Read Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer for Free Online

killed, will I, Ranulf, not with my guardian angel protecting me?’
    His manservant coloured, green eyes evasive.
    ‘You always blink when you are nervous,’ Corbett laughed. ‘Like when Lady Maeve is telling me off.’
    Ranulf beat his metal-studded gauntlets against the table.
    ‘I’m your man, Sir Hugh, in peace and war. You saved me from the gallows. I owe you my life. No pope, no king, no priest can ever cancel that debt.’
    ‘No, they can’t.’ Corbett sighed and got to his feet. ‘But they can try and you are an ambitious man, Ranulf-atte-Newgate. So it’s not back to Leighton for us.’ He rubbed his chest where it was still bruised. ‘We’ll have the clerks swear out the Warrants and commissions and, before the day is out, we’ll be at Ashdown.’
    The door opened, and a retainer wearing the royal blue, red and gold tabard entered holding a white wand which he tapped imperiously on the stone floor.
    ‘Good Lord!’ Ranulf mocked. ‘It’s the Archbishop of Canterbury!’
    ‘Your presence is required,’ the chamberlain declared pompously, ‘by Edward, Prince of Wales. He’s in the tiltyard.’
    ‘Now this,’ Corbett whispered, ‘is going to be interesting.’
    They followed the chamberlain out of the great hall into the courtyard. The morning sun was glistening on the rain-soaked gravel. In that busy place, grooms were leading horses out of the stables, sumpter ponies were being unpacked, carts unhitched. Chickens pecked at the ground, clucking in anger as a palace dog came running up yapping. Servants and men-at-arms milled about. A group of royal archers had taken a thief out to judgement; stripping him bare, they’d lashed him to a tree and were now flogging him vigorously with j white willow wands. The man gagged, strained at his bonds, wincing and twisting as the red-purple! scars scored his white pimply back.
    The chamberlain led them along a terraced walk and into the sand-covered tiltyard, which consisted of a long, dusty rectangle of land with a great wooden tilt fence down the middle. A horseman waited at either end, each dressed in full plate armour. One bore the crest of the Beaumonts of Norfolk, the other, nearest Corbett, the red dragon of Wales .
    A trumpet blew a long fanfare, a shrill metallic blast. Both horses lumbered into a canter then into a gallop. Lances came down, swinging across the horses’ necks as the riders hurtled towards each other. The Prince of Wales was faster, his horse lighter and speedier. His lance avoided his opponent’s shield and caught him full in the chest. The Norfolk knight swayed in the saddle, tried to regain his seat then toppled in a crash and clouds of dust to the roar and acclamation of the onlookers. The victorious Prince dropped his lance, drew his sword and cantered towards his fallen opponent. The latter had more sense than to resist but took off his helmet and extended his hands in a gesture of submission.
    Prince Edward dismounted, removed his tilting helm and, with the help of a squire, began to strip off his armour. He then helped the Norfolk knight to his feet, clapping him heartily on the back. When the Prince caught sight of Corbett he walked across, still loosening pieces of armour which he simply threw on the ground for the scampering squires to pick up. Edward was a strikingly good-looking man, tall, well over six feet, with blond, closely-cropped hair, a neatly clipped moustache and beard, and a rather thick-lipped and aggressive mouth. He had an oval face with deep-set, blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. He didn’t stand on ceremony but gripped Corbett’s outstretched hand and clapped Ranulf on the shoulder.
    ‘Sir Hugh, it’s good to see you. You’ve recovered? And Lady Maeve?’ His smile widened. ‘After all, she’s from my principality. They say there’s nothing like a Welsh woman in bed.’ He caught himself and closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh.’
    ‘No offence given, none taken, sire.’
    ‘And the noble