twisting his arms behind him, before dragging him to his feet. The pain in his shoulder was intense.
‘Monsieur, you are under arrest!’
‘On what charge?’ Roulles gasped. ‘I object!’
‘Murder!’
‘Whose murder?’
The leader went across to Madame Malvoisin, still transfixed in terror. She struggled as he forced her back down the bed and, taking a bolster, clamped it over her face. Roulles stood horrified, watching his former lover struggle for her life, her body jerking, legs and arms lashing out. The assassin held firm until at last Madame Malvoisin lay still.
‘There’s your victim,’ the assassin replied. ‘Take him away!’
Corbett shaded his eyes to survey Savernake Dell and bent down to dig with the tip of his dagger at the dark patches still staining the dew-wet grass.
‘Your brother was standing here?’
Sir William Fitzalan nodded. ‘He’d notched an arrow to his bow; he was about to shoot when the assassin’s shaft took him full in the heart.’
‘And that assassin?’ Ranulf asked.
Sir William’s sweaty face twisted into a grimace.
‘You know full well: our verderer Robert Verlian, who fled! He has now taken sanctuary in St Oswald’s-in-the-Trees.’
‘How do you know he’s guilty? Because he’s fled? Because he’s taken sanctuary?’
‘He was the only one that wasn’t here when my brother died. Verlian knew this forest and he’s a master bowman.’
Corbett looked back to where the dark-garbed Italian physician, Pancius Cantrone, stood beneath the outstretched branches of an oak tree. A further distance away stood Fitzalan’s retainers holding the horses. A quiet, peaceful place, Corbett thought. The early morning mist was still lifting. Even the birds were quiet, not stirring until the sun fully rose. A ghostly place where tendrils of mist hovered and shifted. The early morning glow caught the dew on the leaves and grass, making the dell shimmer in the strengthening light. It reminded Corbett of Leighton, of his walks with Maeve down to the great meadow. They’d sit by the stream, cloaks wrapped around them, and watch the sun rise. A quiet part of the day and one Corbett loved, but this was different.
‘Verlian wasn’t the only one absent, was he?’ Corbett asked.
Sir William looked askance.
‘You weren’t here.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I talked to your servants. I made careful enquiries.’
‘You only arrived in Ashdown last night.’
‘Yes, but a tavern like the Devil-in-the-Woods is full of gossip. Mine host has a nose for all the news but, if he was wrong, I can set the record straight.’
Sir William glanced away. He was a warrior, a hunter, who prided himself on being frightened of no one, but this dark-faced clerk with his royal commissions and warrants, his cat-eyed servant, unnerved him.
‘I’d walked away,’ he replied. ‘I went into the trees to relieve myself.’
‘An inappropriate time. I understand that at least two deer had raced into the dell. The huntsmen were close,’ observed Ranulf.
‘I couldn’t care if the Holy Father galloped in!’ Sir William snapped. ‘A loose belly is a loose belly! I’ll not soil myself for anyone!’
‘Yet you have a physician on hand?’
‘He was back at the manor,’ Sir William snarled. ‘Sir Hugh, you embarrass me. The night before the hunt Lord Henry and his guests stayed at Beauclerc hunting lodge.’
‘Ah yes!’ Corbett scratched his chin. ‘You ate or drank something tainted?’
‘Both I and my brother did. We were sick, running to the latrines.’ He shrugged. ‘But it passed.’
‘No, no,’ Corbett insisted. ‘Tell us precisely what happened?’
‘We ate and drank late. We roistered and then we retired for the night. I was hardly in my bedchamber when my stomach began to purge itself. I vomited like I never have done in my life. So intensely that my stomach and bowels ached.’
‘And your brother?’
‘The same. Yet by morning we felt well enough and did not want
‘Monsieur, you are under arrest!’
‘On what charge?’ Roulles gasped. ‘I object!’
‘Murder!’
‘Whose murder?’
The leader went across to Madame Malvoisin, still transfixed in terror. She struggled as he forced her back down the bed and, taking a bolster, clamped it over her face. Roulles stood horrified, watching his former lover struggle for her life, her body jerking, legs and arms lashing out. The assassin held firm until at last Madame Malvoisin lay still.
‘There’s your victim,’ the assassin replied. ‘Take him away!’
Corbett shaded his eyes to survey Savernake Dell and bent down to dig with the tip of his dagger at the dark patches still staining the dew-wet grass.
‘Your brother was standing here?’
Sir William Fitzalan nodded. ‘He’d notched an arrow to his bow; he was about to shoot when the assassin’s shaft took him full in the heart.’
‘And that assassin?’ Ranulf asked.
Sir William’s sweaty face twisted into a grimace.
‘You know full well: our verderer Robert Verlian, who fled! He has now taken sanctuary in St Oswald’s-in-the-Trees.’
‘How do you know he’s guilty? Because he’s fled? Because he’s taken sanctuary?’
‘He was the only one that wasn’t here when my brother died. Verlian knew this forest and he’s a master bowman.’
Corbett looked back to where the dark-garbed Italian physician, Pancius Cantrone, stood beneath the outstretched branches of an oak tree. A further distance away stood Fitzalan’s retainers holding the horses. A quiet, peaceful place, Corbett thought. The early morning mist was still lifting. Even the birds were quiet, not stirring until the sun fully rose. A ghostly place where tendrils of mist hovered and shifted. The early morning glow caught the dew on the leaves and grass, making the dell shimmer in the strengthening light. It reminded Corbett of Leighton, of his walks with Maeve down to the great meadow. They’d sit by the stream, cloaks wrapped around them, and watch the sun rise. A quiet part of the day and one Corbett loved, but this was different.
‘Verlian wasn’t the only one absent, was he?’ Corbett asked.
Sir William looked askance.
‘You weren’t here.’ Corbett smiled. ‘I talked to your servants. I made careful enquiries.’
‘You only arrived in Ashdown last night.’
‘Yes, but a tavern like the Devil-in-the-Woods is full of gossip. Mine host has a nose for all the news but, if he was wrong, I can set the record straight.’
Sir William glanced away. He was a warrior, a hunter, who prided himself on being frightened of no one, but this dark-faced clerk with his royal commissions and warrants, his cat-eyed servant, unnerved him.
‘I’d walked away,’ he replied. ‘I went into the trees to relieve myself.’
‘An inappropriate time. I understand that at least two deer had raced into the dell. The huntsmen were close,’ observed Ranulf.
‘I couldn’t care if the Holy Father galloped in!’ Sir William snapped. ‘A loose belly is a loose belly! I’ll not soil myself for anyone!’
‘Yet you have a physician on hand?’
‘He was back at the manor,’ Sir William snarled. ‘Sir Hugh, you embarrass me. The night before the hunt Lord Henry and his guests stayed at Beauclerc hunting lodge.’
‘Ah yes!’ Corbett scratched his chin. ‘You ate or drank something tainted?’
‘Both I and my brother did. We were sick, running to the latrines.’ He shrugged. ‘But it passed.’
‘No, no,’ Corbett insisted. ‘Tell us precisely what happened?’
‘We ate and drank late. We roistered and then we retired for the night. I was hardly in my bedchamber when my stomach began to purge itself. I vomited like I never have done in my life. So intensely that my stomach and bowels ached.’
‘And your brother?’
‘The same. Yet by morning we felt well enough and did not want
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