The Demon Archer - Hugh Corbett 11 by Paul Doherty

Author:Paul Doherty [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0747260745
Google: rSY1AgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00GU35TOI
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2012-10-30T04:00:00+00:00

Corbett studied the arrow, which was like any other, without distinguishing marks. Sir William had now joined him, slightly unsteady on his feet.

‘I need to have words with you, sir,’ Corbett said in a low voice. ‘About this.’ He held the manor lord’s gaze. ‘About the Owlman and, more importantly, this Italian physician and Piers Gaveston.’

The colour drained from Sir William’s face.

‘I, I don’t know what you mean!’ Sir William gasped.

‘I want the truth!’ Corbett urged. ‘My lord, we could play cat and mouse all night.’

He glanced back at the dais where de Craon slouched in his chair. Of Ranulf there was no sign.

‘Sir William,’ Corbett went on, face close to the manor lord’s. ‘De Craon is one of the King’s greatest enemies and a man who plots my destruction. Forget all the flowery language, the kiss of peace. If de Craon had me alone in an alleyway, it would be a rope round my neck or a dagger in my belly.’

Sir William’s face was now damp with perspiration. ‘Now, sir, what’s it going to be? I cannot blunder round here, in the presence of my enemies, chasing will-o-the-wisps! Will I hear the truth or shall I go out and hire one of your minstrels and listen to his stories?’

Sir William turned round. ‘Seigneur de Craon,’ he called out. ‘This is a petty nuisance.’

De Craon waved a hand and shrugged.

‘I must have urgent words with Sir Hugh,’ Sir William continued.

‘As we all shall, sometime or other!’ the Frenchman sang out.

But Sir William, followed by Corbett, was already walking down the hall. They went out along a cloistered walk, then through a door into a clean, paved porchway and up black oaken stairs.

‘Your brother’s chamber?’ Corbett enquired.

Sir William looked as if he was about to refuse. Corbett glanced over his shoulder and quietly cursed Ranulf. He suspected where he had gone, in pursuit of the lovely Alicia Verlian. Sir William went further along the gallery until he stopped at one door, fumbled with some keys and opened it to reveal a lavishly furnished but untidy chamber. Corbett was aware of a large four-poster bed with curtains of dark murrey fringed with gold and silver tassels. Two large aumbries stood on either side of the windowseat, and there were chests and coffers, their lids thrown back. Armour lay piled on a stool. A sword rested in the centre of the broad oaken table. Sir William waved at Corbett to sit on a chair at the far side of this table. He brought across a tray bearing a wine jug and goblets. Corbett refused.

‘I have drunk enough, Sir William.’

‘But I haven’t and, as the scholars say, “In vino veritas”.’ He splashed a cup full to the brim, sat down opposite Corbett and toasted him silently.

‘Did you kill your brother?’ Corbett began.

‘I was emptying my bowels,’ Sir William replied. ‘I had no hand in his death. My name’s William, not Cain!’

‘And this woman’s corpse found in the forest?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why would the woman have a lily stamped on her shoulder?’

Sir William’s head went down.

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