Read Online Hugh Corbett 10 - The Devil's Hunt by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Doherty
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the side of the table. Corbett, bringing a candle closer, carefully scrutinised the dirty pebbles, then picked up the brass button, the shape of a sparrow clearly etched on it.
‘Can I keep it?’ he asked.
Bullock agreed. Corbett examined Senex’s hands: the cold, chapped fingers and the jagged, dirty nails. He noticed the palm of the right hand was much dirtier than that of the left. He then examined the knees, remarking how grubby they were.
‘He must have been crouching,’ Corbett explained. ‘Kneeling on soil or dirt. His killer stood over him. He brought the axe back, and that’s probably when the button fell off. Poor Senex, scrabbling about, clutched it even as the axe fell.’ Corbett put the button into his pouch. ‘Ah well, God knows, Master Sheriff, I have seen enough!’
They left the chamber. Maltote had now composed himself, though his face was as white as a ghost. They walked back up into the castle bailey. The serjeant who had accosted Corbett was waiting for them.
‘You have more visitors, Sir Walter, from Sparrow Hall: the Vice-Regent. Master Tripham and others have come to claim Passerel’s corpse.’ The soldier pointed to a cart standing near the gateway.
‘Where are the visitors?’
‘I put them in the gate-lodge chambers.’
Sir Walter rubbed his eyes. ‘Come on, Sir Hugh.’
They returned to find three people waiting for them. Master Alfred Tripham, the Vice-Regent, was sitting on a bench and didn’t bother to rise when the Sheriff and Corbett entered the room. He was tall with an austere, clean-shaven face under a mop of silver hair. Deep furrows were scored around his thin-lipped mouth. He was dressed in a costly, dark-blue robe, his hood, cowl and gown were embroidered with silk edgings of a Master. Lady Mathilda Braose was sitting on the Sheriff’s stool. She was short and thickset, her steel-grey hair and plain face shrouded by a dark veil. A grey cloak covered a burgundy-coloured dress buttoned high at the throat. She had lustrous brown eyes but these were shadowed with dark rings and the petulant cast to her lips gave her sallow face a sneering, arrogant look. Richard Norreys, who made the introductions, was a much more jovial, pleasant man: round-faced with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, his mop of red hair had greying streaks. He had a firm handshake and seemed eager to please.
‘We waited here,’ he declared in a sing-song accent, ‘because, Sir Walter, we were told you would return shortly. But if I had known you had such illustrious visitors...’ Norreys’s protuberant blue eyes blinked. He licked his lips as if choosing his words carefully.
‘Oh, stop grovelling, Norreys!’ Lady Mathilda pushed the plate of eels away from her. ‘Sir Walter, we have come to collect Passerel’s corpse. He died a dishonourable death. We wish to give him honourable burial.’
Bullock didn’t answer her but picked up the plate of eels, leaned against the wall and started eating. He didn’t bother to look at Tripham, and Corbett sensed the bad blood between them. Lady Mathilda glanced at Corbett slyly, dismissing Ranulf and Maltote standing behind with a contemptuous pull of her mouth.
‘So, you are the King’s clerk? Corbett, yes?’
Sir Hugh bowed. ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I have heard of you, Corbett,’ she continued, ‘with your long, snooping nose. So the King’s dog has come to Oxford to sniff amongst the rubbish.’
‘No, madam,’ Ranulf spoke up quickly. ‘We have come to Oxford to catch the Bellman, an attainted traitor. We will take him to London so he can be hanged, drawn and quartered at the Elms near Tyburn stream.’
‘Is that correct, Red Hair?’ Lady Mathilda whispered mockingly. ‘You’ll catch the Bellman and hang him.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just so?’
‘No, madam,’ Corbett replied. ‘As you say, I’ll forage amongst the rubbish and drag him out, as I will the assassin responsible for the deaths of Ascham and Passerel
‘Can I keep it?’ he asked.
Bullock agreed. Corbett examined Senex’s hands: the cold, chapped fingers and the jagged, dirty nails. He noticed the palm of the right hand was much dirtier than that of the left. He then examined the knees, remarking how grubby they were.
‘He must have been crouching,’ Corbett explained. ‘Kneeling on soil or dirt. His killer stood over him. He brought the axe back, and that’s probably when the button fell off. Poor Senex, scrabbling about, clutched it even as the axe fell.’ Corbett put the button into his pouch. ‘Ah well, God knows, Master Sheriff, I have seen enough!’
They left the chamber. Maltote had now composed himself, though his face was as white as a ghost. They walked back up into the castle bailey. The serjeant who had accosted Corbett was waiting for them.
‘You have more visitors, Sir Walter, from Sparrow Hall: the Vice-Regent. Master Tripham and others have come to claim Passerel’s corpse.’ The soldier pointed to a cart standing near the gateway.
‘Where are the visitors?’
‘I put them in the gate-lodge chambers.’
Sir Walter rubbed his eyes. ‘Come on, Sir Hugh.’
They returned to find three people waiting for them. Master Alfred Tripham, the Vice-Regent, was sitting on a bench and didn’t bother to rise when the Sheriff and Corbett entered the room. He was tall with an austere, clean-shaven face under a mop of silver hair. Deep furrows were scored around his thin-lipped mouth. He was dressed in a costly, dark-blue robe, his hood, cowl and gown were embroidered with silk edgings of a Master. Lady Mathilda Braose was sitting on the Sheriff’s stool. She was short and thickset, her steel-grey hair and plain face shrouded by a dark veil. A grey cloak covered a burgundy-coloured dress buttoned high at the throat. She had lustrous brown eyes but these were shadowed with dark rings and the petulant cast to her lips gave her sallow face a sneering, arrogant look. Richard Norreys, who made the introductions, was a much more jovial, pleasant man: round-faced with a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, his mop of red hair had greying streaks. He had a firm handshake and seemed eager to please.
‘We waited here,’ he declared in a sing-song accent, ‘because, Sir Walter, we were told you would return shortly. But if I had known you had such illustrious visitors...’ Norreys’s protuberant blue eyes blinked. He licked his lips as if choosing his words carefully.
‘Oh, stop grovelling, Norreys!’ Lady Mathilda pushed the plate of eels away from her. ‘Sir Walter, we have come to collect Passerel’s corpse. He died a dishonourable death. We wish to give him honourable burial.’
Bullock didn’t answer her but picked up the plate of eels, leaned against the wall and started eating. He didn’t bother to look at Tripham, and Corbett sensed the bad blood between them. Lady Mathilda glanced at Corbett slyly, dismissing Ranulf and Maltote standing behind with a contemptuous pull of her mouth.
‘So, you are the King’s clerk? Corbett, yes?’
Sir Hugh bowed. ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘I have heard of you, Corbett,’ she continued, ‘with your long, snooping nose. So the King’s dog has come to Oxford to sniff amongst the rubbish.’
‘No, madam,’ Ranulf spoke up quickly. ‘We have come to Oxford to catch the Bellman, an attainted traitor. We will take him to London so he can be hanged, drawn and quartered at the Elms near Tyburn stream.’
‘Is that correct, Red Hair?’ Lady Mathilda whispered mockingly. ‘You’ll catch the Bellman and hang him.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just so?’
‘No, madam,’ Corbett replied. ‘As you say, I’ll forage amongst the rubbish and drag him out, as I will the assassin responsible for the deaths of Ascham and Passerel
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