by Paul Doherty
With Maltote trailing behind, he went back to the castle, taking care to go up the Brewhouse stairs through the postern gate, slipping along the walls, making sure no one stopped or bothered them. For the first time since his arrival in Nottingham, Corbett felt a thrill of pleasure. Somehow he might break the cipher. He laughed softly at how Philip's own agent had provided the key.
Once back in his chamber Corbett laid his writing implements out on the table, ordering Maltote to help in drawing up crude chess boards.
'Remember, Maltote,' Corbett insisted, 'a perfect square, eight by eight.'
Corbett then began to fill in the squares with the names of the chess pieces. At first Maltote watched but soon grew bored and lay for a while on his bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering where Ranulf was and how long they would stay in this benighted castle. Across the room Master Long Face scratched his head, muttered and swore to himself as pieces of parchment were tossed aside. The sun began to dip. Servants came up, declaring the evening meal was ready, but Corbett told them to go away.
Ranulf returned much the worse for drink, declaring loudly that Lady Amisia was more rested and comforted by their assurances.
'Especially,' Ranulf shouted, 'by the promises Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the Secret Seal, has given her.'
Corbett ignored him and continued with his studies.
'Aren't we going to have something to eat?' Ranulf moaned.
'Not in this castle,' Corbett replied. 'Tighten your belt and think of the banquets awaiting us in London.'
Ranulf shrugged, pulled the dice from his wallet and began to show Maltote the finer points of cheating.
At last, just when they were beginning to despair, Corbett grunted, 'I've got the bastard!'
Ranulf and Maltote wandered over. Corbett looked up, his eyes red-rimmed with tiredness.
'This chess board,' he said, 'has the solution.'
He was about to continue when there was a loud knocking on the door.
'Come in!' Corbett shouted.
Sir Peter Branwood, followed by Roteboeuf, strode into the chamber.
'Sir Hugh,' Branwood queried, 'is all well?'
Corbett stared down at the scrap of parchment.
'Oh, yes, Sir Peter, I think all is well.' He smiled apologetically. 'I am sorry, we are involved in business which does not concern the wolfshead.'
Sir Peter looked nonplussed.
'I will explain later,' Corbett gently added.
'Do you want any victuals?'
'No, no, we have drunk enough.'
Branwood pulled a face and made to leave.
'Sir Peter!'
The under-sheriff turned, one hand on the latch.
'Yes?'
'Why should Lecroix hang himself in the cellar?' Corbett abruptly asked.
'God knows. Remember, Sir Hugh, the castle was under attack. Perhaps he felt safer there.'
Corbett nodded absentmindedly. 'Yes, yes, perhaps he did.'
Once the under-sheriff had left, Corbett went back to the crude chess board he had sketched on a piece of parchment.
'Forget the outlaw,' he whispered. 'You, Maltote and Ranulf, I thank you. Apart from Philip of France, his generals on the Flemish border, perhaps Messieurs Nogaret and de Craon, we are the only people who know where his armies will attack. Look, I'll explain.'
Chapter 11
'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 wit
h 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, h
e 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?'