Read Online Sir Hugh Corbett 11 - The Demon Archer by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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I could do.’
‘So you took horse. You and your faithful retainers rode back to the manor leaving others to bring your brother’s corpse back?’
‘Lord Henry was dead,’ Sir William repeated. ‘It is well known, Sir Hugh, what happens when a manor lord dies suddenly. Servants turn to plundering and pilfering. Ashdown Manor houses many treasures. If you accept the courtesies of staying there you’d see that for yourself.’
Corbett crouched down again to examine the stain on the ground.
‘I thank you for your courtesy, Sir William, but you know Seigneur de Craon resides with you. It would not be appropriate for us to share the same roof.’ He got to his feet and looked at the holes along the ground. ‘This is where the hunting palisade was erected?’
‘Yes, I’ve had it taken down.’
But Corbett wasn’t listening. He was already striding across the dell. Ranulf looked and Sir William shrugged and they followed. On the far side Corbett was already pushing into the brambles. He drew his sword and hacked a path through. The forest stretched ahead of him. The great oaks, the bracken sprouting between. A place of shifting darkness. Shadows flittered and Corbett was sure that, if he were by himself, his mind would play tricks, these shapes become figures, soft and menacing. No wonder legends were rife about eerie forest creatures; the dell reminded him of the heavily wooded valleys in Wales and the dense forest of Sherwood . He repressed a shiver when he thought of the ambushes in which he had nearly died. The others came crashing behind him. Corbett gazed back across the clearing to where Lord Henry had stood.
‘The assassin must have had a good view,’ he observed.
Corbett walked up and down. Sometimes the other side of the dell was hidden by overhanging branches and high stems of bracken but there were also clear views where a master bowman could stand, hidden in the shadows, and loose a shaft.
‘Ranulf,’ he ordered. ‘Go back to Lord Henry’s retainers. One of them must have a bow and a quiver of arrows. Bring them across.’
Ranulf hastened off. Corbett tried to put himself into the mind of the assassin.
‘This was no hunting accident,’ he said confidently.
He walked up and down and, at last, chose his spot where he stood until Ranulf returned. Corbett took the bow, selected an arrow from the quiver and stared at the cruel, steel-pointed head.
‘This is a war arrow?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Sir William replied. ‘If we were hunting, Sir Hugh, it would be sickle-shaped.’
Corbett held the cord grip round the middle of the yew bow and notched an arrow to the string. He took a deep breath and lifted the bow up. Once the shaft came level with his eye, he pulled back.
‘Right, Ranulf!’ he ordered. ‘Start counting!’
Corbett lowered the bow again and looked across to where Lord Henry had been killed. Then he raised the bow and took careful aim. He was conscious of a slight breeze on his cheek; his eyes remained fixed on that spot as he steadied his breathing. He could feel the power of the bow, the two forefingers of his left hand grasped the shaft just behind the grey goose quill. He sighed and, as he did, loosed the arrow. In a blur the shaft hurtled across the glade and disappeared into the trees on the far side. Ranulf had reached the number nine as he lowered the bow.
‘A very short time,’ Corbett declared. ‘A few seconds. The assassin has found his mark, now he must retreat. Across the glade all is chaos and consternation. What would the assassin do now, Ranulf?’
‘If it was I, master, I’d have left a horse some way off. I’d run as fast as I could, put as much distance between myself and here as possible.’
‘Sir William?’
‘I’d do the same.’
‘But that’s not the problem, is it?’ Corbett mused, handing the bow to the manor lord. ‘The assassin would have fled. The real danger wasn’t in that.’
‘It was beforehand, wasn’t it?’ Ranulf
‘So you took horse. You and your faithful retainers rode back to the manor leaving others to bring your brother’s corpse back?’
‘Lord Henry was dead,’ Sir William repeated. ‘It is well known, Sir Hugh, what happens when a manor lord dies suddenly. Servants turn to plundering and pilfering. Ashdown Manor houses many treasures. If you accept the courtesies of staying there you’d see that for yourself.’
Corbett crouched down again to examine the stain on the ground.
‘I thank you for your courtesy, Sir William, but you know Seigneur de Craon resides with you. It would not be appropriate for us to share the same roof.’ He got to his feet and looked at the holes along the ground. ‘This is where the hunting palisade was erected?’
‘Yes, I’ve had it taken down.’
But Corbett wasn’t listening. He was already striding across the dell. Ranulf looked and Sir William shrugged and they followed. On the far side Corbett was already pushing into the brambles. He drew his sword and hacked a path through. The forest stretched ahead of him. The great oaks, the bracken sprouting between. A place of shifting darkness. Shadows flittered and Corbett was sure that, if he were by himself, his mind would play tricks, these shapes become figures, soft and menacing. No wonder legends were rife about eerie forest creatures; the dell reminded him of the heavily wooded valleys in Wales and the dense forest of Sherwood . He repressed a shiver when he thought of the ambushes in which he had nearly died. The others came crashing behind him. Corbett gazed back across the clearing to where Lord Henry had stood.
‘The assassin must have had a good view,’ he observed.
Corbett walked up and down. Sometimes the other side of the dell was hidden by overhanging branches and high stems of bracken but there were also clear views where a master bowman could stand, hidden in the shadows, and loose a shaft.
‘Ranulf,’ he ordered. ‘Go back to Lord Henry’s retainers. One of them must have a bow and a quiver of arrows. Bring them across.’
Ranulf hastened off. Corbett tried to put himself into the mind of the assassin.
‘This was no hunting accident,’ he said confidently.
He walked up and down and, at last, chose his spot where he stood until Ranulf returned. Corbett took the bow, selected an arrow from the quiver and stared at the cruel, steel-pointed head.
‘This is a war arrow?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Sir William replied. ‘If we were hunting, Sir Hugh, it would be sickle-shaped.’
Corbett held the cord grip round the middle of the yew bow and notched an arrow to the string. He took a deep breath and lifted the bow up. Once the shaft came level with his eye, he pulled back.
‘Right, Ranulf!’ he ordered. ‘Start counting!’
Corbett lowered the bow again and looked across to where Lord Henry had been killed. Then he raised the bow and took careful aim. He was conscious of a slight breeze on his cheek; his eyes remained fixed on that spot as he steadied his breathing. He could feel the power of the bow, the two forefingers of his left hand grasped the shaft just behind the grey goose quill. He sighed and, as he did, loosed the arrow. In a blur the shaft hurtled across the glade and disappeared into the trees on the far side. Ranulf had reached the number nine as he lowered the bow.
‘A very short time,’ Corbett declared. ‘A few seconds. The assassin has found his mark, now he must retreat. Across the glade all is chaos and consternation. What would the assassin do now, Ranulf?’
‘If it was I, master, I’d have left a horse some way off. I’d run as fast as I could, put as much distance between myself and here as possible.’
‘Sir William?’
‘I’d do the same.’
‘But that’s not the problem, is it?’ Corbett mused, handing the bow to the manor lord. ‘The assassin would have fled. The real danger wasn’t in that.’
‘It was beforehand, wasn’t it?’ Ranulf
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