Read Online Hugh Corbett 10 - The Devil's Hunt by Paul Doherty - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Doherty
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and, perhaps, the cold-blooded killer of old beggar men.’
‘What’s that?’ Tripham rose to his feet. ‘Are you saying they are one and the same?’
‘He’s a good dog.’ Sir Walter grinned, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. ‘He’s already been sniffing amongst the rubbish.’
‘Lady Mathilda! Lady Mathilda! Master Tripham!’ Master Norreys came forward, hands flapping. He remembered himself and wiped the palms of his hands against his woollen tunic. ‘Sir Hugh is the King’s clerk,’ he continued. ‘We’ve met before, sir.’ He went up to Corbett. ‘I was with the King’s armies in Wales.’
Corbett shook his head. ‘Sir, there were so many and it was so long ago.’
‘I know, I know.’ Norreys pulled back the sleeve of his gown and showed the leather wrist guard. ‘I was a speculator,’ he explained.
Corbett nodded. ‘Ah yes, a scout!’
‘Now the Welsh are at Sparrow Hall,’ Tripham intervened. He forced a smile as if apologising for his previous bad manners. ‘Sir Hugh, whatever you think, you are most welcome. The King has insisted that we show you hospitality. Richard Norreys here is Master of the hostelry. He will ensure you have good food and are well housed.’ He hitched his robe round his narrow shoulders. ‘And tonight, Sir Hugh, be our guest at Sparrow Hall. Our cooks are trained in the French fashion. Master Norreys, you too can join us.’ He blew his cheeks out and turned to where Sir Walter still leaned against the wall. ‘Sir, you have Passerel’s corpse?’
The Sheriff continued to chew slowly. He put the bowl back on the table, licked his fingers and nodded at Corbett. He was about to lead Tripham out of the chamber when there was a knock on the door. The young man who slipped into the room was fresh-faced, his black hair carefully oiled and tied behind him. He was dressed in the clothes of a student commoner, a brown woollen jerkin, with hose of the same colour pushed into boots, the belt round his waist carried a dagger slitted through a ring. He had an ordinary face except for his eyes, which were bright, watchful and anxious until Lady Braose beckoned him over. He trotted across like a lapdog and stood behind her. Corbett watched curiously as Lady Mathilda made signs with her fingers. The young man nodded and gestured back. Lady Mathilda’s face softened, reminding Corbett of a doting mother with a favoured child.
‘This is my squire,’ she announced proudly. ‘Master Moth.’ She smiled at Corbett. ‘I am sorry if I was brusque, sir, but when Master Moth is not with me -’ her eyes slid towards the Sheriff ‘- I become afeared for him.’ She patted Master Moth’s hand. ‘He’s a deaf mute; he has no tongue. He can neither read nor write. An orphan, a foundling, who was left at Sparrow Hall. He’s the son I never had but wished I could.’ She turned and made more signs. The young man responded and pointed at the window. ‘Master Sheriff,’ Lady Mathilda snapped. ‘It’s time we were gone before our cart goes without us! Sir Hugh?’ She rose. ‘You’ll be our guest tonight?’
Corbett nodded.
‘And I suppose the questioning will begin?’
‘Yes, madam, it will.’
Lady Mathilda grasped Moth’s arm and hobbled towards the door.
‘Come on, Master Sheriff,’ she snapped. ‘You wish us gone and so do we!’
Sir Walter bade his farewells to Corbett and followed, shouting over his shoulder that, if Corbett wished to speak to him, he knew where to find him. Corbett waited until their footfalls faded in the distance.
‘A pretty pottage, eh, Ranulf?’ he asked. ‘Hate and resentments all round.’
‘Does anyone in Oxford, Sir Hugh, love anyone else?’
Corbett smiled wryly and moved to the window. He stared down into the castle yard and glimpsed Sir Walter and his party making their way to the corpse chamber whilst Lady Braose sent Moth scurrying to fetch the cart.
‘I thought it strange,’ he murmured. ‘Do you realise,
‘What’s that?’ Tripham rose to his feet. ‘Are you saying they are one and the same?’
‘He’s a good dog.’ Sir Walter grinned, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. ‘He’s already been sniffing amongst the rubbish.’
‘Lady Mathilda! Lady Mathilda! Master Tripham!’ Master Norreys came forward, hands flapping. He remembered himself and wiped the palms of his hands against his woollen tunic. ‘Sir Hugh is the King’s clerk,’ he continued. ‘We’ve met before, sir.’ He went up to Corbett. ‘I was with the King’s armies in Wales.’
Corbett shook his head. ‘Sir, there were so many and it was so long ago.’
‘I know, I know.’ Norreys pulled back the sleeve of his gown and showed the leather wrist guard. ‘I was a speculator,’ he explained.
Corbett nodded. ‘Ah yes, a scout!’
‘Now the Welsh are at Sparrow Hall,’ Tripham intervened. He forced a smile as if apologising for his previous bad manners. ‘Sir Hugh, whatever you think, you are most welcome. The King has insisted that we show you hospitality. Richard Norreys here is Master of the hostelry. He will ensure you have good food and are well housed.’ He hitched his robe round his narrow shoulders. ‘And tonight, Sir Hugh, be our guest at Sparrow Hall. Our cooks are trained in the French fashion. Master Norreys, you too can join us.’ He blew his cheeks out and turned to where Sir Walter still leaned against the wall. ‘Sir, you have Passerel’s corpse?’
The Sheriff continued to chew slowly. He put the bowl back on the table, licked his fingers and nodded at Corbett. He was about to lead Tripham out of the chamber when there was a knock on the door. The young man who slipped into the room was fresh-faced, his black hair carefully oiled and tied behind him. He was dressed in the clothes of a student commoner, a brown woollen jerkin, with hose of the same colour pushed into boots, the belt round his waist carried a dagger slitted through a ring. He had an ordinary face except for his eyes, which were bright, watchful and anxious until Lady Braose beckoned him over. He trotted across like a lapdog and stood behind her. Corbett watched curiously as Lady Mathilda made signs with her fingers. The young man nodded and gestured back. Lady Mathilda’s face softened, reminding Corbett of a doting mother with a favoured child.
‘This is my squire,’ she announced proudly. ‘Master Moth.’ She smiled at Corbett. ‘I am sorry if I was brusque, sir, but when Master Moth is not with me -’ her eyes slid towards the Sheriff ‘- I become afeared for him.’ She patted Master Moth’s hand. ‘He’s a deaf mute; he has no tongue. He can neither read nor write. An orphan, a foundling, who was left at Sparrow Hall. He’s the son I never had but wished I could.’ She turned and made more signs. The young man responded and pointed at the window. ‘Master Sheriff,’ Lady Mathilda snapped. ‘It’s time we were gone before our cart goes without us! Sir Hugh?’ She rose. ‘You’ll be our guest tonight?’
Corbett nodded.
‘And I suppose the questioning will begin?’
‘Yes, madam, it will.’
Lady Mathilda grasped Moth’s arm and hobbled towards the door.
‘Come on, Master Sheriff,’ she snapped. ‘You wish us gone and so do we!’
Sir Walter bade his farewells to Corbett and followed, shouting over his shoulder that, if Corbett wished to speak to him, he knew where to find him. Corbett waited until their footfalls faded in the distance.
‘A pretty pottage, eh, Ranulf?’ he asked. ‘Hate and resentments all round.’
‘Does anyone in Oxford, Sir Hugh, love anyone else?’
Corbett smiled wryly and moved to the window. He stared down into the castle yard and glimpsed Sir Walter and his party making their way to the corpse chamber whilst Lady Braose sent Moth scurrying to fetch the cart.
‘I thought it strange,’ he murmured. ‘Do you realise,
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