Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

Corbett shook his head and described his visit to the Hermitage.

'All I remember is the smell of perfume and that piece of wood coming down at me. The next moment I was on the beach. How did you find me, Ranulf?'

'You told me to go there, Master.'

Corbett closed his eyes and put his head back on the bolster.

'Tell me about it.'

'I rode further along the beach,' Ranulf answered. 'What a God-forsaken place it is, Master. I have seen enough seagulls to last me all the days of my life.'

'But what did you find?' Corbett asked testily.

'A small skiff or boat pulled high on the beach,' Ranulf answered. 'There's also a path, one of those sandy tracks leading up to the cliff top. I went up this. Something happens there, the place is used. I went back down. I examined the boat, nothing remarkable except one thing. The boat's seaworthy but, I am sure, in the stern, was a dark patch which looked like blood.' Ranulf shrugged. 'Though it could be something else. I then rode further along but I didn't like the look of the sea, angry and swollen. I rode back. I panicked myself because the faster I galloped, the sea seemed to be racing me. I intended to go up the path leading to the Hermitage.' Ranulf pulled a face. 'Then I saw you running.' He paused at a knock on the door and Selditch came in.

'Sir Hugh,' he stammered, his fingers clutching at his large, protuberant belly. 'Is there anything I can do?' He waved his ink-stained fingers in the air like an old woman.

'No, no,' Corbett answered quickly before Ranulf could reply. 'Master Selditch, I feel well and I thank you.'

The physician disappeared.

'I wouldn't trust him!' Ranulf snarled. He sniffed the air. 'He wears some sort of perfume, Master, as does the Lady Alice.'

Corbett stared at the door and grinned at Ranulf. 'Thank God you came!'

His manservant shrugged. 'Looking back, you would have probably reached the path in time. Your thick skull saved you. The murderer, God damn him or her, never counted on your regaining consciousness.'

Corbett plucked at a loose thread in one of the blankets.

'If you hadn't come, Ranulf, whatever you say, I would have drowned. You are not to tell the Lady Maeve.' Corbett stared across the room. 'I studied at Oxford, I became a clerk in the royal service. Sometimes I feel like a busy spider spinning webs or destroying those others weave. Yet, I admit, I don't understand human nature. What would my death have achieved? What would it profit to make Maeve a widow? And my child fatherless? The king himself would come here or send someone else and so it would go on until the matter was resolved.' Corbett rubbed his face. 'Perhaps I should hand over my seals! Say the day is done and go back to my manor house?'

Ranulf hid his alarm and studied his master. In many ways he knew Corbett was right. Old Master Long Face was a chess player and very good at it, but in the hurly-burly of the narrow streets he was an innocent.

'If you went, Master,' Ranulf replied slowly, 'the only difference would be that more murderers would walk away, wiping their lips and proclaiming their innocence.' He half-smiled. 'Leighton Manor may be quiet, Sir Hugh, but so is the graveyard.'

Corbett touched the top of his bruised head gingerly and winced.

'The shrewd voice of the common man,' he murmured.

'When you fall into the gutter, Master, you have to be as cunning and as crafty as those you hunt.'

Corbett looked at him sharply. 'What do you mean, Ranulf?'

'Well, take our fat physician friend. Or Sir Simon Gurney.. What happened when some of King John's treasure was found?'

'They sold it.'

Ranulf sat on the edge of the bed.

'And what do you think would happen, Master, if they found the rest?'

Corbett narrowed his eyes. 'Are you saying they're searching for it?'

'Well, they know about the secret of the treasure. Don't you think they would like to find it?'

'But if they did and failed to inform the king, that would be felony, even treason.'

'Oh, of course, they'd inform the king,' Ranulf replied. 'And, according to the law, demand their portion. What is it, a quarter of any treasure trove? Now Sir Simon, his wife and physician may be innocent and as white as the driven snow. They may have no hand in these murders. Or, there again, they may be as guilty as Cain.' Ranulf laughed drily. 'But I'll never accept that they are not looking for the treasure.' 'Continue,' Corbett murmured.

Ranulf grinned sheepishly over his shoulder at Maltote.

'It was our young messenger here who gave me the idea. Maltote comes from peasant stock. His father was a villein on a manor something like this. Now, you know the manor system, everything is recorded, everything is written down. Surely, our fat physician, with his love of antiquities, has discovered something about Alan of the Marsh?'

Corbett threw the blankets back and gingerly climbed out of the bed.

'I'm going to shave and dress,' he declared. 'Then I want Selditch up here.'

An hour later, when Corbett was ready, Ranulf ushered Selditch into the chamber. The physician's nervousness only increased when he saw Corbett dressed and waiting.

'Master Selditch,' Corbett began, 'I'll come swiftly to the point. I suspect Alan of the Marsh was a tenant of these parts, and perhaps even Holcombe. What have you discovered about both this precious pair?'

The physician was about to refuse to answer. Corbett leaned over and gripped him by the hand.

'I want to know,' he said quietly. 'I want to know everything. Otherwise I will seize all of Sir Simon's records -his list of rents, taxes, dues and imposts. I'll spend days going through them. If I find there is something you haven't told me, as God is my witness, you will rue the day!' Corbett touched the top of his head. 'Yesterday I was nearly murdered. My patience is running out!'

Selditch fluttered his fingers nervously.

'Holcombe was a tenant farmer outside Bishop's Lynn,' he replied slowly. 'Alan was a native of these parts. There's really very little in the records.' He shuffled his feet.

'How did Alan earn his bread?' Ranulf asked.

'He was steward of the manor.'

'And what does that mean?' Corbett asked.

'He would ride round collecting the manor lord's dues and carry messages and orders.'

'So, he would know the countryside?'

'Oh, yes.'

'And all the hideaways and the secret places?' Selditch nodded.

'Is there anything I should know?'

The physician blinked. 'According to one of the rolls of the manorial court,' he answered slowly, 'two years before King John lost his treasure in the Wash, allegations were laid against Alan of being a smuggler.'

Corbett groaned and hid his face in his hands. He looked up.

'Is there anything else?'

Selditch shook his head, so Corbett dismissed him.

'What's the matter?' Ranulf asked anxiously as the physician closed the door behind him.

'Oh, for God's sake, Ranulf! Can't you see for yourself? Alan of the Marsh and Holcombe planned to steal King John's treasure. A hasty plan, probably concocted once Holcombe knew that he had been hired to guide the treasure train across the Wash. The plan is, however, successful. Holcombe steals the treasure and meets his accomplice at some lonely place. Now they hide most of their plunder; some they take, perhaps to raise ready cash.' Corbett paused to marshal his thoughts. 'Holcombe, however, is suspected. He's hunted down by the Gurneys, who question then execute him and bury his corpse ignominiously with the little treasure he was carrying.' Corbett paused and smoothed the table with the top of his hand. 'Now, of course, it's all supposed to be a secret but gossip and rumours spread. Alan of the Marsh decides to flee. He hides the treasure.' Corbett glanced at Ranulf. 'What would he do next?' 'Try and leave the country?'