Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

Master Joseph sneered. 'More than your wits.' He looked at Corbett. 'Do I have your word, clerk?'

'It depends on the information.'

Master Joseph was about to refuse but he shrugged and shuffled a little closer. 'I have been here eighteen months. Everybody talks about the treasure. I did a little searching of my own, but found nothing. Then you and that other black-garbed, snivelling clerk came, asking about Alan of the Marsh.'

Corbett nodded. 'How do you know about him?' 'Give me your word about the woman and child!' Corbett stared back, chewing his lip.

'I want your word! Your solemn word here in the presence of witnesses!'

'You have it,' Corbett answered.

'Go to the Hermitage!' Master Joseph said. 'There you will find out about Alan of the Marsh. I do have your word?' Corbett nodded. 'Take them away!' he ordered.

Once the door was closed behind the prisoners, Corbett walked across to Blanche. 'It's finished,' he whispered.

The woman looked round. 'No, Sir Hugh, it's only just beginning. Master Joseph will hang. You will go back to London. But, tomorrow morning, I will return to a brothel in Bishop's Lynn.'

'You needn't,' Corbett replied.

The girl half-smiled. 'Yes, yes, I know. But you see, Sir Hugh, what can I go back to? Back-breaking work in the fields? Scornful glances until the day I die? No, I'll go back.' She smoothed the front of her dress. 'I'll think. Perhaps one day… But tomorrow morning I will return.' She glanced fleetingly at Gurney. 'You will give me an escort?'

'Of course.'

'And tell my father nothing?'

Gurney nodded.

Corbett watched her leave.

'The whole village will know,' Ranulf murmured.

'Of course they will,' Gurney replied. 'In a community like this, gossip crackles like flames amongst dry stubble.' He sighed and got to his feet. 'We'll leave you alone, Hugh. I'll send food to your chambers. You'll want that?'

'Yes.'

Gurney pointed to Ranulf. 'You'll come with me?'

'Where to?'

'The Hermitage. I've got to inform the so-called community that it's finished. Some can walk home, others I'll give money to.' Gurney glanced at Corbett. 'What about their possessions?'

'Let them take their own belongings with them,' Corbett suggested. 'The place will be stripped of everything else once the villagers get to know. I doubt if Master Joseph's wealth is there. It will take months for officials from the exchequer to track it down. A house here, money banked there. Our prisoner's a master criminal and I don't think he will hang as quickly as he wished.'

'Will his accomplice be pardoned?' Ranulf asked.

'If he sings a song the justices want, he'll probably spend some months in prison before being exiled for life.' Corbett laughed sourly. 'I am sure he'll know enough ships' captains to secure safe passage abroad.' Corbett placed Blanche's dagger on the table. 'But, Ranulf, you go with Sir Simon.'

Corbett left the hall. He could tell from the anxious whispers and looks of the servants that the story was already out. Gilbert was there, a free man. He was hopping from foot to foot and smiling vacuously at Alice, who was pressing food and a few coins into his hands. Corbett went up to his chamber. For a while he sat on the bed and thought about the young lives the Pastoureaux had ruined. Then he lay down, staring up at the rafters, puzzling over the heart-shaped parchment that Culpeper had given him in Bishop's Lynn.

Corbett shivered as he heard the wind lash the heavy rain against the window. He had shaved, dressed and been down to the hall to break his fast after a restless night's sleep which had left him aching and heavy-headed. The excitement of the previous day, fanned by the gossips, had swept through the village. Gilbert had returned to Hunstanton like some hero returning from the wars and, if Catchpole was to be believed, the villagers had already looted the Hermitage. Members of the community had immediately fled, eager to be away and escape untainted from the heavy charges laid against their leaders. Blanche had already left with two of Gurney's retainers. Maltote went with them, grumbling at the prospect of riding through such cruel weather. Ranulf enjoyed the thought of the hapless messenger's discomfort, but Corbett soon wiped the smile off his face.

'You found nothing about Alan of the Marsh at the Hermitage?'

'No, Master.'

'Then take your horse and ride along the coast – not along the cliff top but along the beach. The tide will be out.' 'What am I looking for?' 'You will know when you find it.'

Ranulf stormed off, muttering and cursing about oldMaster Long Face. Corbett returned to his brooding, before going down to the dungeons to question Master Joseph. The Pastoureaux leader, though, knew the strength of his position.

'The more I keep to myself,' he taunted Corbett, 'the more I have to bargain with.'

Corbett smiled to hide his despair. The rogue was right. Corbett knew that the exchequer officials would enter into any negotiations, make any concessions, if they thought they would augment the king's treasure. If a pardon for Master Joseph would make the king richer, that was the price they would cheerfully pay.

'Doesn't it rile you, Corbett,' the rogue jibed, 'to know that somewhere round here lies a great treasure trove?'

'Where is Alan of the Marsh?' Corbett snapped.

'I've told you, look in the Hermitage, if it's still there.'

Corbett got to his feet.

'Oh, clerk!' Master Joseph's bruised face was one long sneer. 'Do give my tenderest love to our plump prioress. Oh, and clerk!'

Corbett refused to look round.

'I wouldn't trust anyone if I were you!'

Corbett slammed the door behind him. He made sure the guard locked and bolted it before trying his luck with Philip Nettler, but he was equally taciturn.

'I'll speak,' he muttered, 'when I have the king's pardon signed and sealed in my hand. Until then, you can piss off!'

Corbett left the two felons and returned to his chamber. Gurney was down in the village and the house was quiet. The rain had begun to lighten, so Corbett pulled on his riding boots, collected his cloak, saddled his horse and rode out across the moor to the Hermitage. The building was now derelict, someone had even removed the gates. Corbett paused inside the yard and looked around. It was a low, grey, overcast day which reflected his mood. He had an uneasy feeling, born of years of experience, that someone was following him. He sat on his horse, the silence broken by the creaking of his saddle and the whinny of his horse. He looked over his shoulder, but the rain-sodden moors were empty. He dismounted, hobbled his horse and began to explore the building. Every single room had been ransacked. Corbett had witnessed similar occurrences in the king's wars along the Scottish borders. He always appreciated, albeit wryly, the plundering skills of local peasants. Doors, hinges, anything which could move had been taken, even rags, pots and bedding. Hardly anything remained, apart from the occasional smashed earthenware bowl, to show this had once been an active community.

Corbett visited the upper chambers and, despite their stark appearance now, realized that Master Joseph and Nettler had occupied the best chambers. The walls were white-washed and, by the marks on the floors, Corbett saw they'd enjoyed good bedding, furniture, even carpets. The windows, glazed with horn or glass, had simply been removed. Some of the tiles from the roof had also been taken, so watery patches were already beginning to form on the floor. Corbett went round, visiting every place. His unease grew, not only because of the wickedness which had been perpetrated here, but because of the empty stillness and the stomach-churning feeling that he was being watched.