Assassin in the Greenwood hc-7

by Paul Doherty

  Corbett tapped the giant on the chest.

  'But you fired the arrows?'

  The giant's face broke into a gap-toothed grin.

  'Three fire arrows,' Corbett declared. 'Your requiem every month on the thirteenth, the date Robin died.'

  'He fired them,' Brother William intervened. 'He would slip out of a postern gate and loose them into the night sky. A reminder to Robin's assassin in Nottingham as well as a prayer, three times repeated, that God would comfort our dead friend's soul.'

  'But you never knew who the assassin was?' Corbett continued. 'And that was the evil beauty of his plan. The Lady Prioress here could not reveal Robin's death. Who would believe her? Some might even accuse her of having a hand in it. After all, her intense dislike for her kinsman was well known. Little John might have his suspicions but he was an outlaw and could be killed on sight. Brother William had no proof. And, as he has said, any of Robin's old companions who did suspect went the same way as their master. Now.' Corbett walked briskly up the table. 'My Lord of Lincoln, I would like a man-at-arms on either side of Sir Peter, his clerk Roteboeuf and Master Naylor.' Corbett drew his own dagger and stood behind the burly serjeant-at-arms. Branwood sat slumped on his chair. Roteboeuf blinked like a frightened rabbit but Corbett saw Naylor's hands go beneath the table.

  'Please sir,' he ordered, 'your hands where I can see them.'

  The serjeant-at-arms peered over his shoulder. Lincoln's soldiers thronged around. Reluctantly Naylor did as Corbett asked. Lincoln barked out orders. Branwood, Naylor and Roteboeuf offered no resistance as their swords were taken from them.

  'In the castle,' Corbett continued, 'Sir Eustace Vechey must have thought a nightmare had returned. He had fought Robin in the old days. Now the outlaw was back, causing even more mischief. Now I don't think the old sheriff knew what had happened but, as the outlaw's depredations grew worse, he did suspect a hjgh-placed traitor in the castle. A lonely, suspicious man, Vechey would trust no one but, as his mind began to ramble, so did his tongue. Perhaps he began to hint at things; even his face or eyes may have betrayed something. So he had to die and you, Sir Peter, killed him, as you murdered Robin Hood and took his place in Sherwood Forest!'

  'This is nonsense!' Branwood shouted, trying to assert himself. 'My Lord of Lincoln, the clerk raves. He is as mad as a hare on a moonlit night!'

  Branwood's protests were belied by the expression on his face and the beads of sweat coursing down his cheeks. One of Lincoln's knights grasped him by the shoulder and pushed him down on to his chair.

  'No, Sir Peter, you are a murderer,' Corbett continued evenly, staring at him from the other side of the table. 'You hated Robin of Locksley for past humiliations. You resented his acceptance into the King's grace and, I suspect, despised the King himself for showing such mercy to a man you would have killed. You, together with Sir Eustace, received the letter from the royal chancery at Westminster, saying that Robin was returning to Nottingham under royal protection. You noticed the dates and the times and planned that ambush. Your two creatures here, Naylor and Roteboeuf, were responsible. I am sure, when my story's finished, one of them will be wise enough to turn King's Evidence and confirm this. You killed William Goldberg and the man called Thomas. You left Robin of Locksley for dead.

  'Perhaps at first you thought you might leave it at that but then you saw what opportunities presented themselves. What a way to revenge yourself on the dead man's name and reputation! On the King himself, as well as line your own pockets! And it would be so easy. Who could prove what you had done? Everyone else, from the King in London down to the lowliest serf in Nottingham, believed Robin of Locksley had returned to his old ways. As I have demonstrated, only three other people knew of his death. One, a former outlaw, would not be believed and could be killed on sight; then there was a friar, old and weary, immured in his own monastery and a Prioress who hated Robin;'

  'But it's impossible.' Lincoln spoke out. 'How could Branwood here move from the castle to the forest?'

  'My Lord, beneath this castle lies a warren of secret tunnels and passageways known only to a few. Everyone is concerned that someone could steal into the castle by these secret routes, it is equally true that such tunnels can be used for people to leave the castle – as Sir Peter discovered to his own profit.' Corbett sipped from his wine cup before continuing. '1 have studied the attacks of the outlaw over the last three months. They did not occur daily but once or twice a month, the most profitable being the attack on the King's tax-collectors. In their role as outlaws, Sir Peter, Naylor and Roteboeuf left the castle by their secret routes. Perhaps the clerk occasionally stayed behind to cover for his master's absences. Some of the tunnels, I understand, come out into the town, a few well beyond the city walls.

  'In one of these passageways Branwood and Naylor would change into Lincoln green, as well as their hoods and masks, and go to their pre-arranged meeting place in the forest. Those two outlaws Master Naylor is supposed to have captured provided some insight on how the outlaws would assemble at a certain place when the signals were given. Let us take, for example, the attack on the tax-collectors.' Corbett drummed his fingers against his belt. 'It would have taken Sir Peter no more than a few hours. Naylor acted the role of Little John and the wench from The Blue Boar that of Maid Marion. The outlaws would assemble, orders would be issued and the attack made.'

  'You claim we could do all that?' Naylor sneered.

  'Oh, yes,' Corbett retorted. 'The wench from the tavern would not know your true identities but just act a part. The rest of the outlaws would be summoned before the tax-collectors even left Nottingham, closely followed by one of your coven. The tax-collector's cavalcade would be slower than men moving on foot through a forest.' Corbett narrowed his eyes at the candle flame. 'Willoughby said he was captured late in the afternoon and fell asleep after dark. No more than five or six hours. Once he was asleep, his retinue was massacred, the spoils shared out and Branwood returned to the castle.' Corbett pointed at Roteboeuf. 'Perhaps you stayed to explain away Sir Peter's absence, claiming he was in his chamber or the town? Anyway, who would notice? Father Thomas busy in his parish? Poor old Vechey, troubled and confused? Or Lecroix, slow-witted and anxious about his master?'

  'But surely,' Friar Thomas interrupted, 'Branwood would be recognised.'

  'Oh, come, Father. A mask and a hood, the voice deliberately changed. Words kept to a minimum. After all, didn't you tell me yourself that the outlaw approached you in your own church? Did you suspect?'

  Friar Thomas smiled and shook his head.

  'No, of course not, Father,' Corbett continued. 'In your mind Robin was still alive. And who would suspect the upright, law-abiding under-sheriff was really the outlaw in disguise? The wench from the tavern? Well, as I've said, she played her part. Tomorrow morning she and her father will wake up to find my Lord of Lincoln's men searching every nook and cranny of their house.'

  'Did Vechey suspect?' Father Thomas asked.

  'Oh, no! He was too busy hunting the traitor in the castle who was providing the outlaws with vital information. Branwood skilfully planned his death.' Corbett pulled the bundle from underneath his chair and took out a soiled napkin. 'Do you remember, Physician Maigret, where you saw this last?'

  'Why, yes,' the physician cried, peering across the table. 'That's the one from Vechey's chamber. He used it to wipe his mouth.'

  'No, he didn't!' Corbett replied. 'When Sir Eustace went up to his chamber he was carrying a goblet of wine. He sipped that then he and Lecroix ate some of the sweetmeats. Afterwards, Sir Eustace washed his hands and face. He picked up a napkin, dried himself and retired to bed.' Corbett chewed his lip and stared at Branwood. 'But we both know, Sir Peter, that the napkin Vechey used was coated in the most potent poison you could buy from that witch Hecate – deadly nightshade. Oh, yes, I have heard of a case in Italy where a woman dipped one of her husband's shirts in such a potion and killed him. Now, naturally, Lecroix would not use the same napkin as his
master, I wonder if that's what Lecroix meant by the last words he said to us before he died? Do you remember, Maigret? "My master was tidy."'

  'Yes, I do,' he replied: 'And you are right, Sir Hugh. Vechey would have gone to bed, his lips and hands coated with that noxious substance.'

  'Ah, but what would have made it easier,' Corbett continued, 'was that Sir Eustace had sores on his mouth. These would give the poison direct entry into his blood and other humours. Yet that napkin, Sir Peter, was your greatest mistake. The next morning you, with the rest, came up to see Sir Eustace's chamber and, during the confusion, exchanged one stained napkin for another. And you were very cunning. The replacement napkin carried wine stains and sweetmeats, even blood, as if Sir Eustace had opened the sores on his lips. Now, Physician Maigret.' Corbett passed the soiled napkin over. 'Pull across a candle. Examine the napkin left in Sir Eustace's chamber and, bearing in mind what I have told you, what is wrong with it?'

  Maigret did as he was told. At first he shook his head but then he glanced up, smiling. 'Of course,' he said. 'There are the stains from the sweetmeats and there are the blood marks, but the two are quite separate. The blood stains are quite distant from the other marks. They should be together, even mingling.'

  'Exactly!' Corbett retorted, taking the napkin back and tossing it down the table at Lincoln. 'That's what I concluded when I re-examined it.'

  'But,' Maigret exclaimed, 'Sir Peter too was ill.'

  'Oh, I think that's due to one of two reasons. Remember, Sir Peter did not go to you until after Sir Eustace's body had been discovered. This could have been due to Sir Peter's trying to pose as a possible victim himself, or perhaps he had tinged himself, or thought he had, with some of the potion from the poisoned napkin.' Corbett pulled a face. 'Who would suspect? Branwood probably left the napkin there before the banquet began. It was the one thing in that room Vechey would not share with Lecroix, a mere servant.'

  'You speak true, Sir Hugh.' Friar Thomas spoke up. 'I remember that morning. Sir Peter came to Vechey's chamber wearing gloves. I am sure,' he concluded flatly, 'that those gloves, together with the poisoned napkin, disappeared into a fire.'

  'And Lecroix?' Maigret asked.

  'Oh, well, he had to die. There was always the risk he may have noticed something or Vechey may even have shared his suspicions with him. Now, do you remember, Sir Peter, I asked you why Lecroix should hang himself in the cellars? You said because the castle was under attack or because Lecroix may have been looking for more wine; after all, we did find a small wine cask smashed. Of course, I know different now. There was plenty of wine in the castle and the cellar with its secret trap doors and passageways would be the last place a man would go if he wanted to hide. Lecroix was not as stupid as he looked. He may have been searching for the secret passageway out of the castle. He may even have suspected the truth, following his master's death, and reached the conclusion that he might discover what the outlaws had taken. In other words, My Lord of Lincoln, if His Grace the King wishes to regain his taxes, I am sure they will be found somewhere in the cellars or secret passageways of this castle.' Corbett paused and stared at Branwood who had now regained his composure and glanced coolly back. 'The rest,' Corbett raised his eyes to the roof, 'was easy. We went into the forest but you had already sent orders ahead and led us into that ambush. The same is true of poor Gisborne.' Corbett smiled ruefully. 'All was confusion that day. I was leaving for Kirklees. You, Sir Peter, were ostensibly furious with Gisborne, hurrying about so no one could really know what you were doing. Naylor and Roteboeuf stayed to sustain the sham whilst you slipped down the tunnels, gathered the outlaws, and Gisborne blundered into your trap.' Corbett looked up at the Earl of Lincoln who sat fascinated by what he was hearing.

  'My Lord, you doubted whether anyone in the castle could enter the forest and return. Nottingham is a small city. You are beyond its walls, even after riding through busy streets, in twenty minutes. Can you imagine how quickly it can be left by going down a secret passageway? Who knows? Perhaps we can find one of the tunnels. My reckoning is that after leaving the castle cellars Sir Peter could be in the heart of Sherwood, plan an ambush, carry it out and be back in the castle with an absence of only four or five hours. And who would notice? Sir Eustace, when he was alive, was a broken man, whilst there was always the ubiquitous Roteboeuf ready to say that Sir Peter had gone thither or hither. And, to complicate the mystery, sometimes Branwood would not go but send Naylor instead, just to muddy the waters a little further.'

  Corbett sat down and looked around. He had never seen people so motionless, such a captive audience.

  'My story is nearly done,' he remarked quietly. 'A clever scheme though flawed from the start. When I wrote down what had happened to me I began to detect a pattern.' Corbett ticked off the points on his fingers. 'First, the attack on the castle on my first day here. How did the outlaws know which room I was in? Secondly, that ambush in Sherwood Forest. At the time I dismissed it but hindsight makes wise men of us all. Wasn't it strange that none of us was hit by those arrows? Branwood and Naylor had to keep me safe because slaying the King's Commissioner would have been pushing matters a little too far.' Corbett stopped and stared down the table. He was sure Branwood was almost smiling. 'You'll hang!' he remarked. 'You are a traitor and a murderer, as are Naylor and Roteboeuf and anyone else who assisted.'

  Corbett's sombre words had the desired effect. Roteboeuf, his face white and haggard, sprang to his feet, knocking the chair over. Lincoln's soldiers closed in.

  'It's true!' he yelled.

  'Shut up!' bellowed Branwood.

  'Oh, for God's sake!' Roteboeuf struggled in the arms of the soldiers. 'Sir Hugh, I am a cleric. I claim benefit of clergy and will confess all, giving names and dates.' He stopped and stared beseechingly at Corbett.

  'The King's mercy will be recommended,' he replied quietly.

  'Shut up, you lying bastard!' Branwood yelled. 'You snivelling coward!'

  Roteboeuf, however, heartened by Corbett's words, fell to his knees.

  'It's true!' he sobbed. 'Branwood hated Robin Hood. He was obsessed with the outlaw. He found the tunnels leading from the castle. He, Naylor and myself used often to go down there. Sir Eustace never suspected anything. Then, late last autumn, just after the feast of All Saints, the letters came about Robin of Locksley leaving the King's armies in Scotland and Branwood drew up this scheme. We left the castle by a secret route, masked and hooded. Locksley's two companions were killed outright, we left Locksley himself for dead.' Roteboeuf licked his lips. 'We were hasty, frightened of being so close to Kirklees. We took his possessions, including his signet ring. At first Branwood contented himself with thinking the outlaw was dead. He forged letters to his steward under the stolen seal to obtain and sell Robin's few possessions at Locksley.'

  Roteboeuf was about to continue when Naylor darted across the table, picked up a knife and, roaring with rage, tried to lunge at him. The knife was knocked from his hand. At Lincoln's command, Naylor's arms were pulled roughly behind his chair and tied together. Roteboeuf talked on. How Branwood had devised the scheme to pose as Robin Hood. How easy it had been to enter the forest and recruit the many outlaws there. How he and Naylor acted as spokesmen. How they had planned the attack on the tax-collectors and other such ambushes. How Sir Eustace at first did not notice anything but then became suspicious about a high-ranking traitor in the castle, whereupon Branwood decided to kill him.

  'They killed others,' Roteboeuf sobbed. 'The only fly in the ointment was those fire arrows loosed on the thirteenth of every month. Branwood suspected that one of Robin's old companions knew the truth, so he dispensed ruthless justice to any amongst the outlaws who opposed him. He killed Vechey. Naylor killed Lecroix, Hecate, and the young man in the tavern, the Riddle Master; Sir Peter believed he was another spy. I swear this is the truth!' he cried, eyes wild. 'I will swear the same before the King's Justices!'

  Lincoln got to his feet. 'Sir Peter Branwood, King's Un
der-Sheriff in Nottingham, I ask you solemnly, do you have any defence against these allegations?'

  Branwood lifted his face from his hands. 'Defence?' he whispered. 'Defence, you silly, wine-sodden, old man! Against what? Killing an outlaw and doing what he did? After all, if the King can pardon Robin of Locksley and take him into his own chamber, why can't he pardon me?' He turned and glared at Corbett. 'It was worth it!' he snarled. 'I brought the outlaw down with his swagger, his Lincoln green and his love of the common man. I made two mistakes. No, three! I should have taken his head like I took that silly fool Gisborne's. I should have killed Roteboeuf. And above all, Corbett, I should have killed you!'

  Lincoln strode down the table and beckoned to his soldiers.

  'Make him stand up!'

  The soldiers hustled Branwood to his feet. He spat defiantly at Lincoln who struck him across the face then dragged the chain of office from round his neck.

  'Sir Peter Branwood, you are a thief, a murderer and a traitor! I arrest you for high treason, as I do you, John Naylor! As for you,' he glanced disdainfully at the kneeling, sobbing Roteboeuf, 'you will be detained until the King's pleasure is known. Sir Hugh.' He looked at Corbett. 'Sir Hugh

  Corbett came round the table and stared at Branwood who looked defiant despite his dishevelled appearance and the burgeoning bruise where Lincoln had hit him.

  'You are wrong, Branwood,' Corbett murmured. 'Robin of Locksley was an outlaw but he was also a dreamer, an idealist. He had a genuine love for the common man whereas you are a silent assassin, a conniving thief and a bungling traitor. You used your high office for cold-blooded murder as well as for the theft of the King's money. God forgive me! You are the only man I ever wanted to see die!'

  'Take them away!' Lincoln ordered.