Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

'They say Holcombe was hunted down.'

'And?'

'Either Alan of the Marsh was killed by the Gurneys who seized his wealth 'Or?'

'Or he hid away, trapped himself in a place he couldn't get out of and died of starvation.'

'Father, have you heard these stories?'

The priest smiled. 'As Robert says, they are common. But the whereabouts of Alan of the Marsh and the treasure are a mystery.' Father Augustine steepled his fingers together. 'I have even heard' – his long face broke into a grin – 'that the villagers here murdered Alan of the Marsh, seized his treasure and either hid it or distributed it.'

Robert the reeve made a rude sound with his lips.

'Did Master Monck examine Adele's grave?'

'Yes, he did,' the priest said. 'No one knew where it was and it took some time to find it. He even examined the coffin.' He shook his head. 'But there's nothing there.'

'A final question,' Corbett said.

'Yes, Sir Hugh?'

'Master Monck called here on the afternoon he died. Why was that?'

'He was asking once again about his clerk Cerdic. I couldn't help him. He spent some time here with me, speculating on what had happened to Cerdic.' The priest glanced slyly at Corbett. 'He also said some rather uncharitable things about your arrival and he was in a terrible temper. He left, saying he was going back to the Holy Cross convent.' The priest paused. 'It must have been well after dark. Do you remember, Robert, I called you to the church after making a sick call?'

'That's right,' the reeve confirmed. 'I was waiting here for Father Augustine when suddenly I heard hoof beats. I ran out of the church and Monck thundered by, riding his horse like the devil. He went through the village, scattering dogs and chickens, stopping neither for man, woman nor child.'

'Why do you think he was riding so furiously?'

'God knows. I thought he was going back to the manor or perhaps across the moors to the Pastoureaux.'

Corbett thanked them and went outside. He unhitched his horse and wondered whether to go to the Holy Cross convent. The day was drawing in. Large, fat raindrops, carried by the driving wind, wetted his face. Damn it, Corbett thought and, turning his horse's head, rode back towards the manor.

'I don't want to go to the convent and Dame Cecily's supercilious ways,' he murmured to himself. He stared into the gathering darkness. He was also being cautious – if Monck was murdered in an ambush, the same could happen to him.

Corbett cleared the village and made his way along the track. He glimpsed the scaffold dark against the sky and remembered the decayed flowers he had found there. They looked as if they had been lying there for weeks, so it couldn't be some neighbour of the Fourbours paying a small tribute. Corbett looked out to where the sea rose and fell in a sullen grey mass. The wind whipped his hair and the bracken on either side crackled with the movement of night creatures. Corbett shivered.

'You are a fool,' he murmured, 'to be out so late at night.' And he urged his horse into a gallop towards the welcoming lights of Mortlake.

Ranulf and Maltote were waiting for him, their boredom apparent.

'We found nothing, Master,' Ranulf confessed as Corbett sat on the edge of his bed and removed his riding boots.

'And I don't think we will,' Corbett said. 'We are finished at Hunstanton.'

'What do you mean, Master?'

'Tomorrow morning-' Corbett ran his fingers through his hair. 'Oh, what's the use. Look! Sit down!' He gestured at his two companions. 'When I was in the halls of Oxford – an experience I wouldn't wish on you, Ranulf- the masters used to make us debate a problem, teasing out the difficulties, the illogicalities. So what do we have here? About ninety years ago' – Corbett used his fingers to emphasize his points – 'a king loses a fortune in the Wash. The treacherous guide escapes the disaster with some of the treasure.'

'Holcombe?' Maltote asked.

'Yes,' Ranulf mimicked. 'Holcombe.'

'Holcombe's caught and hanged by Gurney's ancestor,' Corbett continued. 'His accomplice, Alan of the Marsh, disappears, as does the treasure or most of it. The Gurneys acquire some information about what may have happened to this treasure but, to protect the family name, keep it hidden. Selditch discovers this information along with three pieces of plate. He goes to London and sells these pieces.' Corbett raised his eyebrows at Ranulf. 'What else?'

'Strange lights at night, both on the cliff top and at sea,' Ranulf replied.

'Oh, yes.' Corbett stared at the ceiling. 'And we have a reeve who suddenly comes into unexpected wealth and nuns who are hiding something, whilst the Pastoureaux are as enigmatic as ever. What else?'

'Marina,' Maltote replied.

'Ah, yes, a girl is murdered. She received a secret message, probably sent by an old friend who had also been with the Pastoureaux.'

'We have the other murders,' Ranulf added, 'of Cerdic and Monck? What was Cerdic doing on the beach? And who was Monck riding like the devil to meet?'

Corbett got to his feet and stretched. 'Do you miss London, Ranulf?'

'Does a fish miss water, Master?'

Corbett smiled. 'As I said, we are finished here.'

'So, where to, Master?'

'Let's visit Bishop's Lynn. Who knows what we could draw out of the shadows?'

'Such as?' Ranulf asked, eager for the smells and sight of any city.

'Well, there's the baker's wife for a start, Amelia Fourbour. However, before that, Ranulf, I want you and Maltote to go to the convent and ask that smug prioress if the name Alan of the Marsh means anything to her. And, secondly, why was Master Monck visiting her?' Corbett went across to the lavarium to wash his hands and face. 'Now, Dame Cecily will lie through her teeth. She will only tell the truth when she's forced. Just watch her reaction.'

'And afterwards?' Maltote asked hopefully.

'Afterwards, we lock everything away, pack our horses and ride to Bishop's Lynn.'

'Could there be Holcombes alive there now?' Ranulf asked.

'Perhaps,' Corbett replied.

He walked over to the window, undid the shutters and watched the heavy rain lash the manor house.

'We've got to walk carefully,' he murmured, 'or the assassin will strike again.' He looked over his shoulder at his anxious-faced companions. 'If we don't,' he warned, 'Monck might not be the only clerk to die out on the moors!'

Dame Cecily was not pleased to see Ranulf and Maltote the following morning. She made them wait in an antechamber before inviting them into her opulent chamber, where she and Father Augustine sat on high-backed chairs before the fire. Ranulf and Maltote had to squat on stools pushed forward by an old lay sister. Old Master Long Face was right, Ranulf thought. He winked mischievously at Maltote. The prioress preened herself, smiling sourly at them whilst flouncing her pure wool robes.

'What does Sir Hugh Corbett want of me this time?' she asked.

'Simple answers,' Ranulf replied, 'to very simple questions. Master Lavinius Monck was a visitor at your house just before he died?'

'Yes, yes, poor man.' Dame Cecily glanced coyly at Father Augustine. 'Our chaplain' – she emphasized the word – 'has already told us the news. What a tragedy! What terrible events!'

'Why was Monck here?' Ranulf asked.

'Well, far be it for me to read Master Monck's mind, God rest him! But he was still anxious to know why his servant Cerdic had come here.'

'And what answer did you give?'

'The same as I told Master Corbett. I don't really know.'

Father Augustine coughed, clearing his throat.

'Dame Cecily,' he declared, 'can't be held responsible for the people who visit her.'

'And why do you come here, Father?'

'I am chaplain to the priory.' The priest smiled at Ranulf. 'I have known this place many years. When I was a curate in Swaffham I used to come here in the summer as a rest from my pastoral duties.'