‘But you think he may have gone ahead, seized his concealed bow, killed your brother and fled?’
Sir William picked up the corner of his cloak and dug with a dirty nail at the golden arrowhead stitching. He was about to answer when Ranulf came crashing back through the undergrowth.
‘Your men wait, Sir William!’ he called.
Corbett’s manservant sat down with his back to a tree, stretching out his legs. With his dagger he began to whittle away at a branch, humming softly under his breath.
‘You do think Verlian killed your brother?’
‘Sir Hugh, he had good reason and he had the means.’
‘But it isn’t logical, is it?’ Corbett demanded. ‘Verlian is a Sussex man who holds profitable office. He has a daughter; he must have known that murder of his lord would bring summary execution.’
‘A man can do anything, Sir Hugh, when his blood is heated and his wits disturbed.’
‘But Verlian, and I know I can ask him, was no rash fool. A chief verderer is a man of patience, of cunning, of steady wit. I gather, at first, he showed no objection to Lord Henry’s pursuit of his daughter?’
‘He turned a blind eye,’ Sir William agreed. ‘But Alicia has a will like steel and a tongue as sharp as a razor.’
‘And who else is there?’ Corbett persisted.
‘Brother Cosmas, the priest of St Oswald’s-in-the-Trees. As I have said, my brother was harsh. Cosmas was also a soldier, until he found God. He fought in the retinue of Henry, Earl of Huntingdon.’
‘And who else is there?’
‘My brother had strange ways, Sir Hugh. He had little time for God and even less for God’s servants.’
‘He didn’t like priests?’
‘No, Sir Hugh, he didn’t like priests. He didn’t like what he called their mumbling, mouldering words. Henry had visited the universities at Salerno and Bologna, he was aware of the new knowledge coming out of the east. He claimed there was more to man than what the Church taught. He collected grimoires, books written by magicians and wizards. He often went into the forest. There’s a witch-woman, Jocasta, and her fey-witted daughter Blanche. My brother gave them a cottage and a little plot of land.’
‘Why?’ Corbett asked. ‘Was your brother a generous man?’
‘No. Jocasta appeared about three or four years ago, her daughter trailing behind. She told some story about being cast out by the good burghers of Rye. My brother met her alone in the parlour of Ashdown Manor. They must have been closeted for hours. Afterwards I learned that he had given Jocasta a cottage and, about once a week when he was in residence, he’d visit her by himself.’
‘Why?’
‘The servants claimed he was interested in the black arts. Jocasta could weave spells.’
‘Is that the truth?’
‘No, I don’t think it is. Once my brother entertained a wandering magician. The man claimed he could ask Lord Satan to come up from hell. My brother riposted, “Yes, but would he come?” and bellowed with laughter. No, to be honest, Sir Hugh, my brother probably went there for another reason. If the truth be known, I have seen no evidence that Jocasta or her daughter are witches.’
‘And your half-sister?’
Sir William snorted with laughter. ‘The Lady Madeleine, prioress of St Hawisia’s? Madeleine has always been, and always will be, Lord Henry in petticoats. She is stubborn, arrogant and bows to no one.’
‘Was she on good terms with your brother?’
‘Like two cats, Sir Hugh. They would be welcoming but wary. They’d circle each other, hackles up, teeth bared, but they rarely fought.’
‘A clash of wills, eh?’
‘Sir Hugh, St Hawisia’s is deep in the forest. You are welcome to ask my half-sister whenever you want. I am sure she will give you the benefit of her wit and wisdom.’ He pulled a face. ‘Lord Henry did recently refurbish the shrine, for Madeleine nagged him until he did.’
Corbett looked across to where Ranulf had now fashioned a sharpened stake, his knife slicing into the white wood.
‘We do have one other person.’
‘Myself?’
‘Yes, Sir William, yourself. You are hardly the grieving brother. You were not present when Lord Henry was killed. You mentioned gossip. It’s possible that you disappeared into the forest, followed a trackway round the palisade, took the concealed bow, loosed the killing shaft, hid the weapon and hurried back.’
‘In which case, Sir Hugh, I wouldn’t have needed a horse, would I?’
Corbett threw his head back and laughed.
‘There’s another possibility,’ Ranulf intervened. He threw down the piece of wood and re-sheathed his dagger. ‘Whoever killed Lord Henry was a master bowman. How do we know it was someone he knew? There are enough landless soldiers, archers from the King’s wars, who could be hired, given a horse, a bow and arrow, and instructed whom to kill.’
‘Are you saying that I did that?’
‘No, Sir William, all I said was that it could be done.’
‘Did you love your brother?’ Corbett asked sharply.
Sir William put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes.
‘When I was a child, when Henry, Madeleine and I ran in these woods like imps from hell, there was no rancour, no jealousy, no bitterness.’ He fought to keep his voice steady. ‘Indeed, Madeleine and I, we worshipped the ground Henry trod on. We used to play in Savernake Dell. Henry was Arthur, Madeleine Guinevere and I was Sir Galahad. Summers which never seemed to end. Days which stretched like eternity. You see, Father married twice. Our mother, Henry’s and mine, she died fairly young. Father married again; his second wife died in childbirth but Madeleine survived. Father became morose and withdrawn, more concerned about his estates and his revenue than he was about his three children who, in his opinion, had cost the lives of the two women he loved. We were allowed to run wild.’
‘When did it change?’
‘Henry was sent up to the Halls of Cambridge. When he came back it was as a stranger: tall and arrogant, quoting Greek and French. He mocked me for my childhood games and Madeleine for her piety. More and more he became closeted with Father, immersing himself in the running of the estate. He went to court. He became the King’s friend, serving, as you know, with distinction on the Welsh and Scottish marches. Madeleine went into the priory. She would have nothing to do with the world of men. Father died. Everything was left to Henry.’ His voice grew bitter. ‘I am a knight, Sir Hugh. I have the right to carry a sword but I became a reeve, a steward. “Run here, William! Run there, William! Do this, William! Do that!”’ He stopped, breathing heavily. ‘I asked my brother for a portion of the estate, the honour of Manningtree. He gave his word, promised solemnly that he would. .’
‘But then he reneged?’
‘He told me I would have to wait.’
‘But you could have left?’ Corbett insisted. ‘Many a younger brother has.’
‘I did. For a while I served as a knight banneret in the retinue of the Prince of Wales. Prince Edward often came to Ashdown as a child.’
‘Yes, yes, he did.’ Corbett held Ranulf’s gaze. So far he was secretly impressed by this manor lord’s candour and honesty, but was Sir William only telling the truth as far as he could see it?
‘Well, you can guess what happened.’ Sir William got to his feet and stretched. ‘The Prince of Wales is not a warrior, Sir Hugh. He prefers to dig a ditch, fight a mock tourney, be a Lord of Misrule. There was no profit in his service and so I came home. Oh, Henry was generous enough: silver, gold, horses, armour, but he was always the lord and I the constant petitioner. I had to beg, and sometimes I hated him.’
‘Enough to kill him?’ Corbett asked abruptly.
Sir William lowered his face, tears brimming in his eyes.
‘God forgive me, clerk! We all carry the mark of Cain within us, but Lord Henry was no Abel.’ He stood back. ‘Now, Sir Hugh, I am the manor lord. I own Ashdown and its estates. I bend the knee to no one except the King. You’ve listed possible assassins, but you forget one: the Frenchman de Craon.’