Paul Doherty - Satan's Fire

‘You went to Outremer!’ Corbett exclaimed.

‘Oh, yes. Three years in all. But we came back rich. We bought the tavern across the alleyway: Robard became a landlord, an ale-master and a taverner. My parents were dead. I became his wife, but old habits die hard, Sir Hugh. Once the rogues of the city knew he was home, we were never left alone. Robard would receive visitors at the dead of night but he always kept within the law.’ She laughed self-consciously. ‘Or nearly so. Once again we were drawn into counterfeiting but, this time, I swear to God, I was not party to it. Now pride always goes before a fall. The king’s justices returned to York, a grand jury was convened, and allegations were laid against my husband.’

Claverley interrupted. ‘Twice convicted, Robard would have hanged. Moreover, his first crimes were still remembered. Dame Jocasta came before the sheriffs and a secret pact was made. Robard would receive a pardon but Jocasta swore a great oath that in future she would let the sheriffs and thief-takers know of crimes and felonies being planned in the city.’

‘I turned king’s evidence,’ Dame Jocasta quietly added. ‘And my husband never knew. Oh, I was selective. I still am. The little foists, the petty criminals, I ignore, but not those who kill and maim, the rapists and violators of churches. As any tavern-keeper does, I hear the whispers and I pass them on. .’

‘But your husband never knew?’

‘Never,’ Jocasta declared. ‘And nor does anyone else except Claverley.’ Her face became hard. ‘I don’t dress in widow’s weeds.’ She tapped her chest. ‘Robard’s still here. I close my eyes and I can hear him singing. At night, if I turn on the bolster, I see his face smiling at me. He wasn’t a bad man, Sir Hugh, but oh, Lord save us, he loved mischief.’

‘And yet you tell us now?’ Corbett asked.

‘Before I left York to meet you, Sir Hugh,’ Claverley interrupted, ‘I came here. If Limner refused to help you, Dame Jocasta promised she would.’ He shrugged and turned to the woman. ‘But Limner’s hanged,’ he announced flatly.

‘God grant him safe passage.’

‘Dame Jocasta and I have known each other for years,’ Claverley explained. ‘True,’ he wagged a finger, ‘the art of counterfeiting may well be a subtle one but, in this city, Dame Jocasta knows everything about it.’

Corbett stared through the window at the far end of the room and watched the sunshine die. A wild thought occurred to him: what if Jocasta was the master counterfeiter?

‘I couldn’t do it,’ she declared, as if reading his thoughts. ‘I don’t have a forge or the precious metal. More importantly, I know all the secret whispers. Yet, I’ve heard nothing.’ She held the coin up. ‘And, believe me, tongues would certainly clack about this.’

Corbett cleared his throat and glanced away in embarrassment.

‘So, how is it done?’ Ranulf asked. ‘Who’s responsible?’

Jocasta put her cup down. ‘Sir Hugh, I have never seen a coin like this before. Most counterfeiters debase the king’s coin, yes?’

Corbett agreed.

‘So, why should someone produce gold coins except. .’ She paused.

‘Except what?’

‘Well, let us say, Sir Hugh, you found a pot of gold. No, not at the end of a rainbow, but a treasure trove: cups, mazers, ewers, crosses. What would you do?’

‘I’d take it to the sheriffs or the royal justices.’

Dame Jocasta laughed: Claverley and Ranulf joined in. The old woman shook her head.

‘I am not mocking you, Sir Hugh; you are an honest man.’ Her face became serious. ‘But what would happen then?’

Now Corbett smiled. ‘Well, the royal clerks would seize the gold. They’d examine it then come back and interrogate me.’

‘And how long would that last?’

‘A year, maybe even two: until I’d proved both my innocence and that the gold was truly treasure trove.’

‘So!’ Jocasta exclaimed. ‘You found some treasure. You are honest but the king’s clerks take it and all you get is a sea of troubles.’

‘Aye,’ Corbett added. ‘And at the end of it all, half of what I found, though, knowing the Exchequer officials as I do, I’d be lucky if I got a quarter.’

‘So,’ Ranulf spoke up. ‘Dame Jocasta, this gold.’ He paused. ‘By the way, Master, Maltote has not returned.’

‘Oh, he’s probably in the tavern,’ Corbett replied. ‘You know Maltote: he’ll be talking horses with the stable boy and grooms and downing tankards as if his life depended on it. What were you going to say?’

‘Someone in York,’ Ranulf continued, ‘has found a treasure trove, melted it down and made coins. He has then used those coins to buy comforts and luxuries for himself.’

‘Precisely,’ Dame Jocasta agreed. ‘It’s the only way. If you take gold and silver objects to a goldsmith, you immediately become suspect, either as a felon or someone who’s found treasure trove and is flouting the king’s rights in the matter. Now, such treasure is easy to trace. No goldsmith would be party to that.’ She played with the coin in her hand. ‘Whoever made this has a very good forge and the means to buy all the coining tools.’

‘But wouldn’t anyone become suspicious?’ Claverley asked. ‘If gold vessels can be traced back to their original owner, so can gold coins.’

‘Not if fifty or sixty appeared at the same time,’ Jocasta replied. ‘And that’s what Robard used to do with his counterfeit coins. The more you distribute, the safer you are. The man who counterfeited these coins did the same. He must have the means to move round York and bring these coins into circulation without raising suspicion.’ She rubbed the coin between her fingers. ‘And that’s the whole beauty of it. All a goldsmith and a banker will do is weigh coins on a scale. After all, its not their fault if these coins end up in their possession. They have become party to the crime but can act the innocent. They have sold foodstuffs or cloths, wines or whatever. They have a right to be paid: the coins are accepted and people become forgetful.’

Corbett leaned back in the chair. ‘Brilliant,’ he whispered. ‘You find gold. You melt it down into coins, you distribute them and, by doing so, bring everyone else into your game. At the same time you evade the law and become very, very rich.’ He looked at Dame Jocasta. ‘And you have no idea. .?’

‘Don’t stare at me like that, Clerk,’ she teased back. ‘This counterfeiter is no ruffian or miscreant clipping coins or melting them down over a charcoal fire. This cunning man is very wealthy: he has the means and the wherewithal.’

‘But couldn’t the coins be traced?’ Ranulf asked insistently. ‘Someone, somewhere, would remember?’

Dame Jocasta pointed to Corbett’s purse. ‘Master Clerk, you have good silver there? Can you remember exactly which coin was given to you by what person?’

‘But I’d remember a gold coin,’ Ranulf replied.

‘Would you?’ Jocasta retorted. ‘If you thought it might be seized and taken away from you? However,’ she handed the coin back to Corbett, ‘you have a point. This counterfeiter probably doesn’t use coins to buy anything from city merchants. After all, anyone paying gold here and there would eventually be recognised.’

‘So?’ Corbett asked.

Dame Jocasta looked into the flames of the fire. She watched the small, sweet-smelling pine logs crackle and snap on their charcoal bed.

‘I wish Robard was here,’ she whispered. ‘He’d know.’ She glanced up quickly. ‘You are staying at Framlingham, the Templar manor?’

Corbett nodded.

‘Why not start there?’ Jocasta murmured. ‘The Templars have the means: woods and copses to hide a secret forge. They import foodstuffs and goods from abroad. They have connections with bankers and goldsmiths. And, unless I am mistaken, this gold appeared at the time the Templars arrived in York.’