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

sky.
    ‘Not yet nine.’
    ‘Pack our belongings. Our two horses, the sumpter pony and make sure you bring my saddlebags.’
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘I’ll walk round the palace,’ Corbett said. ‘When you’re finished, join me at the main gate. We are going to cross the moat and walk down towards the village, to a tavern, the Tree of Jesse. Its landlord rents out a chamber called the Star of Bethlehem, supposedly painted by some pilgrim who visited the Holy Land .’
    ‘For the love of God, master, what are you chattering about?’
    ‘Me?’ Corbett smiled. ‘With my nun’s face and holier-than-thou looks?’
    Ranulf sighed. He stared across at a page dragging a heavy war saddle from one of the destriers.
    ‘I miss Maltote, master, not just because he looked after the horses.’
    Corbett followed Ranulf’s gaze, watching the page stumble away, the heavy harness over his shoulder. Maltote had been their horse squire, a clumsy young man with a gift for horses. He had been murdered in a filthy alleyway in Oxford and his body now lay under the flagstones of the manor chapel at Leighton.
    ‘I really miss him,’ Ranulf said again. ‘I am glad I killed his murderer. I hope his soul rots in hell!’
    He strode away, as he always did, to hide the tears.
    Corbett wandered round the palace greeting acquaintances, being stopped now and again by other clerks who shook his hand to welcome him back. He went into the buttery and persuaded a cook to provide bread, cheese and a small pot of ale. He sat quietly and ate, watching the hour candle fixed on its iron spigot near the door; when it was about to reach the tenth red circle, Corbett went down to the main gateway where Ranulf was already waiting.
    ‘I was going to ask you, master, why the Tree of Jesse and this chamber the Star of Bethlehem?’
    ‘I told you.’
    Corbett slipped his arm through Ranulf’s. They walked under the gatehouse across the bridge and on to the trackway which wound down through the trees towards the village. Corbett loosened his white collar. The day was autumnally warm, the trees shedding their leaves to lay a crisp , golden matting beneath their feet. They stood aside to allow a pack train by, horses whinnying at the scent of blood from the deer carcasses, throats cut and bellies gutted, which had been slung across their backs. The blood-daubed verderers and foresters were in good humour. It was not yet noon and they had only been hunting since dawn to provide fresh meat for the royal kitchens.
    ‘You were going to say, master?’ Ranulf wished Corbett would not lapse into reflective silences.
    ‘Well, now we are free of the palace, I’ll tell you. Everybody’s lying, Ranulf. Now, when I lay in my great four-poster bed at Leighton, being fussed and spoilt by Lady Maeve, I still received reports from spies, merchants, pedlars, tinkers and scholars.’
    ‘You said they provided nothing but chatter! Gossip from the village well.’
    Corbett shook his head. ‘Most of it was. However, I say this, Ranulf, if I had to stay in that bed for another day, my wits would have wandered. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I love Lady Maeve more than life itself. And, as for Eleanor, well, you know how it is?’
    ‘And Lady Maeve is expecting again?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘As full as a rose at midday.’
    ‘A boy this time?’
    ‘A living child is all I pray for. Now, my mind is like any other, you have to keep sharpening it. I know de Craon would have found out about my injuries and probably prayed for my death. We are approaching an exciting time, Ranulf. An English heir is going to marry a French princess. Philip of France is going to see his dream realised, that a descendant of his great ancestor St Louis will sit on the throne at Westminster . Edward wishes to break free. If he does, there will be bloody war. So,
    I listen to my spies, one in particular: Aidan Smallbone, a lonely clerk from the King’s own secret chancery.’
    ‘But I