'Let's pretend we are playing chess. We are the white pieces.' Corbett smiled at Ranulf. 'Philip's favourite colour: he sees himself as the Lord of Light. We would arrange our chess pieces as follows, going from left to right: Castle, Knight, Bishop, Queen, King, Bishop, Knight, Castle. In front of each of these pieces we'd have a Pawn. However, let's forget these and the left-hand side of the board from Castle to Queen. Instead we'll concentrate on the four pieces to the right. We now have King, Bishop, Knight, Castle.' Corbett took up his pen. 'Let us insert the letters of the alphabet above these four as follows:'
He finished the rough sketch. And now the cipher: The three kings go to the tower of the two fools with the two chevaliers".'
'Master,' Ranulf interrupted, 'the cipher talks of chevaliers, a tower and fools, not knights, a castle and bishops.'
'In French chess, Ranulf, chevalier is knight, the tower is the castle and, perhaps perceptively, the piece we term "bishop", the French call "fool"!' Corbett pointed with his quill. 'The three kings could be any of the letters in that column above the king. The same applies to the two knights or chevaliers, the bishops or fools and their castle or tower.' Corbett tapped the greasy piece of parchment. 'Some of my conclusions are based on guesswork but I have a rough map of the Flemish border towns and, using this cipher, have tried to discover which border town would fit the riddle.'
'Why have you only used one half of the chess board?' Maltote crossly interrupted.
'Don't you remember?' Ranulf snarled. 'The Riddle Master had neatly creased his chess board into two. Continue, Master,' Ranulf added with an air of superiority.
'One word,' Corbett replied, 'fits the cipher based on this chess board and answers the riddle. COURTRAI!' Corbett wrote the name out carefully. 'The three kings are the letters A, I and U. The two knights or chevaliers are the letters C and O. The bishops or fools are the letter R twice whilst the castle or tower is the letter 'I.' Corbett unrolled a greasy piece of parchment displaying a crude map of the Franco-Flemish border. 'Courtrai is a good choice,' he mused. 'The Flemings would never expect the blow to fall there. What Philip intends to do is over-awe this city, force it to capitulate, then spread the news as his forces advance on the next.'
'In other words,' Ranulf added, 'Philip does not intend to flood Flanders with soldiers but hop from one principal city to another?'
Corbett threw his quill down. 'I think so,' he muttered. 'I hope so, because that's the best I can do. No other Flemish city agrees with this cipher.'
'What now?' Ranulf asked.
'Maltote, I want you and Ranulf to go into Nottingham and buy whatever victuals we need; a jug of wine, bread, fruit and marchpanes will suffice.'
'And you, Master?'
Corbett piled together the pieces of manuscript on his table.
'I am going to write down all I have learnt or seen since arriving here. Everything I know about Sir Eustace's death as well as anything and everything I have discovered about this outlaw.' Corbett rubbed his eyes. 'I have suspicions, vague unsubstantiated ones, particularly after my journey to Kirklees. Now I want to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. If I can make no sense of it by this time tomorrow, we shall return to London. If I can…'Corbett shrugged. 'Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.'
Ranulf and Maltote needed no second bidding, though on the stairs Ranulf told Maltote to wait and went back to see Corbett.
'Master!' he called, closing the door softly behind him.
'Yes, Ranulf?' Corbett asked. 'I thought you had gone.'
'Your promise, Master.' Ranulf fairly danced from foot to foot. 'I mean, it was you who unlocked the secret of the cipher.'
Corbett smiled. 'We don't know if it's correct, Ranulf. We won't know until Philip moves. In any case, you will be responsible. I shall tell His Grace the King that your involvement in this matter was invaluable.'
'But what if it's wrong?' Ranulf cried, ever wary of what the future might hold.
'In which case, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, it will be too late to do anything. By then the King will have given you a solemn promise to elevate you to the post of clerk in the Royal Chancery.'
Ranulf fairly skipped down the steps. Once they were out of the castle, he solemnly assured Maltote that when he reached high office he, Ranulf-atte-Newgate, would not forget his friends.
They visited Amisia at the tavern. Ranulf once again offered his condolences and gave more money to the landlord for Rahere's body to be treated, coffined and transported to St Mary's for burial.
'What will happen to me?' Amisia asked, seated on the edge of the bed, her beautiful face now white and swollen with tears. The soft-hearted Maltote just stared at her pityingly whilst admiring Ranulf's delicate care of her.
'Everything will be all right,' he assured her. 'Master Long Face, Sir Hugh Corbett,' he explained, 'has a great deal of influence at court. Tell me,' he added, 'did your brother own any property or tenements in England?'
Ranulf could have bitten out his tongue for where else would Rahere have property, but Amisia didn't seem to notice. She closed her eyes and rocked herself gently.
'We had money,' she answered, 'from the sale of our father's property and Rahere was always well supplied with gold and silver.'
'And where did this come from?'
'One of the Lombard bankers… Luigi Baldi. That's right!' Amisia's eyes opened. 'Luigi Baldi. He owns shops in London, in Lothbury.'
'Then this is what we will do,' Ranulf confidently assured her. 'You will go to London and lodge with the Minoresses, a small order outside Aldgate. Meanwhile, I will visit this Luigi Baldi to ensure your inheritance is kept safe.'
Ranulf was fairly swaggering when he left the tavern.
'Can you do that?' Maltote asked. 'Rahere was a traitor. His body should be gibbeted and all his property confiscated by the Crown. I know that,' he added defiantly, 'because Sir Hugh told me.'
'There's the law,' Ranulf explained loftily, 'and there's Sir Hugh. Now, Old Master Long Face may appear to be dour, with a heart like flint.' Ranulf pursed his lips and shook his head. 'But, mark my words, once a man's dead, he won't push matters. Moreover, if his solution is correct, the King will grant him anything he wishes. Whatever,' Ranulf caught Maltote by the sleeve, 'we clerks of the chancery have considerable influence in these matters.'
By the time they had bought the victuals and returned to the castle, Corbett was again immersed in his 'scribbling', as Ranulf termed it. He stopped to eat some bread and cheese and drink a little wine then returned to his task. Ranulf asked if they could walk round the castle. Corbett lifted his tousled head and crossly told him to stay where he was. Maltote and Ranulf diced for a while. Darkness fell and the castle grew silent, apart from the calls of sentries on the parapet walks or the occasional ringing of the bell. Ranulf and Maltote wrapped themselves in their cloaks and both slept fitfully. Every time they woke, Corbett was still seated at the table, bathed in a circle of candlelight, writing furiously or staring, face in hands, down at a piece of parchment.
They both rose, heavy-eyed, just after dawn. Although Corbett was grey with exhaustion, he began to interrogate them on different details, going back to the table to continue his scribbling. Ranulf and Maltote gained permission to go into the town. Obeying Corbett's order they kept to themselves. When they returned, the table was cleared and Corbett lay fast asleep upon his bed. He awoke just after noon, still lost in his own thoughts. He shaved, washed and changed, ate some of the provisions Ranulf had brought, then curtly ordered both of them to pack.
'Are we returning to London, Master?' Maltote asked hopefully.
'No, no. Your saddlebags are packed?'
Both Ranulf and Maltote nodded. Corbett handed Maltote a sealed package.
'You are to leave the castle with Ranulf. Ride as hard as you can to Lincoln. You, Ranulf, are to seek an audience with Henry, Earl of Lincoln. You will find him in the castle there. Now,' he handed a small scroll to Ranulf, 'give him this. Tell him to read it alone.' Corbett rubbed his eyes. 'He will then give Maltote an armed escort to London.
'You are to ride like the devil, Maltote, and deliver your package to the King in his own chamber at Westminster Hall. Meanwhile, Ranulf, ask the Earl of Lincoln for soldiers and go to Kirklees Priory. On her allegiance to the King, the Prioress is commanded to accompany you and the Earl of Lincoln, with whatever troops Lincoln can raise, back to Nottingham.'
'Why the Prioress?' Ranulf asked.
Corbett opened his mouth, then shook his head.
'No, the less you know the better.'
'Won't Lincoln object?' Ranulf asked, wary of the hardbitten Earl whose fierce temper and colourful oaths were known even to the humblest page boy at court.
'The Earl will do as I say,' Corbett maintained. 'The letter is marked with the King's secret seal and the same applies to the writ for My Lady Prioress. They will come. They may object, they may plead, but they will come. Now go! And, Ranulf, I should be grateful if you would ask Sir Peter Branwood and Roteboeuf to join me here.'
'What's going to happen?' Ranulf persisted.
'Do as I say,' Corbett reiterated. 'You must be back here within three days.'
Ranulf and Maltote left and a few minutes later Sir Peter Branwood, Naylor, Friar Thomas and Roteboeuf walked into the chamber.
'Sir Hugh, you wished to see me? I thought I would bring the rest of my household.'
'Yes,' Corbett murmured. 'It's best if I see you all. I think,' he continued, 'I know how to trap and kill Robin Hood.' He saw the look of surprise in Branwood's eyes.
'What has happened?' the under-sheriff asked. 'Have you discovered the traitor?'
'No, no,' Corbett replied. 'I think the solution to this outlaw's depredations must be a military one. My belief is that the Prioress of Kirklees has given comfort and sustenance to the wolfshead. She may be able to provide us with information of his whereabouts. You see,' Corbett leaned forward, 'Robin Hood definitely has an accomplice in this castle but it could be anyone: a cook, a scullion, a chamber maid or a soldier. However, we are not here to catch minnows. I have reached the conclusion, Sir Peter, that the solution must be a military one. I have asked the Earl of Lincoln to bring the Prioress here for questioning. If we obtain the information I need, I am going to ask you and the Earl to join forces in laying siege to this outlaw in the forest.'
'How can that be done?' Friar Thomas asked. 'It would be like trying to encircle the sea.'
Corbett grinned and scratched his head.
'It may take weeks, Father, but it can be done. Sir Peter, you have seen the way the King's army advanced through Scotland?'
Sir Peter, his face flushed with excitement, nodded. 'Sir Hugh, I can guess what you intend. To move forces from glade to glade, turning each into a small fortress.'
'Exactly,' Corbett replied. 'So far any military expedition into the forest has been a visit. This time the forces will camp there. We will use Lincoln's soldiers, what's left of Gisborne's party and the castle forces. Sir Peter, you will begin preparations now. Put the entire garrison on a war footing. I am sure Master Roteboeuf will be kept busy drawing up supplies, and Master Naylor marshalling the men. Friar Thomas, I know you are a man of the people. I rely on you to seek out those who know the forest ways, the secret paths and trackways.' Corbett got to his feet. 'We will try once more and if that fails, Sir Peter, I shall return to London to inform His Grace that you and I have done all we can and the matter is now in his hands.'
Sir Peter got up. 'Sir Hugh, on this occasion I agree with everything you have said. But what about Sir Eustace's death?'
Corbett chewed his lip. 'I think I know how Sir Eustace died. Somehow or other, his cup was poisoned.' He stared around. 'Where's Physician Maigret?'
'In the city on some errand or other.'
Corbett nodded. 'Sir Peter, enough is enough. We all have our tasks to do. Ranulf and Maltote are taking messages to Lincoln. I expect the Earl three days from now.'
Corbett watched Sir Peter and his household leave. He locked the door behind them, breathed a sigh of relief and lay down on the bed eager to catch up on the sleep he had lost.
He woke later in the afternoon and a short walk round the castle proved that Sir Peter already had preparations in hand. The stables, forges and smithies were busy. Horses were being groomed, saddles repaired and foodstocks being moved up from the cellar into the small outhouses of the inner bailey. Corbett ambled around smiling then slipped through the postern gate, down the Brewhouse stairs and into the hot, stinking streets of Nottingham. For a while he moved amongst the market stalls until, confident no one was watching him, he hastened up an alleyway, crossed the street and rang the bell of the Franciscan friary.
Father Prior was hardly welcoming.
'The affairs of this world should be left outside the friary gate!' he snapped.
'Oh, no, Father, this friary is very much at the heart of my world,' Corbett retorted. 'I need to see Brother William. I am asking courteously but, if you object, shall use my authority.'
Father Prior pulled a face but quickly agreed. He led Corbett across the grounds to the old outlaw's cell. Brother William also received Corbett coolly.
'You are leaving for London, Sir Hugh? You have come to say goodbye?' The friar's eyes were guarded. Corbett could see he was only making conversation until Father Prior was well away from the door of the cell.
'I shall return to London after I have trapped the wolfshead Robin Hood,' Corbett replied. 'And you, Brother, are going to help me.'
The friar sat down on a stool.
'I am a man of God. The affairs of this world do not concern me.'
'That's the second time I have heard that remark,' Corbett replied. 'God knows you can help me, Brother.' Corbett drew his sword from its sheath.
Brother William's eyes rounded in fear. 'What is this?' he gasped.
'Our past never leaves us alone,' Corbett continued evenly, tip-toeing backwards towards the door. 'Just when we think it's all shadows something springs out to trip us up. I mean you no harm, Brother, just as…' Corbett pulled the door open and swung the tip of his sword under the chin of the huge gardener standing there. Corbett grinned. 'Why eavesdrop, John Little? Or is it Little John?'
The huge giant of a man, his iron-grey hair hanging down to his shoulders, stood with his hands hanging by his sides, his massive fists curled in frustration. Corbett's sword had not wavered but now lay against the man's exposed neck. Behind him Corbett heard Brother William move.
'Don't do anything stupid, Brother!' Corbett called over his shoulder. 'After all, you are a man of God. And I swear, by the same God, I intend you no harm. You, John Little, are a declared outlaw. Your head can be taken by any man. But we have matters to discuss, haven't we?'
The giant's clear blue eyes never left Corbett's face and the clerk could see he was wondering whether to attack or concede.
'I mean you no harm, John Little,' Corbett repeated softly. 'Come.' He waved the man in. The giant bowed his head and shoulders and entered Brother William's cell.
Corbett left two hours later. Neither John Little nor Brother William had been forthcoming. They had refused to answer his questions but sat staring at him, listening to all he said. At last Corbett had borrowed pen and parchment: he wrote out a letter of safe conduct summoning both to appear before him as the King's Commissioner in Nottingham Castle.
Corbett spent the next few hours watching Branwood prepare for the military expedition into the forest. The rest of the time he kept to himself, reviewing his theories like any good clerk preparing a memorandum to place before the King. Corbett tried to hide his nervousness. He just hoped Ranulf would carry out his task and that Maltote was able to reach the King.
On the day after Ranulf and Maltote left Nottingham, Corbett visited the Lady Amisia at the tavern and gently questioned her. He found her intelligent, witty, and clearly innocent of any involvement in her brother's crimes. He listened with amusement to the promises Ranulf had made to her on his behalf.
'It's true, My Lady,' Corbett confirmed, getting to his feet. When I return south, I will be honoured if you will join us. We shall ensure your safe lodging with the Minoresses.'
With the girl's thanks ringing in his ears, Corbett went back to the castle.
He attended Rahere's funeral mass later that day, listening with half an ear to how the priest deplored the 'dreadful murder' of this stranger in their midst. Corbett watched the body being taken out to the graveyard and escorted the tearful Amisia, resting on the arm of the landlord's wife, back to the tavern.
Corbett slept fitfully that night, his dreams plagued by nightmares of being lost in a dense, sombre forest where the very trees came to life, hunting him down, until he woke bathed in sweat. For the rest of the day he kept to his own chamber; he carefully examined the items he had taken from Sir Eustace's room and almost shouted with relief when he heard the cries of the sentries and the noise of many horsemen entering Middle Gate.
Corbett made himself presentable and went down to the hall where a dust-stained Ranulf was busy making the aged but still fiery old war horse the Earl of Lincoln as comfortable as possible.
'Corbett, you bloody scribbler!' the old earl bawled, his fierce face glistening with sweat, bulging blue eyes glaring at Corbett as if he held him responsible for every bump and bruise of his journey. 'Come on, man,' the earl shouted at Ranulf. 'I want some bloody wine. Hello, Branwood!' he bellowed as the sheriff entered the hall. 'Can't catch a bloody outlaw, can you? For God's sake, someone, remove my boots. Lord, my arse is as sore as a maid on her wedding night!'
Corbett bit back a smile and quietly applauded the earl's cheerful bullying of anyone who came within earshot. Henry de Lacey, Earl of Lincoln, was no fool, however and Corbett caught his sly wink.
'You've brought your men, My Lord?'
'Scores of the idle buggers! Men-at-arms, some household knights, and more archers than there are hairs on my arse. And, believe me,' the earl roared with laughter, 'my arse is hairy! Go outside, Corbett, and see for yourself.'
He took the hint and wandered into the inner bailey where men wearing the red and green livery of the earl thronged the courtyard.
'Maltote's gone to London,' Ranulf murmured, coming up beside him. 'But that old earl, Master! He curses everyone, and he's drunk at least a pint of wine since entering Nottingham.'
'That old earl,' Corbett softly replied, 'is a cunning old fox and I think he's guessed why he's here.' Corbett smiled at Ranulf's puzzlement. 'Wait a while, Ranulf, and all will be clear. Oh, by the way, the Lady Amisia sends her regards.'
They went back into the hall where Lincoln had tossed his boots into a corner. Whilst one of his squires tried to put soft buskins on his feet, another was being drenched in water as the earl washed his hands and face and bellowed for a cup of sack, a goblet of wine, anything to wash the filth from his throat.
'Oh, by the way,' Lincoln shouted, 'that soft-arsed Prioress! God knows, she's a snooty bitch. She's here too, Corbett. She was in a bloody half-faint when I left her, silly mare! Hadn't she ever heard a man curse before?'
Ranulf was fighting so hard to stifle his laughter, Corbett thought he would have an apoplexy. He took his leave, hearing the old earl roaring at Branwood that he hadn't travelled to Nottingham for a bowl of stew and he hoped they would dine well that night.
As Corbett hurried out of the hall, he smelt the savoury fragrances from the kitchen and realised Branwood was preparing a banquet to celebrate the hunting down of Robin Hood.
'You wait till you see the Prioress,' Ranulf muttered, still stifling his laughter. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, have you ever heard the story of the lecherous clerk, the miller's daughter and the miller's wife?' 'No, why?'
'Well,' Ranulf laughed, 'the Prioress has. Lincoln insisted on roaring the story out at the top of his voice with a few choice embellishments of his own.'
Lady Elizabeth Stainham had recovered at least some of her poise by the time Corbett met her in her comfortable quarters above Middlegate. Nevertheless she stood quivering with fury, her face white, eyes wide dark pools of malice.
'Master Corbett,' she snarled. 'My Lady, my title is Sir Hugh.'
'You can call yourself whatever you wish! I shall complain to the King about being dragged from my convent and forced to travel here in the company of that!' She flicked a finger at Ranulf.
'Ranulf-atte-Newgate, My Lady.'
'Yes. And the earl, a foul-mouthed…'
'You mean the King's cousin, Henry de Lacey, Earl of Lincoln, Guardian of the Prince of Wales and the King's most successful general in Gascony?'
The Prioress bit her lip as she realised she had gone too far.
'What do you want?' she snapped, flouncing down into a chair.
Corbett nodded to Ranulf. 'Please wait outside.' He looked at the young nun who had accompanied the Prioress. 'And you too.' He smiled. 'My manservant has a number of droll stories that may interest you.'
Lady Elizabeth made to rise again.
'You, My Lady, will sit down!' Corbett ordered. 'I must take some of your time. If you had told me, the King's Commissioner, the truth the first time we met, then your journey and this meeting would not have been necessary. If you have objections to speaking now, then take them to the King. I assure you, you will spend your remaining years on bread and water in some forlorn nunnery at the other end of the kingdom.'
Ranulf heard these last few words as he closed the door behind him. He was tempted to eavesdrop for he knew Master Long Face was closing in on his quarry. However, the door was thick and the young nun rather pretty. Ranulf soon had her giggling at his own tale about the miller's wife, the miller's daughter and the lecherous clerk.
An hour later Corbett left the room, a smile on his face.
'I think your Prioress needs you,' he murmured. 'She has to unpack and prepare herself for this evening's banquet. And you, Ranulf…'
He took his manservant by the elbow and led him down the stairs, whispering quiet instructions about what he was to do that evening. Corbett then returned to his chamber, prepared himself, and wrapping certain items in his cloak, went down to the great hall for what Sir Peter Branwood grandly termed his 'victory banquet'.
The under-sheriff had done his best to transform the hall. The floor had been cleaned, tapestries hung against the walls and the great table had been moved from the dais to accommodate all of Sir Peter's household as well as de Lacey, Corbett, Ranulf, and a very grim-faced Lady Prioress. Sconce torches spluttered against the darkness whilst the tables, covered in white cloths, were bathed in pools of candlelight. Sir Peter's cooks had prepared a veritable feast: mutton cooked with olives, royal venison, chicken boiled and stuffed with grapes, a dressed peacock, bowls of salad, pike in galantine sauce, buttered vegetables, and the best wines from the castle cellars. Everyone except Corbett ate well and drank deeply, though Lincoln kept a wary eye on the clerk, sensing a mystery. Once the main dishes had been served and cleared away, Sir Peter stood up and gave a charming speech welcoming the Earl of Lincoln, toasting his martial prowess.
'Well, Corbett,' Branwood concluded with a grin, 'this grand design is all yours. What do you propose?'
'A story,' he began, rising to his feet and looking around. He pushed back his chair and stood behind it, leaning on the back. 'Many years ago this kingdom was riven by civil war. He glanced at de Lacey who shifted uneasily. 'Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, fought His Grace the King. De Montfort had a dream which turned into a nightmare of treason and treachery – the idea that every man is equal before the law. Now de Montfort met with defeat but one of his followers, Robin of Locksley, kept the dream alive, albeit tinged with self-profit. Robin objected to the harsh forest laws and became an outlaw in Sherwood where he robbed the rich and helped the poor. He fought mailed men, knights, sheriffs, verderers, but to my knowledge never raised a hand against an innocent man, woman or child.'
Corbett stared round the now silent group at the table. Branwood looked puzzled, Naylor sombre, Roteboeuf had his head in his hands, Maigret the physician seemed half-asleep but Friar Thomas was listening intently, as was the Earl of Lincoln and the Lady Prioress who, by her flushed cheeks, had apparently drunk deeply to hide her discomfort. Corbett glanced down the hall where Lincoln's henchmen and knights of the household were gathered. Ranulf, standing by the door, nodded imperceptibly, his face illuminated by the sconce torch spluttering above him. Corbett could tell from the look on his servant's face that Ranulf had others with him waiting in the shadows. Corbett took a deep breath.
'Now this outlaw's fame became widely known and when our King came north he offered Robin Hood a pardon. The outlaw accepted and his band broke up. Will Scarlett entered a monastery, Little John, his lieutenant, went back to his small village of Haversage, whilst Robin's love, the Lady Mary, took refuge in a nunnery at Kirklees. Robin went to fight in the King's wars in Scotland but grew sickened of the slaughter and wrote to the King asking to be released from military service. His Grace the King, who always liked a merry rogue, gave Robin licence to return home and sent a copy of the same to Sir Eustace Vechey and Sir Peter Branwood, sheriffs of Nottingham. Robin came south with two companions, William Goldberg and a man called Thomas.'
'Two companions?' Friar Thomas asked.
'Yes, they're mentioned in the King's letter of safe conduct.'
'We know all this,' Naylor interrupted. 'Then for some strange reason the wolfshead broke his word and went back to Sherwood Forest.'
'Ah!' Corbett smiled. 'You are wrong. Robin came south only to be murdered! I will not go hunting the outlaw tomorrow, Sir Peter, that was a ploy to protect myself until the Earl of Lincoln arrived.'