Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

Corbett knelt down and stared at the white, waxen face.

'What happened?'

'Yesterday,' Gurney replied, 'Master Monck left late in the afternoon. He visited Father Augustine at Hunstanton before going on to the Holy Cross convent.'

'Last night he was seen thundering through Hunstanton village,' Catchpole added, 'riding his horse as if pursued by Satan and all his demons.'

'Where did you find him?'

'Out on the moors, just sprawled on the grass. No sign of his horse. That could be anywhere.'

'Where on the moors?' Corbett asked.

'Oh, on the wasteland area. And, before you ask, Sir Hugh, there were no other marks of violence or any sign of a struggle. Just Monck's corpse and the hoof prints of his own horse. The beast must have galloped off after his master's fall.'

Corbett glanced at the red-eyed physician; his face was drawn and unshaven. Sir Simon also looked as if he hadn't slept the previous night. Did you tell me the truth? Corbett wondered. If so, why didn't you go to bed? What kept you up all night?'

'Is anything wrong?' Selditch asked.

Corbett forced a smile. 'Oh, master physician, what do you think? Perhaps you could examine Monck?' Corbett got to his feet and studied Monck's boots, leggings and cloak, which were coated with mud. 'Where's his sword belt?' he asked.

'It was rather loose,' Catchpole explained, 'so I took it off and put it over my saddle horn.'

Corbett nodded and glanced down at the dead man's face.

'God rest you, Lavinius,' he murmured. 'Perhaps you'll have peace now!'

He walked out of the barn to inspect Monck's sword belt, slung across Catchpole's saddle horn. The belt was rather rucked. Corbett eased the sword and dagger from their sheaths. These were gleaming clean so he pushed them back again.

'What's the matter, Master?' Ranulf whispered.

Corbett shook his head and walked across to the water butt to wash his hands, drying them on his jerkin. He put his finger to his lips and led Maltote and Ranulf back into the hall. Servants were laying bread, cheese and slices of cured ham on traunchers so the household could break its fast. Corbett slid on to the bench, Ranulf next to him.

'Why did you look at the sword belt, Master?'

'Monck was a born street-fighter,' Corbett explained. 'He was a good sword-and-dagger man and he was no fool.' He bit absent-mindedly at a piece of cheese and stared up at the great shield above the hearth bearing the Gurney coat of arms. 'I think he went out to meet someone, and that someone carried a crossbow. Now, Monck's sword belt was loose. I think that what happened was this. Whoever killed Monck knew of his reputation as fighter and was wary. So he holds the crossbow up, tells Monck to unloosen his sword belt and, as Monck began to unbuckle, fires. Monck is knocked off his horse, which bolts, and the murderer, probably on foot, slips away.'

Ranulf, listening, nodded his agreement. He put down his tankard and reached across the table to grab a piece of ham from under Maltote's nose.

Corbett shook his head at him in mock reprimand and went on, 'I wonder, though, what Monck was doing at the Holy Cross convent and why he galloped like a madman through Hunstanton: Why the haste and who was he meeting?' Corbett got to his feet. 'Come on, Ranulf, you can always eat later. Let's visit Monck's chamber before anyone else does.'

Ranulf softly cursed, grabbed a piece of cheese and bread, then he and Maltote followed Corbett out of the hall. Halfway up the stairs Corbett paused.

'Oh, by the way, did you discover anything while I was away?'

Ranulf shrugged. 'No one liked Monck. There again, Master, no one likes you. They don't take kindly to outsiders. In the village they want to see Gilbert hanged. Sir Simon appears to be a good lord of the manor. The Pastoureaux are harmless and the good sisters of the Holy Cross pompous and rich.'

'There is also the matter of the lights,' Maltote said.

'Oh, yes.' Ranulf spoke hastily, to prevent Maltote taking up the story. 'We went down to the dungeon to see Gilbert. We took him a jug of wine and our dice. He's got the courage of a rabbit, Master, he wouldn't kill anybody. But one thing we did discover. Apparently Gilbert goes poaching out on the moors. Sometimes, especially in good weather, he sees a lantern winking out at sea as if someone is signalling the shore.'

'We have heard that before,' Corbett replied. 'Catchpole said he had seen those lights.' He paused as Alice hurried by. She smiled nervously, rather flirtatiously, at him. Ranulf and Maltote stepped aside, Ranulf licking his lips at the way Alice's hips swayed under her murrey taffeta dress.

Maltote took advantage of the diversion to add his piece of information. 'Then we went to the inn in the village and talked to an old, rather garrulous fisherman. He claimed to have seen not only the lights from the sea but also answering lights from the cliff tops.'

Corbett raised his eyebrows. 'That is new,' he said. 'Catchpole saw no light from the land. Well, come on, perhaps Monck's papers may reveal something!'

His special key once again unlocked the door to Monck's chamber. The room was as he remembered it from his previous visit. Ranulf used his dagger to cut through the straps of Monck's the saddlebags. He emptied the contents out on the bed and Corbett began to sift through them.

The door swung back and Gurney strode in.

'You should have waited!' He exclaimed angrily.

'What for, Sir Simon?' Corbett asked. 'Your permission?'

'This is my house,' Gurney replied tersely.

'Sir Simon, I mean no offence, but we may find something here to tell us who killed Monck and to shed light on the mystery he was investigating.'

Gurney stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

'That's interesting,' Corbett murmured. He grinned at Ranulf. 'Lady Alice must have realized where we were going and hurried to tell her husband. I wonder if Sir Simon was angry because of our lack of courtesy or something else? Anyway, let's have a look.'

They began to sift through the dead clerk's possessions. Two locks of hair, each in its small taffeta pouch, a wedding ring and a small, battered doll were sad mementoes of Monck's wife and murdered daughter. A short letter, the parchment yellow and cracking with age, proved to be a love note written twenty years ago by Monck's wife. Reading it, Corbett felt a surge of compassion for Monck.

'God rest you, Lavinius,' he whispered. He shivered as if an icy hand had gently stroked the nape of his neck. Would this happen to him? Would another clerk sift through his intimate possessions after some fatal ambush in a London alleyway or sudden attack on a lonely road?

'Master?' Ranulf shook him by the shoulder.

'Ranulf, take all this to our chamber. Just wrap it in a blanket. Everything.'

Maltote and Ranulf began to pile Monck's possessions on to the bed.

'What are these?' Ranulf pulled some grimy clothes from a battered saddlebag.

'Probably Lickspittle's,' Corbett said.

He took the tunic, shirt and hose from Ranulf. The shirt was blood-stained and, like the tunic and hose, still slightly damp. Corbett threw them in with the rest.

'Make sure you take everything,' he said. 'Sir Simon must be as curious as we are. And, Maltote, go down to the stables and see if any of Monck's possessions were brought back with the body.'

Back in their own chamber they sorted through what they had found. Among the purely personal possessions were a small book and some rolls of parchment. Corbett had taken these to the table and begun to study them when Selditch came in, eager to be of assistance.

'Sir Hugh, if it interests you, Monck was killed by the crossbow bolt. There's no other mark of violence on his body, apart from a slight bruising just under his navel.'