Hugh Corbett 12 - The Treason of the Ghosts by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online Page A

The young women killed five years ago, this year’s victims and, of course, the others. Molkyn the miller, whose head was sent floating across his millpond. Someone struck him a silent, deadly blow. A difficult task, eh? Molkyn, I understand, was a burly oaf: that’s how Matthew the taverner, mine host at the Golden Fleece, described him. Strong as an ox with a nasty temper. I would have liked to have seen his corpse but it’s beneath the ground now.’ Corbett paused to chew the corner of his lip. ‘He was killed a fortnight ago. A few days later, Thorkle the farmer was slain.’
    ‘Are you saying all these deaths are linked?’ Adam Burghesh asked.
    Corbett pulled a face as he studied this veteran of the King’s wars. Burghesh looked sickly, skin the colour of parchment but the large sea-grey eyes were steady enough. A soldier’s face with a crisscross of scars on the right cheek, thick bushy eyebrows, clipped greying hair, moustache and beard. A good swordsman, Corbett thought, with long arms and broad chest. He would also have been a good master bowman, especially with the yew bow the English troops had brought back from the war in Wales. A captain of the royal levies, Burghesh had been warmly spoken of by the King when he and Corbett had met in the Chamber of the White Wax at Westminster.
    ‘Do you think the deaths are related?’ Corbett asked. ‘After all, you were all here when Sir Roger was executed.’
    ‘Adam has been my mainstay and strength.’
    Parson Grimstone spoke up so abruptly Corbett idly wondered if the priest’s wits were wandering. Had the shock and sudden turmoil broken his mind? Corbett ignored the interruption.
    ‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘Are the deaths related? True, Thorkle and Molkyn weren’t maidens. They were not garrotted.’ Corbett ran his thumbnail round his lips. ‘They were not ravished. But, both were local men and served on the jury which convicted Sir Roger. Isn’t this strange: the murders of young women begin again whilst two of the men who convicted the supposed killer meet a very grisly fate?’
    ‘Why the King’s interest?’ Blidscote spoke up.
    ‘I think you’ve asked that before.’
    ‘But you only half answered.’
    ‘Then listen now.’
    Corbett got to his feet. He grasped his gloves and slapped them against his leg.
    ‘Sir Roger Chapeleys may have been a murderer,’ he waved the gloves as a sign for Sir Maurice to be silent, ‘but he was also one of the King’s companions, a good soldier. True, a man who liked his drink and a pretty face but that’s not a hanging crime. Otherwise my good friend Ranulf-atte-Newgate would have been hanged a hundred times.’ Corbett tapped his fingers on the coffin lid. ‘But what happens if Sir Roger was totally innocent? After all, the murderer has returned. Not only to rape and strangle young women but even to carry out dreadful murders on those involved in the unlawful execution of Sir Roger Chapeleys? These are serious crimes, sir: not only gruesome killings but a total mockery of the King’s justice. Molkyn the miller and Thorkle were the members, even leaders, of the jury against Sir Roger.’
    ‘As you said,’ Blidscote growled, ‘they led the jury.’
    ‘But,’ Corbett continued, ‘why those two? Why not any of the other ten? Or has the assassin only begun? Does he, before long, plan to kill all those involved in Sir Roger’s death?’
    ‘In which case,’ Sir Maurice Chapeleys scoffed, ‘I will follow my father to the scaffold. The finger of accusation has already been pointed at me for carrying out revenge.’
    ‘Yes, that’s possible. I’m glad you mentioned it, rather than me.’ Corbett retook his seat. ‘Can you tell me where you were in the early hours of Sunday morning a fortnight ago? Or the night Thorkle died?’
    ‘I was in church with the rest,’ Sir Maurice stammered. ‘And, as for the following Wednesday evening,’ he swallowed hard, ‘I was in my manor house: my retainers will