By P. C. Doherty
In a brand new secret for Hugh Corbett, the fourteenth-century clerk and undercover agent for England's Edward I, confronts a bloody mystery battle opposed to France's Philip IV, a Robin Hood wannabe, a bloodbath of tax creditors, and a mysterious homicide.
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Extra info for The Assassin in the Greenwood
One shouted. He came up, face covered in dirt, and peered at Willoughby. ' he muttered. 'The King's own deer. ' He pointed to where a fat buck was being gutted and cleaned by a nearby stream in preparation for roasting. The outlaw leader approached. ' 'I will not eat with you,' he replied. Immediately arrows were notched to bows. 'You have no choice,' the outlaw leader challenged. ' Willoughby asked. 'Oh come, sir, you know my name and my title. ' retorted Willoughby. 'And a liar to boot. You took the King's pardon.
Continue,' Corbett said quietly. 'I knew there was something wrong. My master's body was twisted, his face turned to one side and his mouth open. His eyes were staring. ' Lecroix put his head in his hands. ' Corbett asked. 'We all did,' the sheriff explained. 'I sent one of the guards here down to the hall. ' He patted the servant on the shoulder. 'He was devoted to his master. One of the bed curtains had been pulled aside and it was as Lecroix has described; Sir Eustace lay sprawled as if he had suffered some dreadful seizure.
A great battered four-poster shrouded in thick serge curtains dominated the room. A long, iron-barred chest stood at the foot of the bed. There was a table, some stools, two other chests, and in a corner a stout oaken lavarium bearing a large pewter bowl. At the other side of the room was a trestle bed with a straw mattress and some woollen blankets. ' Corbett asked. Branwood nodded. Corbett kicked aside the dirty rushes and stood in the centre of the room. It was a stark, almost monastic cell.