Some of the tunnels reach the forest itself.' Branwood paused. 'Now let us say you do trust the soldiers,' he continued. 'Once in that forest, their mood changes. They are superstitious and fear the place. They still believe the small dark people live there who might cast spells and carry them off to Elfin Land. Three days ago…' He turned and pointed to his burly serjeant-at-arms, seated at the table. 'You tell him, Naylor.'

The serjeant-at-arms stirred; his black leather jerkin studded with steel points creaked as he moved his arms. His craggy face and balding head reminded Corbett of a piece of stone brought to life only by sharp, restless eyes.

'As Sir Peter says, we went into the forest.' The soldier glared coldly at Corbett. 'Within a quarter of an hour, the time it would take a man to snatch a meal, two of my soldiers were missing. Neither horses nor riders have been seen since. The following day Robin Hood himself entered Nottingham and impudently pinned a rhyming ballad on one of the postern gates of the castle about how Sir Eustace Vechey was well named – being useless as a sheriff as well as a man!'

Naylor's eyes moved from Corbett to the clerk's two servants, Ranulf-atte-Newgate and Maltote the messenger, who sat quietly at the end of the table.

'And how,' he sneered, 'does His Grace the King think a clerk and two manservants will resolve all this?'

'I don't know,' Corbett replied slowly. 'God knows, the King's mind is taken up with the French threat against Flanders but he cannot have his tax-collectors and soldiers hanged like barnyard rats and his sheriff mysteriously murdered.' Corbett spoke to Branwood. 'When did these attacks begin?'

'About six months ago.'

'And the robbery and murder of the tax-collectors?'