Paul Doherty - Satan's Fire

Corbett paused and sipped from the excellent wine Seagrave had served when he mistakenly thought the clerk had just arrived on a courtesy visit.

‘Now,’ Corbett struck his breast, ‘I made a mistake. I thought it might be the Templars. They are always applying for licences to refurbish their tenements in York. They have the licence to import goods from abroad and, of course, they have their own forges and ironsmiths. But why should the Templars incur royal anger?’

Corbett paused. He felt truly sorry for this fat merchant whose greed had got the better of him. ‘However, the same applies to you, Master Seagrave. You have at least two forges at the Greenmantle. You have also applied for a licence to build on an adjoining piece of waste land. Before I left Framlingham I scrutinised the steward’s accounts. You offer a price well above the market value for the wasteland on the other side of your tavern.’

Seagrave opened his mouth but then put his face in his hands.

‘The mistake I made,’ Corbett continued remorselessly, ‘was assuming that the guilty party must have applied for a licence to import from abroad. But, as the King’s own vintner in his royal city of York, you need no such licence. Foreign ships bring the wine down the Ouse, they unload their barrels, and you paid them with these gold coins.’

‘You don’t want that field for more buildings,’ Ranulf intervened, ‘but because it might contain more treasure trove.’

‘You made one mistake,’ Corbett added. ‘The die casts you used to make your wax seals, you also used to mint the gold. On a few of the coins some of the red wax is still embedded, very deeply in the rim.’

‘There are other merchants,’ Seagrave mumbled, not raising his head. He dragged his hands across the table and Corbett saw the sweat-marks left by his fingers.

‘Master Seagrave,’ Claverley spoke up, ‘you are an important burgess. A merchant prince. Your tavern is famous, not only in York but well beyond the city walls. You were born and bred here. You have heard the stories: how once the Romans had a great city here and, in the time before Alfred, the Vikings turned the city into a great fortress where they piled their plunder. Such treasure trove is common — the odd cup, a few coins. But what did you find?’

‘We can go away,’ Corbett added. ‘And come back with the king’s soldiers. They will tear this tavern apart, dig up every inch of soil.’ He leaned against the table. ‘Master Seagrave, look at me.’

The merchant glanced up fearfully. ‘It was so easy,’ he muttered. ‘Different merchants at different times. I knew they’d keep their mouths shut. After all, Sir Hugh, who objects to being paid in gold? But you found wax engrained in the rim?’

Corbett nodded.

‘Well, God knows how that got there.’ Seagrave got to his feet, pushing his chair back. He smiled sourly as Claverley’s hand went to his dagger. ‘Don’t worry, Under-sheriff, I am not going to flee or do anything stupid. I want to show you what I found.’

The merchant left the counting-house. A few minutes later he came staggering back with a small chest about two feet long and a foot high. He dropped this on the table with a crash and threw back the lid.

‘Sweet God and all his angels!’ Ranulf exclaimed, staring at the gold coins which lay heaped there.

‘There’s more,’ Seagrave added.

He went out and returned with a leather sack. He undid the cord at the neck and spilled the precious objects on to the table: a gold, jewel-encrusted pyx, a drinking horn inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Two small goblets, the cups thick with silver. An agnus dei of pure jade, a pectoral cross, amethysts gleaming in each of the four stems.

‘Riches in abundance,’ Seagrave murmured. ‘I found it all about three months ago when the builders were digging in the garden. They paused because of the snow and frost. I went out to inspect. My children were playing in the trench: they’d pulled a piece of paving stone away from the side of the hole which had strange markings on it. I got down and investigated.’ Seagrave paused. ‘I don’t know whether it was a sewer or a pipe made of elm. I put my hand inside.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought I was dreaming. I pulled out one bag after another, all full of coins.’ He slumped down. ‘For God’s sake, Sir Hugh, I couldn’t mint coins like that.’

‘But they look so new!’ Corbett exclaimed. ‘The cross on each side, the red wax on the rim.’

‘I made my own inquiries amongst the chronicles and histories of the city,’ Seagrave replied. ‘Once York was called Jorvik; the Viking war gangs set up camp here.’ He pointed to the precious objects which lay gleaming on the table. ‘Perhaps some chieftain took church gold and melted it down and, being superstitious, carved a cross on either side.’

‘Candlesticks,’ Claverley explained. ‘Sir Hugh, they must have been candlesticks, which explains the red wax.’

Corbett lifted up the gold and let the coins run through his fingers.

‘Strange,’ he murmured. ‘In my cleverness I thought the coins were newly minted.’

‘They are,’ Seagrave replied. ‘Whoever made those coins, Sir Hugh, never used them but hid them away with the rest of the treasure. They must have brought him the same ill luck as they did me. The wooden pipes were scorched, as was the earth around it. I didn’t know what to do,’ he continued. ‘I was tired of poor silver coins and, if I handed them over to the Exchequer, what recompense would I have got? Royal officials questioning me, hinting I may have stolen it, using every legal nicety to keep the treasure to themselves. How much of this, Sir Hugh, would have found its way into the royal treasury? Kings’ clerks are no different from Kings’ vintners: everyone has sticky fingers.’

‘You could have petitioned the king yourself,’ Corbett retorted.

‘I thought of that,’ Seagrave replied, ‘the day you came here. I nearly broke down and confessed but. .’ He shrugged. ‘I was committed. I’d waited until the king arrived in York. The great lords, the royal household, clerks, liveried retainers, so many strangers in the city, an opportune time to spend that gold. Royal purveyors were out buying the goods, the markets were doing a roaring trade.’ Seagrave’s face crumpled, tears rolling down his ashen cheeks. ‘Now I have lost everything,’ he muttered.

Suddenly the door to the counting-house was flung open and Seagrave’s wife entered, two small children clinging to her skirts.

‘What will happen?’ Her pretty face was now drawn, her eyes dark pools of fear.

‘Wait outside, Mistress Seagrave,’ Corbett replied. ‘The king wants his treasure, not a man’s life. What your husband has done is understandable.’

Corbett waited until the door closed. Seagrave had now dried his eyes and was looking expectantly at him.

‘What you must do, Master Seagrave,’ Corbett declared gently, ‘is seek an audience with the king. Take the treasure with you. Do not mention me or my visit here. .’ Corbett paused. ‘No, tell him I supped here and that you asked would it be possible to see His Grace.’

‘And then what?’ Seagrave asked anxiously.

‘Throw yourself on the royal mercy,’ Corbett continued. ‘And then open the sacks. Believe me, Master Seagrave, the king will kiss you as a brother, provided you hand over everything!’

‘You mean. .’ Seagrave gabbled.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, man!’ Corbett exclaimed. ‘You found some gold and spent some of it: that will be taken from your share.’

‘Then there will be no fine, no imprisonment?’ Seagrave exclaimed.

Corbett got to his feet. ‘Master Seagrave,’ he replied drily, ‘if you play your part well, you’ll probably be knighted.’