Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

Corbett glanced around the luxurious chamber.

'You could make economies,' he murmured.

Dame Cecily composed herself. 'What will you do, Sir Hugh? Inform the king?'

'Not necessarily,' Corbett replied. 'Provided two conditions are fulfilled.' He saw the hope flare in the prioress's black-button eyes.

'Which are?'

'First, that the smuggling must cease forthwith. Secondly, that you tell me what you know of Alan of the Marsh.'

Dame Cecily burst into tears, her shoulders shaking so much that even Ranulf felt sorry for her.

'Madam,' Corbett asked. 'Why should a man who died so many years ago trouble you?'

Dame Cecily rose to her feet. She grasped the ring of keys hanging from the belt at her waist and walked over to a large, iron-bound coffer. She opened it, brought out a small roll of yellowing parchment and handed it to Corbett.

'Read it, Sir Hugh. It is a piece removed from the chronicles of our convent that only the prioress of the day is permitted to see.'

Corbett took the parchment over to the window, where the light was stronger. He saw that the convent's chronicle must be a roll of parchment made up of pieces stitched together. The portion he held in his hand had been carefully removed so that the loose ends of the chronicle itself could be re-stitched, leaving no sign that a piece was missing.

Dame Cecily moved towards the door. 'I'll return,' she said. 'I have something else to show you.'

Corbett shrugged and began to read, studying the blue-green lettering, quickly translating the Latin.

'Does it mention Alan of the Marsh?' Ranulf asked.

'No, it doesn't.'

'Then what use is it to us?'

'It is very useful indeed. Listen to this. It's dated August 1217, almost a year after King John lost his treasure in the Wash. In that month a fugitive took refuge in the convent. He reached the chapel and grasped the high altar, claiming sanctuary, which the prioress of the time granted. The fugitive demanded food and water and claimed his right to remain for the statutory forty days. But listen to this, Ranulf. It becomes more interesting. Sir Ralph Gurney came to the convent looking for a fugitive who was held responsible for the disappearance of a priest called James. The lady prioress told him that she had no knowledge of such a felon.' Corbett walked to the table and tossed the parchment down. 'Is that all?' Ranulf cried.

'It's enough,' Corbett answered. 'But I am sure Dame Cecily can tell us more.'

'Who is this priest, Father James?' Ranulf asked.

'God knows!' Corbett replied morosely.

'Why did they put such an item in their chronicle?' Ranulf persisted. 'And then remove it?'

Corbett clapped him on the shoulder. 'A good question, Ranulf. I suspect that something happened between the fugitive claiming sanctuary and the arrival of Lord Simon's great-grandfather. The two events were routinely recorded, but it's what linked the two that led to this portion of the chronicle being removed. Perhaps Dame Cecily may provide that link?'

Eventually the prioress returned. She hurried behind her desk and brought from beneath her robe a velvet bag tied at the neck. She undid this and brought out a gold chalice, which shone and sparkled in the candlelight. Ranulf gasped at the sheer beauty of it.

'Pure gold!' Ranulf breathed. He watched enviously as the prioress handed it to Corbett. 'Look at those diamonds!' Ranulf pointed to the precious stones which encrusted the lip and stem of the chalice.

Corbett weighed the cup in his hand.

'I've read your manuscript.'

Dame Cecily sat down and sighed in resignation.

'And now you know all our secrets, Sir Hugh.'

Corbett put the chalice back on the table. 'I think so. Alan of the Marsh was the fugitive. He was well known to Holy Cross convent. After all, he was steward of Mortlake Manor and would often have dealings with the good sisters here. Indeed, Alan may well have had a hand in the smuggling which' – he laughed abruptly – 'seems to be one of the occupations of this house. However, he was also a thief. He and his accomplice Holcombe had plundered the royal treasure. They would have escaped unnoticed if it hadn't been for the vigilance of Sir Richard Gurney. Holcombe was taken and hanged. Alan went into hiding.' Corbett picked up the chalice and stared at it. 'Now Alan of the Marsh was like the unjust steward in the gospel. He was trapped by the law and his own greed. He couldn't escape through the ports with so much treasure – no ship's master who discovered how much wealth he carried would allow him to live. Corbett stared at the white-faced prioress. 'Now, for a while Alan hid out at the Hermitage but the net was closing in fast. He searched around for a place to hide.'

'He came here?' Ranulf asked.

'Yes, he came here. He knew the law of sanctuary and the then prioress would not deny him.' Corbett put the cup down. 'Am I speaking the truth?'

Dame Cecily nodded.

'So,' Corbett continued, 'while Alan was in hiding at the priory he and the prioress entered into a secret pact. I am sure Alan pointed out that if he was captured he would have to tell the authorities about the smuggling activities of the good sisters here. Of course, he bribed as well as threatened. He had stolen this precious chalice from King John's treasure. He offered it to the prioress as the convent's reward for hiding him.' Corbett glanced at Dame Cecily. 'I gather this is used at Mass?'

'Yes,' she murmured. 'We say it was a bequest.'

'Now, everything proceeded satisfactorily,' Corbett continued. 'The convent kept its smuggling activities hidden and gained a very valuable chalice. But what happened to Alan of the Marsh?' Corbett rubbed the side of his head, still sore after the blow the previous day. He got to his feet and stretched. 'What will happen if the king learns about all this, eh? Well, I'll tell you, Dame Cecily, he would send my Lord of Surrey here to tear this place apart, in the hope of finding his grandfather's treasure trove.'

'But that's all we have!' Dame Cecily wailed.

'Oh, no!' Corbett murmured. 'You also have Alan of the Marsh.'

Dame Cecily's face fell. 'But the man is dead!'

'Oh, I am sure he's dead.' Corbett put his hands on the table and leaned over. 'Don't you see? The prioress who sheltered this fugitive and took the chalice is hardly going to let Alan leave, is she? Why not keep him here? Why not see if she could wheedle more gold out of him? Tell me, Dame Cecily, what would you do if you were confronted with such a problem?'

'I don't know,' she spluttered. 'I'd be terrified.' She squirmed in her chair. Corbett sat down.

'Let's look at it as a logical problem, then,' Corbett said. 'You know the convent better than I do, Dame Cecily. Where would you hide a man in a community of women?'

She shrugged. 'He could have become one of the workers on our farm?'

Corbett laughed. 'I hardly think so. First, Alan of the Marsh was well known in the area. Secondly, the then prioress must have been very eager to keep him away from prying eyes.'

'I don't know!' Dame Cecily wailed. 'As God is my witness, Sir Hugh, I do not know!'

Corbett steepled his fingers. 'Do you still have the right of sanctuary?'

Dame Cecily swallowed hard.

'Well, do you?' Corbett snapped.

'Our house surrendered it.'

'When?'

'In 1228.'

Corbett smiled. 'And before that, when someone claimed sanctuary, where would they have stayed?'

Dame Cecily rose to her feet. 'Sir Hugh, I think you had better come with me.'

Corbett raised his eyes at Ranulf as they followed the anxious prioress out of her chamber, along the galleries, across the cloisters and into the empty chapel. Corbett stared around in amazement at the soaring nave, wide transepts and beautifully carved rood screen. Dame Cecily took them into the sanctuary, where the floor was of Purbeck marble and the white altar glistened in the light of burning candles. The sanctuary was dominated by long, stained-glass windows and, high in the wall, on either side, stood stalls of gleaming oak. An intricately carved wooden statue of the Virgin and child stood in the far corner. Dame Cecily genuflected before the winking sanctuary lamp.