoys to Paris. But, Sir Hugh, why not ask him yourself? You may not stay under my roof but, tonight, I insist that you be my guest at Ashdown Manor. So, if you have no more questions, I’ll rejoin my men.’
    Corbett got to his feet.
    ‘Why the hurry, Sir William? The day is good and it will be long.’ He stopped and listened as a blackbird began to sing, so clearly, so sweetly, Corbett marvelled at its beauty. ‘They say these forests are ancient, Sir William. And house all forms of creatures?’
    ‘Good and bad, Corbett. There are outlaws, we even have a hermit who lives in Dragon Rocks beyond the priory.’
    ‘Why Dragon?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘If you visit there you’ll see a cave-mouth shaped like the mouth of a snarling dragon. The hermit’s harmless enough, slightly lame, his hands are mutilated. He lives off the goodwill of the forest people.’
    ‘A young man?’
    ‘Of mature years,’ Sir William replied. ‘I know little of him. He calls himself Odo Rievaulx.’
    ‘And the Owlman?’ Corbett asked. ‘The tavern keeper talked of him.’
    ‘A wolfs-head, an outlaw. He waged his own petty feud against my brother and, before you ask, Sir Hugh, I don’t know why.’
    ‘Yes, the taproom of the Devil-in-the-Woods is full of such gossip.’
    ‘The Owlman,’ Sir William said, ‘is a vexatious flea my brother wanted to scratch.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘Cryptic, secret messages tied to the end of an arrow shaft and shot into a door, or a tree, or the path Lord Henry used. The messages were often one word, badly written, “Remember”.’
    ‘Remember what?’
    ‘I don’t really know. My brother would curse and then destroy them.’ Sir William’s hand went to his lips. ‘One time I did see the message, because I found it.’ He closed his eyes and then opened them. ‘Yes, “Remember the Rose of Rye”!’
    ‘What does that mean?’
    ‘At first I thought it was a tavern so I made enquiries, but there’s no such place. Look, Sir Hugh, this forest divides the south coast from London. It is rich in game, has secretive, dark places. Pilgrims travel to St Hawisia’s. Wolfs-heads and outlaws hide well away from the sheriff’s men.’
    ‘And murder?’ Corbett asked.
    ‘It happens.’
    ‘Including that young woman whose corpse was found?’
    Sir William shrugged. ‘Sir Hugh, I know nothing of that. However, if a young wench was stupid enough to travel on