Kate Sedley - The Tintern Treasure

I inclined my head. ‘I have it on good authority that it was the best attended coronation within living memory.’

‘Mmm.’ This noncommittal noise might have meant something or nothing. I waited. The prelate continued after some moments, ‘I understand a bill is to be passed at the next meeting of Parliament confirming Richard’s right and title to the crown.’ He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment or two before glancing at the others around the table. ‘Which makes these rumours of the young princes’ death absurd, wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen? Why order the commissioning of such a crime, when the prize is his already?’

‘There has been a rising in the south-west on behalf of the princes and, as far as I know, it has not yet been put down,’ Gilbert Foliot pointed out. ‘Maybe the king feels his crown is unsafe while his nephews are alive.’ He saw me look at him and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s all right, Roger. You needn’t doubt my loyalty. I don’t think for one moment that King Richard is capable of such a heinous sin. I’m no supporter of either young Edward or of Henry Tudor.’

‘Talking of the latter,’ the abbot broke in, ‘didn’t he at one time live in the household of your wife’s kinsman? The Earl of Pembroke who is buried here?’

The goldsmith nodded. ‘He did indeed, My Lord, for several years after his uncle, Jasper Tudor, fled abroad. William Herbert was eventually given Jasper’s old title and there was some thought at one time of marrying Henry to William’s daughter, Maud. I understood from my wife — whom God assoil! — that William was very fond of the boy, although he never wavered in his loyalty to the House of York.’

‘No, indeed,’ agreed the abbot. ‘A loyalty for which he paid with his life.’ He gave another glance around the table. ‘Well, my masters, if everyone has finished, no doubt you would like to retire for the night. You have all had long and tiring journeys. I am sure you are ready for your beds. Compline will be in an hour’s time, if any of you care to join us.’

There was a general murmur which might have signified assent or then again, might not. I think we all hoped that we could well be asleep by then and not to be roused without difficulty. I was good at feigning sleep when necessary, but felt that in the present case I wouldn’t have to pretend. I was bone weary and could hardly keep my eyes from closing. I was sure the others must feel the same.

A general scarping back of stools ensued as we rose at last from the table. Half the pie remained uneaten, but I think I spoke for everyone when I pressed a hand to my belly and said I was unable to eat another crumb.

As we moved towards the dining-parlour door, it was suddenly flung open and one of the brothers appeared, out of breath and slightly dishevelled. He was plainly agitated and forgot to close the door behind him. Outside, the storm still raged.

‘Father Abbot, come quickly,’ he urged. ‘There’s someone in the old abbot’s lodgings. I can see the glow of a lamp.’

The abbot frowned and lowered the glass he had been raising to his lips.

‘Are you sure, Brother Mark?’ he asked. ‘No one uses those rooms now unless we have an important guest.’ (Presumably none of those present rated this distinction.)

The brother nodded vigorously. ‘I saw the light between the slats of the shutters as I passed, Father. And I could hear someone moving about inside.’

‘You didn’t go to investigate?’ Gilbert Foliot queried, raising his eyebrows.

The brother gave a shamefaced gulp. ‘No, sir.’ He added in extenuation, ‘There were other noises.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh. . I don’t know how to describe them, sir.’ Brother Mark turned back to his superior. ‘Please come, Father!’

The abbot heaved a sigh and got to his feet, glancing round the table as he did so.

‘Master Chapman,’ he said, ‘you look a sturdy, broad-shouldered fellow. Perhaps you would accompany me. Meanwhile, Brother Mark, rouse some of the other brothers and come after us, although I feel certain you’re starting at shadows. If there is anyone there, there will be a perfectly sound explanation for it.’

‘I’ll come as well,’ the goldsmith offered, rising briskly from his seat. He looked enquiringly at the others. ‘Anyone else?’

No one volunteered. I couldn’t blame them. We could all hear the rain hammering down outside.

Gilbert Foliot shrugged. ‘Lead the way, then, Lord Abbot. Master Chapman and I will be right behind you.’

We followed the abbot out of doors, leaving the warmth of candle- and firelight to be soaked in the first two minutes by sharp spears of rain falling from a storm-riven sky. Fortunately it was only a short walk across a patch of muddy ground, past a couple of outhouses, before the abbot paused in front of a two-storey building, listened for a moment, then motioned us to accompany him round to the front. Here, there were two rows of three windows apiece, all being closed and silent except for one on the ground floor, which did indeed show chinks of light between the slats of the shutters. We moved closer.

‘Brother Mark is right,’ the abbot said. ‘There is someone in there. One of the novices, no doubt, up to some mischief.’

He squared his shoulders, marching back around the corner to a side door which he pushed open with a resounding crack, before leading the way along a short passage to another door on the left. But just as he was about to fling this wide, words of reprimand on his lips, it was jerked open from inside and a figure stood framed in the doorway.

The abbot gasped and we all fell back a pace, startled by this sudden apparition, but that momentary hesitation was our undoing. The young man — for, despite the hood pulled well forward to obscure his face, there was no doubting either his youth or sex — simply charged between us and out into the night. I was the first to recover and, pushing Master Foliot unceremoniously aside, rushed after him. By this time, however, reinforcements had arrived in the shape of Brother Mark and an intrepid band of his fellow monks who, on sighting their quarry, gave an excited whoop and set off in pursuit. Confident that the intruder would soon be caught, I returned to the abbot’s old lodging to discover what had been going on there.

This was immediately apparent. Several tiles had been prised loose from around the hearthstone, revealing a gaping hole beneath. The abbot and Gilbert Foliot were standing over it, regarding the empty space, but the latter turned his head sharply at my entrance. ‘Did you catch him?’

‘No. But don’t worry. Brother Mark and his posse are hard on his heels.’ I, too, stared into the hole. ‘Is this the. . er. .?’

The goldsmith nodded. ‘Yes, this is the secret hiding place that was accidentally found fourteen years ago.’

The abbot chewed a thumbnail. ‘But why would anybody want to open it up again? Everything that was in there was removed when it was discovered. Everyone knows that.’

‘I wonder,’ I mused. ‘Is what we can see of the hole all that there is, Father?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m wondering if the hiding place is perhaps bigger than was thought at the time. If it was properly explored back then.’

The abbot looked bewildered, but Gilbert Foliot nodded excitedly. ‘I see what you’re getting at, Chapman. You mean that when the account books and scraps of old diary were found, nothing else was searched for. It was assumed that that was all there was.’

‘Yes.’ I dropped to my knees and, leaning forward, thrust my arm into the aperture, bending lower so that I could probe sideways. Sure enough, there was a far larger space than was obvious at first sight. My arm disappeared almost up to the shoulder. I could also feel loose crumbs of cement as though some kind of barrier had been broken down.