Paul Doherty: Song of a Dark Angel

'A time of troubles indeed, Sir Simon.'

Corbett spun round. Lavinius Monck was leaning rather languidly against the door lintel, arms folded. Corbett rose and went towards him.

'Lavinius!' He stretched out his hand. 'It's been some months.'

Monck limply took Corbett's outstretched hand and patted it.

'My dear Hugh,' he lisped, though Lavinius's obsidian eyes never moved.

Corbett stepped back. Why do I always find this man so sinister, he thought? Lavinius, dressed now in black leather, always reminded Corbett of a cruel raven, with his black, greasy hair, smooth-shaven, sour face, beak of a nose and eyes which never seemed to close. Lavinius slapped his leather riding gloves from hand to hand and walked into the room.

'Sir Simon, Lady Alice.'

'You had a good day, Master Monck?'

Gurney got to his feet. From the set of his mouth and his dour look it seemed that he too disliked the secretive, sly clerk of John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey. Monck smiled, or rather twisted his face in a grimace, took off his cloak and threw it on a bench. He took a cup of posset from a servant and sat down in the chair another had pushed up to the half-circle in front of the fire. Monck crossed his legs arrogantly, flicking flecks of mud from his knee. He stared into the fire with an infuriating smile that suggested he was the guardian of some great secret. Gurney refilled his own cup from a jug of claret on one of the aumbries and rejoined his guests, shaking off his wife's warning touch.

'I asked you a question. Did you have a good day?'

Monck smiled and sipped from his cup.

'Sir Simon, for me every day is good. I have ridden around your estates. I have drunk some foul ale at the tavern in the village and I have listened.' His face grew hard. 'I will continue to listen and I will continue to hunt until I find the murderer of my servant Cerdic and see him or her dangling from that gibbet of yours on the cliff top!' 'And the Pastoureaux?' Alice asked.

'Crouching like rabbits,' Monck replied contemptuously. 'They never seem to leave their Hermitage. And you, dearest Hugh, your journey?'

'Hard and cold. The King sends you his greetings, as does the Earl of Surrey.'

Monck moved in the chair, his leather jacket creaking. Corbett realized that the man, despite his heavy clothing, was impervious to the raw heat of the fire.

'And why are you here, Hugh?' Monck peered at Ranulf, who stared coldly back. 'Why do Sir Hugh Corbett, Keeper of the King's Secret Seal, and his loyal but rather lecherous servant Ranulf-atte-Newgate wander the wilds of Norfolk?'

Corbett stared into his cup. He really did hate this man. Lavinius Monck was the Earl of Surrey's principal clerk, spy and professional assassin. Trained in the halls of Cambridge, Monck had won a name for ruthlessness, unwavering loyalty and a cunning that would be the envy of any fox. If John de Warenne was the king's right hand then Monck was a dagger in that hand. Corbett usually kept well away from him, but sometimes, when necessity demanded it, they had to cooperate and share information.

'Why, Hugh?' Monck repeated with mock severity.

Corbett opened the wallet in his belt and brought out a small roll of parchment. Monck grabbed it greedily. He broke the purple wax seal, opened it, leaned forward and studied its contents by the light of the fire.

'Sealed by the king at Swaffham four days ago.' He looked up and grinned, his white, well-set teeth reminding Corbett of one of the king's hunting dogs. 'I see. You are sent to assist me.' He emphasized the phrase. 'Do you understand that, Sir Hugh?'

'I understand,' Corbett replied. 'But assist you in what, Lavinius?'

Monck shrugged, rolled the parchment up and slipped it up the sleeve of his leather jerkin. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, and stared into the fire.

'Ah!' he sighed. 'That's the problem, Sir Hugh. It's best if we each plough our own furrow. My Lord of Surrey was most insistent on that.'

'I thought you were here because of the Pastoureaux?' Gurney interrupted.

Monck smiled. 'Perhaps, Sir Simon, perhaps not. Only time will tell.'

Corbett steeled his features and sipped from the posset, kicking Ranulf gently on the ankle lest his angry-faced servant take up the cudgels on his behalf.

Gurney and his wife sat back in their chairs, Alice's eyes pleading with her husband to remain silent. Corbett tensed in fury. He couldn't abide Monck's smug secretiveness and he was angry with the king, who had despatched him here after telling him as little as possible. Corbett could hardly believe he was here because Monck's servant had been murdered or because a baker's wife had been hanged from a scaffold. The Pastoureaux, however, were a different matter. They were dangerous. His agents in France had reported how these fanatics, with their strange dreams and eerie visions, walked from city to city prophesying the end of the world and launching violent attacks upon Jews, foreigners and all of society's poor outcasts. Now groups of Pastoureaux, literally by the shipload, had arrived in England. Harmless at first, they lurked in the wild and waste places. The group here in Norfolk, however, had grown and attracted the attention of the royal commissioners and, ostensibly at least, Monck had been sent north to investigate.

Corbett shifted uneasily in the chair, ignoring the murmur of conversation that flowed around him. Monck, satisfied that he had emphasized his own importance, now indulged in easy conversation with his hosts about crops, village scandal and the licence to brew ale. Corbett studied the black-garbed clerk. Monck had one weakness – he liked his drink. He could drink claret, beer and ale as a horse munches grass, without any ill-effect. Corbett idly wondered if he, as the king's master spy, should spend some time studying Monck more closely, finding out more about his habits and perhaps discovering other weaknesses. Corbett smiled to himself -Maeve was always teasing him about his own secretiveness, his close scrutiny of the most minor information.

His smile faded. In this matter the king had been sly and secretive. What was Monck really doing here? One of Corbett's spies in the exchequer had reported that Monck had spent days at the Tower going through records and collecting information. That had been some six or seven weeks ago, soon after Michaelmas. Monck had then disappeared from London. Corbett had heard that he was in Norfolk but had dismissed it as unimportant – John de Warenne held estates here and Monck often acted as the earl's steward. Corbett half-closed his eyes. He rolled the cup between his fingers. Why the exchequer? God knows, the treasury was empty. Edward was desperate for money to keep his depleted fleet at sea and wage bloody war against the Scottish rebel William Wallace. Corbett flinched as Monck placed cold fingers on his hand.

'Hugh, Hugh, are you dreaming?'

The clerk rubbed his face and smiled apologetically across at Sir Simon.

'No, no. I'm tired.'

'Not too much, Hugh, I hope.' Gurney said. 'We have a dinner in your honour this evening. I have invited guests – Father Augustine, our village priest, and Dame Cecily, Prioress of the Holy Cross convent. Our physician, Selditch and my man Catchpole will also be there.'

'In which case…'

Corbett got to his feet just as Maltote, his hair tousled, his face heavy with sleep, burst into the room and gazed beseechingly at Corbett.

'Master, I am sorry, I did not know you had arrived. I went upstairs and fell asleep.'

Corbett smiled at the man's innocent, open face.

'Don't worry, Maltote.'

Corbett signalled to Ranulf to collect their boots and cloaks. He bowed at the others and allowed Gurney's steward to lead them up the winding staircase to their chamber. Maltote, still heavy with sleep, found it difficult to cope with Ranulf's teasing and without the steward's guidance would not have been able to find his own way back to the chamber they were to share. The steward explained that the house was so full of visitors and guests it was difficult to find a room for everyone. Corbett thanked him, slipped a coin into the fellow's hand and quietly closed the door behind him.