'Let's go back to the castle.'
They fought their way through the crowd. 'Hey, Master Redhead!' Ranulf turned.
'Don't forget,' the Riddle Master shouted, 'my sister Amisia and I owe you a flagon of ale. You'll meet us in the taproom of The Cock and Hoop?'
Ranulf was about to shake his head but the young woman was smiling at him. He reluctantly turned away to follow his master through the crowd back into Friary Lane. They were almost at the foot of the crag, the great castle of Nottingham looming above them, when Corbett stopped.
'You'd best go back.'
'What do you mean, Master?'
'To The Cock and Hoop.' Corbett grinned. 'Ranulf, Ranulf,' he whispered, 'you can never resist three things: a goblet of wine, a game of dice and a beautiful face.'
Ranulf needed no second bidding and ran back down the lane. Corbett watched him go.
'It will do you good,' he shouted but Ranulf was out of earshot, already stopping passersby to ask them directions to The Cock and Hoop.
At last he found it opposite St Peter's graveyard. He burst into the musty taproom, bawling at the landlord for service whilst slipping him a penny to hire a table near the tavern's only window. Ranulf ordered a flagon of ale, sat and sipped its cool tanginess as he tried to control the flutter of excitement in his belly. He felt tired, slightly heavy-eyed, still agitated after the ambush in the forest.
'I hate bloody trees!' he muttered to himself.
He leaned back against the wall and watched a skinner, who sat cross-legged just inside the tavern door, neatly sewing together pieces of mole-skin. Ranulf closed his eyes. He could stand in a dark alleyway in Southwark and not turn a hair but that forest, with its green gloom and haunting sounds, would always unnerve him. He thought idly about the deaths in the castle and then that mysterious refrain contained in the cipher: Three kings go to the two fools' tower with the two chevaliers. 'If I could only unlock the secret,' Ranulf muttered under his breath. He thought of the Riddle Master, opened his eyes and grinned at the thought which suddenly occurred to him.
'So you have come for your flagon of ale?'
Ranulf looked up as Rahere sat down on the stool opposite, his sister just as quietly next to him.
'You move like shadows,' Ranulf remarked, extending his hand.
'Sometimes we have to. Your name, stranger?' 'Ranulf-atte-Newgate, servant in the retinue of Sir Hugh Corbett.'
'Never heard of him.'
Beside Rahere Amisia suddenly giggled, her eyes dancing in gentle mockery. Ranulf could barely look at her, she was so beautiful. Rahere snapped his fingers.
'Two flagons of ale, your best, and a glass of white wine -not from your slops and it has to be cool.'
The servile landlord wiped his sweaty face with his hand, bobbing up and down as if Rahere was some great lord.
'He knows you well?' Ranulf remarked.
'He should do. We hire his best chambers and he charges us well.'
'You make such a profit from your riddle-making?'
Rahere spread his hands and Ranulf suddenly noticed how one eye was green, the other brown with a slight cast in it, giving the Riddle Master a rather saturnine look.
'Every man likes a mystery, a puzzle, a riddle.'
The landlord hurried back with the ale and wine.
'Tell me,' Rahere tapped Ranulf's knee, 'where did you learn that riddle about the eye?'
'My mother told me it.'
Rahere leaned back and sipped from the tankard. 'You have never heard of it, have you, Amisia?'
'No, brother.'
The young woman's voice was soft and melodious, and as she sipped daintily from the cup Ranulf gazed hungrily at her. Everything about her was delicate and fine. She reminded him of a beautiful ivory statue he had glimpsed in the King's chamber. And those eyes… Never had Ranulf seen such fire in such icy blueness. He looked away and shook himself.
'Do you have any more such riddles?' Rahere asked. 'I tell you, Ranulf, we always buy a tankard of ale for the man who poses a riddle we have never heard and it's
They fought their way through the crowd. 'Hey, Master Redhead!' Ranulf turned.
'Don't forget,' the Riddle Master shouted, 'my sister Amisia and I owe you a flagon of ale. You'll meet us in the taproom of The Cock and Hoop?'
Ranulf was about to shake his head but the young woman was smiling at him. He reluctantly turned away to follow his master through the crowd back into Friary Lane. They were almost at the foot of the crag, the great castle of Nottingham looming above them, when Corbett stopped.
'You'd best go back.'
'What do you mean, Master?'
'To The Cock and Hoop.' Corbett grinned. 'Ranulf, Ranulf,' he whispered, 'you can never resist three things: a goblet of wine, a game of dice and a beautiful face.'
Ranulf needed no second bidding and ran back down the lane. Corbett watched him go.
'It will do you good,' he shouted but Ranulf was out of earshot, already stopping passersby to ask them directions to The Cock and Hoop.
At last he found it opposite St Peter's graveyard. He burst into the musty taproom, bawling at the landlord for service whilst slipping him a penny to hire a table near the tavern's only window. Ranulf ordered a flagon of ale, sat and sipped its cool tanginess as he tried to control the flutter of excitement in his belly. He felt tired, slightly heavy-eyed, still agitated after the ambush in the forest.
'I hate bloody trees!' he muttered to himself.
He leaned back against the wall and watched a skinner, who sat cross-legged just inside the tavern door, neatly sewing together pieces of mole-skin. Ranulf closed his eyes. He could stand in a dark alleyway in Southwark and not turn a hair but that forest, with its green gloom and haunting sounds, would always unnerve him. He thought idly about the deaths in the castle and then that mysterious refrain contained in the cipher: Three kings go to the two fools' tower with the two chevaliers. 'If I could only unlock the secret,' Ranulf muttered under his breath. He thought of the Riddle Master, opened his eyes and grinned at the thought which suddenly occurred to him.
'So you have come for your flagon of ale?'
Ranulf looked up as Rahere sat down on the stool opposite, his sister just as quietly next to him.
'You move like shadows,' Ranulf remarked, extending his hand.
'Sometimes we have to. Your name, stranger?' 'Ranulf-atte-Newgate, servant in the retinue of Sir Hugh Corbett.'
'Never heard of him.'
Beside Rahere Amisia suddenly giggled, her eyes dancing in gentle mockery. Ranulf could barely look at her, she was so beautiful. Rahere snapped his fingers.
'Two flagons of ale, your best, and a glass of white wine -not from your slops and it has to be cool.'
The servile landlord wiped his sweaty face with his hand, bobbing up and down as if Rahere was some great lord.
'He knows you well?' Ranulf remarked.
'He should do. We hire his best chambers and he charges us well.'
'You make such a profit from your riddle-making?'
Rahere spread his hands and Ranulf suddenly noticed how one eye was green, the other brown with a slight cast in it, giving the Riddle Master a rather saturnine look.
'Every man likes a mystery, a puzzle, a riddle.'
The landlord hurried back with the ale and wine.
'Tell me,' Rahere tapped Ranulf's knee, 'where did you learn that riddle about the eye?'
'My mother told me it.'
Rahere leaned back and sipped from the tankard. 'You have never heard of it, have you, Amisia?'
'No, brother.'
The young woman's voice was soft and melodious, and as she sipped daintily from the cup Ranulf gazed hungrily at her. Everything about her was delicate and fine. She reminded him of a beautiful ivory statue he had glimpsed in the King's chamber. And those eyes… Never had Ranulf seen such fire in such icy blueness. He looked away and shook himself.
'Do you have any more such riddles?' Rahere asked. 'I tell you, Ranulf, we always buy a tankard of ale for the man who poses a riddle we have never heard and it's
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