Hugh Corbett 14 - The Magician's Death by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online

leader was satisfied. The King’s men hadn’t brought soldiers, so they wouldn’t be hunting them.
    ‘Shall we go?’ Milkwort whispered. As he moved his foot, the bramble bush shook. Horehound, horror-struck, gazed back at the trackway. The King’s men had stopped talking and were staring directly at where they were hiding. Both outlaws stiffened. The red-haired one, the fighting man, following his master’s gaze, swung easily out of the saddle, drawing his sword as he did so. He edged across the path, his left hand going behind his back to find the dagger strapped there, drawing closer to the line of brambles and tangled weed which stretched like a net between the trees. Horehound nudged Milkwort.
    ‘Now,’ he whispered.
    Both men turned and, at a half-crouch, raced back into the darkness of the mist-hung trees.
    ‘Let it be, Ranulf.’ Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the Secret Seal, gathered up the reins of his horse. Ranulf resheathed his sword and returned to his own mount.
    ‘Are you sure, Master?’
    ‘As God is in Heaven, I thought someone was there.’ Corbett pulled a face. ‘Perhaps children from the village; their curiosity must be stirred.’
    Ranulf of Newgate, Principal Clerk in the Chancery of the Green Wax, wondered how long Sir Hugh had known about the secret lurkers. He was convinced they weren’t children; he had glimpsed broad shoulders and a tangle of hair, and one of them had definitely been carrying a crossbow. But there had been no real danger.
    ‘Master Longface’, as Ranulf called Sir Hugh whenever he was discussing him with Chanson the groom, was only intent on letting their horses rest before the steep climb to the castle gates, hence the brief pause. Ranulf glared at Chanson, who was now grinning wickedly at him.
    ‘They may not have been children, Ranulf,’ whispered the groom, ‘but very big rabbits. They grow very large around here.’ Chanson was pleased to have the opportunity to tease Ranulf, whose one fear, as he had openly confessed himself, was the countryside, with its menacing woods, lonely open meadows and stretches of land with no sign of human habitation, the only sound being the screech of birds and the ominous crackling amongst the trees either side of the track. Ranulf was a child of the narrow lanes and runnels of London, and was quick to pine for what he termed ‘the comforting stink and close warmth of a town or city’. Ranulf slipped his boot into the stirrup and remounted.
    ‘If they had rabbits as big as a house,’ he retorted quickly, ‘you still wouldn’t be able to hit one.’
    William Bolingbroke, Clerk of the Secret Seal and recently returned from Paris, heard the remark and joined in the teasing. Amongst the clerks of the Secret Chancery, Chanson’s lack of skill as an archer was notorious. Given any weapon, this Clerk of the Stable, with such a notable cast in his eye, was judged to be more of a danger to himself than any mailed opponent.
    ‘We must go on. Sir Edmund will be expecting us.’ Corbett leaned over and gripped Bolingbroke’s wrist. ‘William, I am content you are with us.’ He winked. ‘Though I am certain that the Seigneur de Craon will not be so easily pleased.’ Corbett pulled back his hood. ‘You are well, William?’
    ‘Curious, Sir Hugh.’
    ‘Of course, but remember, those things done in the dark will soon be brought into the light of day.’ Corbett urged his horse on. ‘Or so Scripture would have us believe.’
    They left the shadow of the trees, spurring their horses over the grassy chalkland up towards the castle built on its successive mounds, one above the other, which provided it with its impregnable position. Corbett had visited Corfe years before. His parents had farmed land in Devon and they had taken their favourite son to see the glories of the King’s builders and stonemasons. He had worked in London and Paris, yet even the sights of those cities, not to mention the passing of years, had done little to