Paul Doherty: Song of a Dark Angel

'Correct. Now, he is a smuggler like many in these parts. He faces, however, a number of difficulties – hiding, securing a passage, then moving the treasure without anyone knowing. Very dangerous, because he knows he's a wanted man.'

Ranulf shrugged. 'Perhaps he just died?'

Corbett shook his head. 'What about the other possibility? What if Alan of the Marsh was successful? What if he fled abroad, taking the treasure with him to live a life of luxury beyond the Rhine or in southern France? Don't you realize, Ranulf, we could be chasing will-o'-the-wisps.'

'So, why all the mystery?' Ranulf exclaimed. 'Why the murders?'

Corbett rubbed the side of his face. 'I can't answer that. All I do believe is that someone else, or a group of people, is also looking for the treasure.' Corbett sighed. 'However, they too may be chasing will-o'-the-wisps.' Corbett picked up a piece of parchment. 'What we must do is establish a pattern. Yet, what do we have? Dead flowers left under a gallows. A poor baker's wife murdered. Cerdic Lickspittle decapitated, his remains tossed on the beach. Graves being pillaged and Monck murdered out on the moors.'

'Well, at least,' Maltote interrupted 'we have arrested the Pastoureaux and discovered the person responsible for Marina's death.'

Corbett chewed the quick of his thumb.

'Yes, we have,' he muttered. 'But those bastards may also have been looking for the treasure.' He went back, lay on the bed and stared up at the timbered ceiling.

'And we mustn't forget the lights, the strange signalling between ship and shore,' Ranulf added.

'No, no,' Corbett murmured. He turned. 'I have an explanation for that, though it's hard both to swallow and digest. Anyway, leave me for a while.'

Ranulf and Maltote went down to the hall, whispering excitedly about their master's strange mood. Corbett chewed his lip and stared at the ceiling. For some reason he kept thinking of the love-message given him by Culpeper the miller: Amor Haesitat, Amor Currit. And was there something else? Something he had seen or thought about, whilst running across that beach? Corbett closed his eyes. And what had Ranulf told him about that boat beached and hidden away? He smiled as he remembered his logic, a common axiom in the schools: 'If you reduce all matters and reach one conclusion, that conclusion must be the only acceptable one. Consequently, you have discovered the truth.'

'Well, let's test it,' Corbett murmured.

He swung his legs off the bed, grabbed his riding boots and cloak and went out, shouting for Ranulf and Maltote.

They collected their horses from the stables and rode out on to the moor to the Hermitage. Maltote tended the horses whilst Corbett and Ranulf went into the old malt house. As soon as they were inside, Ranulf sniffed.

'I can smell the perfume. It's rather strong. Very similar, I am sure, to what Lady Alice wears.'

'Yes,' Corbett replied. 'I smelled it just before I was struck on the head. Come on, I'll show you what I found.'

He gathered some dry straw and led Ranulf down to the cellar. Corbett placed the straw at the base of the wall and struck a tinder but, when it flared into life, Corbett stared in disbelief at the wall. What he had previously seen had now disappeared, scorched off.

'Someone used a torch,' he murmured. 'Someone lit a torch and brushed the wall.' Corbett pointed to the burn marks and described what he had seen.

'Whatever it was,' Ranulf spluttered, 'it must have been important.'

Corbett and he returned to the yard.

'Let's say,' Corbett declared, staring up to where the seagulls circled, raucously screaming at being disturbed, 'Let's say we had stolen the gold. Where would you hide it?'

'Well, not in a place like this,' Ranulf answered.

'Why is that?'

'Any place visited by others is dangerous. Sooner or later, someone may be fortunate, or skilled enough, to discover where you hid the treasure.'

'But to bury it out on the moors,' Corbett said, 'is dangerous too. You might be seen burying it and there's always the possibility that you might forget exactly where you concealed it.' He mounted his horse. 'But now, Ranulf, on to a different sort of digging – let's go and upset the prioress.'

They arrived at the Holy Cross convent, where Dame Cecily kept them waiting for a while in an antechamber. When they were eventually ushered into her room she greeted them with such a false smile that Ranulf felt his stomach lurch.

'Well, how can we help you now, Sir Hugh?' she simpered. 'I was so shocked to hear about the Pastoureaux. Such a dreadful business. What evil men!'

'Yes, they were smugglers,' Corbett said. 'They smuggled out human flesh for sale in all the devil-ridden markets of the world.' He leaned forward. 'Smuggling is a sin, isn't it?'

The prioress blinked, her doughy face paled.

'Yes, it is a sin,' Corbett continued, 'and a crime – in the evasion of taxes and the infringement of royal authority, so that's how you can help me. You can tell me why you are a smuggler?'

Dame Cecily grabbed the desk to steady herself. 'What is this?' she spluttered.

Ranulf wished that Maltote were here instead of guarding the horses in the stable yard. Dame Cecily's mouth opened and closed.

'Are you accusing me of smuggling?'

'Yes, I am,' Corbett replied, hoping he was correct in his deductions.

'And, pray, what do I smuggle? '

'Yes, you should prayl'Corbett snapped. 'You should pray that the king has mercy on you. You should pray for royal clemency and the forgiveness of your bishop.' He leaned forward. 'You are a smuggler. You own sheep, you have shearing-sheds, you load the wool into bales and your carters take it down to the custom house at Bishop's Lynn. Now, let us say you have three hundred bales. Two hundred and fifty go through customs and are loaded on board ship at Bishop's Lynn. The ship leaves harbour, probably on the evening tide. Standing off the coast it heads towards Flanders. But instead of sailing across the Channel it anchors off the Norfolk coast and takes aboard the other fifty bales. Whether it sends a boat to the shore or whether a boat is rowed out to it from here, I don't know. You are paid in cash and pay no duty. The ship's captain makes a healthy profit in Flemish ports.'

'This is ridiculous,' the prioress exclaimed.

'No, it's the truth. So now we come to the death of Dame Agnes. She was the treasurer of this priory and every so often she would go for a walk on the cliff top. She would take a staff and a lantern. Most people viewed her as eccentric. In reality, she was signalling to a ship. I believe you even have a small boat in the cove to help you in your nefarious business arrangements.' Corbett got to his feet and walked over to stare at a painting. 'One night, however, tragedy occurred.' He turned, raising one hand. 'Oh, I agree, no foul play was involved, but Dame Agnes was getting old. Perhaps the cliff was beginning to crumble or the wind was too strong? Anyway, the good sister stumbled and fell to her death.' Corbett looked over his shoulder and smiled. 'She was the treasurer to this house and, in time, will be replaced. Your smuggling activities will undoubtedly continue, once snooping royal clerks disappear.'

'You have no proof,' the prioress snarled.

'But I have,' Corbett lied. 'I have interviewed one of the ships' captains. He has confessed all.' Corbett walked back, playing with the hilt of his dagger. 'Perhaps I should also question some of your retainers, particularly those who are so well paid for rowing that boat out?'

Dame Cecily could take no more. She put her head down and sobbed.

'Madam,' Corbett said quietly.

Dame Cecily raised her tear-stained face. 'We have always done this,' she whispered. 'And, Sir Hugh, can you blame us? The taxes are so heavy. Our profits are cut.'