Satan's Fire (A Medieval Mystery Featuring Hugh Corbett) by Paul Doherty

if the killer was a Templar commander, one of the five he had met in the council chamber, he could not have possibly been here when Reverchien had died. Corbett stared at the great scorch-mark.
    ‘But what happens,’ he murmured, ‘if there was more than one killer? If there was a coven here at Framlingham? If someone entered the maze long before Sir Guido?’
    But if that was the case, the killer would have to have got out again, and that would have been impossible without being detected.
    Corbett looked up at the sky. As he did so, he heard the crunch of a boot on gravel from behind the wall of privet, then a creak, like a door opening. Corbett immediately threw himself to the right as a long yew arrow smashed into the cross. Corbett moved behind this, drawing his dagger. Again the crunch on the gravel and an arrow whipped by his head into the privet beyond. Corbett did not wait for a third but ran to the entrance where he could see the rope lying. He fled, keeping his eyes on that rope as it wound and snaked through the maze. Behind him Corbett heard the sounds of quiet pursuit. He turned a corner and suddenly the rope was no longer there. Corbett stopped, sobbing for breath. Should he go to the left or the right? He tried to climb the hedge but the branches were stubby, pointed, and cut his hands. He found it impossible to gain a foothold. Corbett crouched, fighting for breath, trying to calm the thudding of his heart. He remembered how far he had run and quickly gauged that he must be somewhere near the entrance. However, if he took the wrong path he could find himself lost, trapped, a clear target for the assassin. For a while Corbett waited, straining his ears, listening for any sound: all he could hear was the cawing of the crows and an occasional rustle as some bird nesting in the hedgerow burst up into the sky.
    At last Corbett felt he was calm enough to move. He took off his cloak and began to cut strips of cloth from it, which he tied around twigs.
    ‘At least,’ he muttered, ‘I will know if I am going round in circles.’
    He crept forward, trying to recall how he had entered the maze.
    ‘Turning left,’ he whispered. ‘I kept turning left.’
    He chose the path to his right and began to work his way forward. Now and again he lost his way, coming round to find a strip of cloth hanging from the bush. He cursed and tried again, a mixture of trial and error. Only once did he hear the pursuer. A crunch of gravel and his heart skipped a beat, the assailant was now in front of him. Darkness was beginning to fall. Somewhere a dog howled mournfully as the daylight began to fade. After a while Corbett felt secure, no longer pursued or watched. He realised the rope had been removed, not to trap him, but as a means of delaying him, should he survive and the assailant had to flee. Corbett edged forward, then he heard Ranulf’s voice.
    ‘Master?’
    ‘Here!’ Corbett shouted and, doffing his cloak, waved it high above his head.
    ‘I saw that!’ Ranulf shouted back.
    ‘Keep shouting!’ Corbett ordered.
    Ranulf happily obliged, bawling out encouragement as Corbett made his way, following the sound of Ranulf’s voice. The hedgerows thinned and he was out on the path where Ranulf and Maltote stood, grinning from ear to ear.
    ‘You should be more careful,’ his manservant exclaimed.
    ‘I was bloody careful,’ Corbett grunted. ‘Some bastard removed the rope and tried to kill me.’
    Ranulf looked round. ‘Then where is he? He must be still in the maze.’
    ‘No, he’s gone. Ranulf, did you see anyone?’
    ‘Only a gardener pushing a wheelbarrow.’
    ‘What did he look like?’
    ‘He wore a cowl and cloak, Master. But the manor is full of servants.’
    Corbett closed his eyes. He remembered seeing a wheelbarrow near the maze, covered by a dirty sheet.
    ‘Why should they kill me?’ he rasped. ‘If this secret coven of Templars wants the destruction of the king, how can murdering me bring that