Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

'What happened,' Edward explained, 'is that dear grandfather tried to cross the estuary too late in the day. You know the area? There was a sudden tidal surge, the waves rushed in and the treasure train was lost.' Edward shrugged. 'Dear grandfather went to Swynesford Abbey to console himself with fresh cider and rotten peaches and then on to Newark, where he gave up the ghost in something akin to the odour of sanctity.' Corbett smiled – 'Dear grandfather' had been the black sheep of the Plantagenet family; he had neither lived nor died in anything akin to sanctity.

'What was the treasure?' Corbett asked.

'A king's ransom,' Edward replied slowly. 'Dozens of gold and silver goblets, flagons, basins, candelabra, pendants and jewel-encrusted belts. The coronation regalia-' Edward sighed. 'And, what is worse, the coronation regalia of dear great-great-grandmother Matilda when she was Empress of Germany: a large jewel-encrusted crown, purple robes, a gold wand and the sword of Tristram.' Edward rubbed his stomach and groaned. 'A fortune,' he murmured. 'A bloody fortune lost in the sea!'

'Was there any attempt to search for it?'

'Well, you can imagine the confusion that broke out after grandfather's death. It was every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. Father was only a child. He had difficulty keeping the crown, never mind looking for lost treasure!'

'And how does Monck come into this?' 'Well,' de Warenne replied. 'My family have always felt deeply ashamed about King John's disaster at the Wash. You see, my grandfather was in charge of the pack train.'

He glared at Corbett, daring him to smile – planning and other intellectual skills had always been a rarety in the Surrey family. Corbett refrained from comment.

'Good!' de Warenne breathed. 'Now, the treasure's lost. John dies. Everyone more or less forgets about it until a year ago, when Walter Denuglis, a leading goldsmith in London, purchased from a pawnbroker an ancient gold plate with John's arms on it.' De Warenne rolled his goblet in his fingers. 'Denuglis brought it to the exchequer. Then two other, very similar, pieces of plate were found. The clerks of the exchequer scrutinized the records from John's time. Sure enough, all three pieces had been part of John's treasure.'

'But,' Corbett interrupted, 'I thought everything was lost. Is it possible that these pieces were thrown up on some marsh, found by a pedlar and brought to London to be sold?'

'That isn't likely,' the king said. 'If it was a mere pedlar he hid his tracks very artfully. More importantly, Corbett, there's a legend in court circles that King John's disaster at the Wash was planned. Not even dear grandfather – who, admittedly, could be as dense as a forest – would try and cross the Wash without guides. Now a local man was hired, we know this from the records, called John Holcombe. He knew the estuary well. The accepted account says that he died in the tragedy.' Edward pursed his lips. 'But local legend has it that he escaped with a string of pack horses.' 'And if so, what happened to him?'

'We don't know,' de Warenne answered. 'Our clerks have searched the records of both central and local courts. There's no record of any John Holcombe surviving.'

'Are you sure?' Corbett insisted. 'Surely, after John's death the exchequer would have investigated such rumours thoroughly?'

'They did,' de Warenne replied. 'And could report nothing except for a very garbled story that Holcombe had been seen somewhere to the north of Walpole St Andrew, between that village and Bishop's Lynn. After that, he disappears from history.'

De Warenne paused as the bell of the priory began to ring for Vespers. Corbett reflected on the scraps of history he had been told.

'Did anyone survive the disaster of the Wash?' he asked.

'Oh, yes,' de Warenne said. 'Only the treasure train was lost. The king, the court and the escort escaped.'

'Was there a Gurney amongst them?'

Edward grinned. 'I wondered when you'd ask that! The answer is yes. Sir Richard Gurney, Sir Simon's greatgrandfather, followed the king to Swynesford Abbey where he witnessed a charter. After the royal army dispersed, Gurney went home.'

Corbett chewed at the quick of his thumbnail.

'And so,' he concluded, 'Monck was sent to Mortlake Manor, not to investigate the Pastoureaux but to look into the possibility that this treasure, or part of it, is hidden in the area?'

The king nodded.

'But why Mortlake Manor?' Corbett asked. 'Why not the countryside around Bishop's Lynn?'

'It's a wild guess,' de Warenne said, 'based upon a scrap of information about the guide John Holcombe. He was seen riding north away from Bishop's Lynn. The only possible port could be Hunstanton, if he intended to flee abroad.'

'There's another reason Monck was sent,' the king interrupted. 'Whoever sold the plate in London knew where to go. They didn't blunder into just any goldsmith's shop. No, the three pieces were sold in different parts of the city. One near the Tower, another in Southwark and the last to some grubby pawnbroker near Whitefriars. Now that requires planning. It also means someone who knows the city well.'

'You mean Sir Simon Gurney?'

'It's possible, but we suspect the Pastoureaux. Their leader is a man called…' Edward closed his eyes.

'Master, Joseph,' Corbett reminded him.

'Yes, Master Joseph. And he regularly visits London. He may have been born there. Now, when we looked at Hunstanton, we asked ourselves what of significance had happened in the area about the same time as the gold appeared.' Edward smiled. 'The arrival of the Pastoureaux could not be ignored.'

'But how would Master Joseph know?'

'That, my dear clerk,' de Warenne answered, 'is a matter of conjecture. However, what a marvellous way of searching for the gold and silver, posing as a leader of a religious community!'

'And what has Monck discovered?' Corbett asked.

'Very little,' the king replied sourly. 'That's why we sent you. Monck was furious.' The king grasped Corbett's wrist. 'Will you do this for me, Hugh? Will you go back and find grandfather's treasure?'

Corbett nodded. The king heaved a sigh of relief. He got to his feet and clapped Corbett on the shoulder.

'In which case, we will leave you to your thoughts. It's Vespers and I must have a few words with God.'

The king beckoned to de Warenne to follow him. Corbett heard the door close behind them. He went over and absent-mindedly refilled his cup. Thank God, he thought, that Edward had not asked him about his suspicions, which were many and included more than just the Pastoureaux. Corbett sipped at his wine. Is that why the graves have been dug up? he wondered. Could the treasure be buried in the churchyard? Did it explain the ostentatious wealth of the Holy Cross convent? What about Robert the reeve? Had he stumbled upon something? And what of the Gurneys? Sir Simon was a rich man. Finally, the Pastoureaux – were they really searching for gold? Was that why Marina had died? And did Ranulf remember Master Joseph because he had come across him in London? Corbett sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

He returned to Mortlake late the following evening to discover Gurney fretting because Monck had not returned from the moors.

'When did he leave?' Corbett asked, doffing his cloak and easing off his boots in front of the fire.

'Yesterday afternoon. I have made enquiries. He was seen last night galloping through the village. I told Catchpole and some of my servants to go out and search the moors, but they can't find him.'

'And Ranulf?' Corbett asked.

'He and Maltote have retired. They said they were exhausted.'

Corbett nodded and stretched his aching feet towards the fire. He glanced across the hearth to where Alice and Selditch sat drinking mulled wine.