by Paul Doherty
'You mean Sir Simon Gurney?'
'It's possible, but we suspect the Pastoureaux. Their leader is a man called…' Edward closed his eyes.
'Master, Joseph,' Corbett reminded him.
'Yes, Master Joseph. And he regularly visits London. He may have been born there. Now, when we looked at Hunstanton, we asked ourselves what of significance had happened in the area about the same time as the gold appeared.' Edward smiled. 'The arrival of the Pastoureaux could not be ignored.'
'But how would Master Joseph know?'
'That, my dear clerk,' de Warenne answered, 'is a matter of conjecture. However, what a marvellous way of searching for the gold and silver, posing as a leader of a religious community!'
'And what has Monck discovered?' Corbett asked.
'Very little,' the king replied sourly. 'That's why we sent you. Monck was furious.' The king grasped Corbett's wrist. 'Will you do this for me, Hugh? Will you go back and find grandfather's treasure?'
Corbett nodded. The king heaved a sigh of relief. He got to his feet and clapped Corbett on the shoulder.
'In which case, we will leave you to your thoughts. It's Vespers and I must have a few words with God.'
The king beckoned to de Warenne to follow him. Corbett heard the door close behind them. He went over and absent-mindedly refilled his cup. Thank God, he thought, that Edward had not asked him about his suspicions, which were many and included more than just the Pastoureaux. Corbett sipped at his wine. Is that why the graves have been dug up? he wondered. Could the treasure be buried in the churchyard? Did it explain the ostentatious wealth of the Holy Cross convent? What about Robert the reeve? Had he stumbled upon something? And what of the Gurneys? Sir Simon was a rich man. Finally, the Pastoureaux – were they really searching for gold? Was that why Marina had died? And did Ranulf remember Master Joseph because he had come across him in London? Corbett sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
He returned to Mortlake late the following evening to discover Gurney fretting because Monck had not returned from the moors.
'When did he leave?' Corbett asked, doffing his cloak and easing off his boots in front of the fire.
'Yesterday afternoon. I have made enquiries. He was seen last night galloping through the village. I told Catchpole and some of my servants to go out and search the moors, but they can't find him.'
'And Ranulf?' Corbett asked.
'He and Maltote have retired. They said they were exhausted.'
Corbett nodded and stretched his aching feet towards the fire. He glanced across the hearth to where Alice and Selditch sat drinking mulled wine.
'Did Monck ever tell you,' Corbett quietly began, 'why he was really here?'
'He said it was because of the Pastoureaux.'
Corbett rose, went across and closed the hall doors. He came back but this time he did not sit down but stared at Gurney, his wife and the sly, secretive face of the physician.
'Lavinius Monck came to Mortlake Manor,' Corbett explained, 'not because of the Pastoureaux but because of more ancient history, the lost treasure of King John.'
Corbett hit his mark. Alice looked up startled. The physician's head went down to conceal his features. Gurney's hand immediately went to his face as if he wished to smooth away his anxious frown. Corbett sat down.
'You knew, didn't you? You knew, or at least you suspected?'
'Aye.' Gurney shrugged. 'Of course I did. As soon as they arrived here, Monck and Lickspittle demanded to search the manorial rolls and court records.'
'Why?' Corbett asked. 'Is there anything there about the lost treasure?'
Gurney shook his head.
'Sir Simon,' Corbett persisted. 'You know the story. Your great-grandfather accompanied King John when he crossed the Wash. He journeyed with the king as far as Swynesford Abbey before returning here. You must have heard the legends about John Holcombe, the guide who may have escaped with some of the treasure. The king is determined to find this treasure. Did Monck tell you why?'
Again Gurney shook his head, but his eyes never left those of Corbett.
'Because some of the plate, which is supposed to lie under the sands of the Wash, has recently surfaced on the London markets. Somebody knows where that treasure is hidden and is already selling it.'
His three listeners sat frozen in their chairs.
'I believe,' Corbett continued, 'that someone in this manor is selling the treasure. I want the truth. Terrible deaths are occurring, horrible murders. Now, Sir Simon, on your allegiance to the king, do you know anything about the treasure?'
'No, he doesn't. But yes, I do!' Selditch sprang to his feet. 'Giles, there's no need!' Gurney said.
The physician rubbed his face with his hands. 'I'd rather tell Corbett than Monck. It's best if charges were not laid against you.'
'Master Selditch!' Gurney ordered. 'Sit down and keep quiet!'
The physician looked at Corbett.
'You'd have found out sooner or later,' he said. 'You, with your sharp eyes and silent ways. I sold the plate in London.' He laughed sourly. 'After all, I am a physician; I go to London regularly to meet friends as well as to purchase goods, those potions and powders that can only be bought there. I was also born in London, a fact you would have soon discovered, so I know the city well.' Selditch's voice was edged with bitterness. 'Especially the pawnbrokers. I was born poor. My parents could ill afford my education, so those tawdry little merchants knew me well.'
'There's no need for this,' Gurney interrupted quietly.
'I am sorry, Sir Simon, there is. Every need.' Selditch took a deep breath. 'Sir Hugh, I entered Sir Simon's household. He proved to be a generous lord. When we left the king's service his home became mine.' The physician paused and stared around the richly furnished hall. 'I became fascinated with the place. I searched every nook and cranny. I read every document in the manorial archives until I discovered Mortlake's great secret.' Selditch looked at Gurney. 'It's best if Corbett sees what we know.'
Gurney quickly agreed. He told his wife to stay in the hall whilst he and Selditch led a bemused Corbett down into the underground passageways. Torches were lit. They continued along the hollow, cavernous passage past Gilbert's cell. Corbett peered through the door's spyhole, but the young man was fast asleep on what appeared to be a most comfortable bed. At the end of the passage, the physician pulled away a large beer barrel revealing a narrow doorway. He took a key from his belt and unlocked the door and they entered a long tunnel. The air was much colder and Corbett was sure he could hear the rumble of the sea. With the physician in front and Gurney behind, Corbett realized how vulnerable he was and wished Ranulf was with him. He put his hand on his dagger and, as the ground underfoot became slippery, wished he had not changed his boots for soft leather buskins. His heart began to pound and the sweat broke out on his brow, for the passageway was narrow, so tight it almost felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Corbett breathed deeply. He fixed his gaze on the spluttering torch Selditch carried and quietly prayed for a speedy end to their journey. Suddenly, Gurney and the physician turned a corner. The passageway became broader and led into an underground chamber. Corbett breathed more easily as Selditch lit the torches fixed in the walls of the cavern. The place flared into light. Selditch began to claw at a pile of boulders and stones in the far corner. Gurney went over to help him and Corbett watched fascinated as they pulled out a long pinewood coffin. Gurney undid the clasps and pushed the coffin forward. Corbett gazed at the yellowing skeleton that lay there. He looked up in surprise.
'Who is this? And what is this?'
He glimpsed a leather pouch at the foot of the coffin. He bent down to pick it up, but Gurney was faster. He plucked it out and held it tightly against his chest.
'Who is this?' Corbett repeated.
The hair on the nape of his neck began to prickle. His hand fell to his dagger.
'Oh, Hugh, Hugh,' Gurney murmured. 'We are not your enemies. We are only frightened of what
you might do.' Gurney pointed to the skeleton. 'This is John Holcombe, once a native of Bishop's Lynn. My great-grandfather, Sir Richard Gurney, hired him to lead King John's convoy across the Wash.' Gurney tapped the decaying coffin with the toe of his boot. 'Instead Holcombe took it to its destruction – or at least part of it, the royal treasure train. Apparently, before King John left Wisbech, Holcombe had seen the treasure piled high on sumpter ponies and mules. In the blackness of his soul he devised a murderous plan. The king's convoy was in three parts – the king and the court first, the treasure train and then the foot soldiers. Holcombe was to go in front but on that day he held back. He also, using a heavy mist as his excuse, deliberately delayed the crossing.'
'The rest you know,' Selditch interposed. 'The tides began to sweep in. The treasure's escort panicked. Holcombe rode back. He seized a string of mules and, using his knowledge of the secret paths and routes, escaped with some of the treasure, leaving the rest to be washed away and its guardians drowned.'
Gurney took up the story again. 'Now, when my greatgrandfather reached Swynesford, he began to think about what had happened. He was no fool and, in the last confusing days of King John's reign, he decided to leave the court and hunt Holcombe down. It's a long story.' Gurney played with the leather pouch he held. 'It's all contained in here.'
Corbett held his hand out and Gurney gave him the pouch.
'For you only, Hugh. I don't want that bastard Monck seizing these documents!'
Corbett nodded. 'We'll see,' he murmured. He gestured down at the coffin. 'How did Holcombe end up here?'
'Well, to cut a long story short, my great-grandfather caught him and hanged him on the gallows, the ones you passed on Hunstanton cliffs. Once the flesh was decomposed, he had his corpse placed in a special casket and buried it here.'
'But he told no one?' Corbett asked.
'No, he was ashamed. After all, it was he who had hired Holcombe and he had his enemies. The malicious would whisper that he and Holcombe were accomplices.'
'And what about the treasure?' Corbett asked.
'Ah, that's where the mystery begins. You see, Sir Richard had few sensibilities in the matter. Before he was hanged, Holcombe was tortured in the dungeon you have just passed. He refused to disclose his hiding-place but did admit he'd had an accomplice, a second guide named Alan of the Marsh, the steward here at the manor. According to Holcombe, Alan knew where the treasure was hidden. However, according to my great-grandfather's confession, dictated to his son, this Alan was never found nor the whereabouts of the treasure.'
Corbett pointed to Selditch. 'But you sold three pieces in London?'
'Ah!' Gurney knelt and placed the lid back on the coffin. He looked up at Corbett. 'The disaster at the Wash happened in the October of 1216, but it wasn't until the following February that great-grandfather caught up with Holcombe. When he did, out in the wilds of the moors, Holcombe carried a leather bag containing those three plates. According to my great-grandfather's confession, he thought Holcombe was probably heading for one of the ports to take ship to London or even abroad to sell these pieces.' Gurney got to his feet. 'Now, my great-grandfather had caught Holcombe with a very small portion of the treasure. What could he do? If he handed him over to justice Holcombe might, out of sheer malice, insinuate that my great-grandfather had been an accomplice in his terrible crime. And what could Sir Richard do with the plate? Send it to the exchequer in London and say he had found it? No. He buried it in Holcombe's secret grave in this hollowed-out cavern. No Holcombe, no grave, no treasure. Sir Richard dictated his confession but did not tell his heir where either Holcombe or the precious plate was buried.'
As Gurney finished speaking Corbett looked at Selditch. 'And your part in this?'
Selditch blew his cheeks out in a long sigh.
'I became interested, as I have said, in the history of Mortlake Manor and all its mysterious legends. I opened up the passageways, found this cavern and realized that the stones in the far corner had been disturbed. I pulled out Holcombe's coffin. Inside I found both Sir Richard's confession and three pieces of plate. I told Sir Simon. He said I should put the plate back where I found it. I did, because I wished to protect his good name. But then the king's wars interfered with trade. Sir Simon fell into the hands of moneylenders. I remembered the plates. I took them out, went to London on some pretext and raised enough gold and silver to pay off his creditors.' Selditch spread his hands. 'What I did was wrong. Sir Simon was only told after I returned.' The physician smiled. 'He was angry, but what could he do? The plate had been sold, his creditors paid off.' The physician shrugged his shoulders. 'And I'd settled a long outstanding debt.'
Corbett stared at him.
'What will you do, Hugh?' Gurney asked.
Corbett pulled a face. 'What's the use of going back to the king?' he replied slowly. 'After all, he now has the three pieces of plate. What troubles me is who else could be looking for the rest of the treasure? Are all these mysterious deaths connected to it?' Corbett pushed the leather bag into his belt, stretched out his hand and clasped Gurney's. 'Why should I punish you, Sir Simon? The king wouldn't believe it. As for your physician, a foolish but well-meaning mistake.' He held his hand up. 'But these documents are mine and Monck must not be informed.'
Gurney's gratitude, as well as Selditch's, was almost too embarrassing to tolerate. Once they had all sworn that no one other than Alice, Ranulf and Maltote would be told, Corbett was relieved to be out of the tunnels and back in the privacy of his own chamber. He was exhausted after his journey and the rather tense confrontation in the underground passageways. Corbett glanced at his companions snoring blissfully in their beds and settled down to study the manuscript he had taken from Gurney.
At times Corbett found it difficult. The parchment was yellow with age and the writer, Sir Richard's son, had recorded his father's confession in a scrawling, almost illegible hand. Corbett read the opening sentence: 'In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I, Sir Richard Gurney of Mortlake Manor, confess this in secret, but tell the truth. I call on Christ, his blessed Mother and all the saints to be my witnesses.' The confession then rambled on about the crossing of the Wash, Holcombe's treachery, Lord Richard's shame, his secret pursuit of Holcombe and the latter's capture, torture and slow death by strangulation on the gibbet. Most of the details Corbett already knew, but one statement towards the end caught his attention. It was that Holcombe's accomplice, Alan of the Marsh, was thought to have gone into hiding somewhere in the vicinity of Hunstanton.
Corbett studied the manuscript again, rolled it up and hid it in his saddlebag. He then paced up and down the room, trying to probe the mysteries. What had happened to this Alan of the Marsh? Where was the treasure? Was Sir Simon telling the truth? Did Robert the reeve know something? Or Master Joseph of the Pastoureaux? Corbett breathed deeply. He lay down on his bed and wondered where Monck fitted into all of this.
Chapter 8
Corbett sat up and stared across at Maltote and Ranulf sleeping soundly on their beds. Had they discovered anything during his absence? He wanted to shake them awake, but that would be harsh. He got off the bed, sat at the table and reflected on his recent meeting with the king. What would have happened if he had tendered his resignation and Edward had accepted it? Where would Ranulf go? Could they all settle down on a manor and become farmers? Ranulf was now a clerk and had achieved his ambition. Corbett idly wondered if he should take Maeve's advice and delegate more of his work to Ranulf-atte-Newgate.
'Such matters can wait,' Corbett murmured.
He put his head on his arms for a few seconds and drifted again into sleep. He was dreaming of Leighton and the green fields behind the manor which stretched out to the river Lea. Other images tangled his dream. He could hear someone shouting his name. He opened his eyes and looked up. Ranulf was standing over him, grinning from ear to ear.
'Master, you returned late last night?' Corbett groaned and stretched his aching limbs. He stared at t
he window.
'Lord save us, it's morning!' he murmured.
'Aye,' Ranulf agreed. 'Maltote and I have already been to Mass.' He preened himself, full of virtue. 'We thought of moving you to your bed but you seemed so comfortable. We would have waited up for you,' Ranulf continued, 'but I was teaching Maltote a new game of dice. We had a jug of wine. Two of the maids from the kitchen joined us.' Ranulf shrugged. 'You know how things are, Master?'
'Yes, I bloody well do!' Corbett retorted, getting to his feet.
Behind his back Ranulf pulled a face at Maltote sitting on the edge of his bed.
Corbett stripped, shaved and washed whilst Ranulf laid out fresh robes and linen. As he dressed, Corbett tersely told them what he had discovered the previous evening and described his meeting with the king.
Ranulf's eyes danced with merriment. 'The miserable Monck,' he crowed, 'will eat his heart out!' He handed Corbett his sword belt. 'So there's treasure here?'
'Aye, Ranulf, the king's treasure. And, if we find it, every last penny goes back to the exchequer.'
Not if I can help it, Ranulf thought.
'Isn't there a law?' he protested, looking at Maltote for support.
The messenger nodded wisely, though he had no idea what Ranulf was talking about.
'What law?' Corbett snapped.
'That if you find treasure trove, a quarter of it can be kept by the finder? That's what happened when old Leofric, you know the half-mad priest who lives in chambers by the Tower-'
Ranulf paused as they heard shouting from below and the sound of running footsteps. A servant hammered on the door and burst into the room. 'What's the matter, man?'
'Sir Hugh, you'd best come now! Catchpole has returned. He's brought Master Monck!' 'What do you mean?'