by Paul Doherty
Corbett watched the movement behind the priest.
'Yes,' he said. 'I, too, saw the candle grease and the bruise on Monck's belly where the saddle horn had dug deep. I also noticed his belt was rucked and twisted.'
'I should have killed you!' the priest hissed.
He dragged the now unconscious Alice further along the passageway.
'You were very clever,' Corbett flattered, hoping to distract the priest. 'I suppose you told Monck to go to the convent but not to voice his suspicions to Dame Cecily.'
'Oh, yes.' Father Augustine smirked. 'Of course, once he visited that fat bitch, Monck would know Cerdic had been to see me.' The priest yanked Alice closer to him. 'You, of course, were different. There were three of you. I immediately recognized you, Corbett, for what you are, the king's hunting dog.' The priest smirked. 'I heard about your visit to Bishop's Lynn and changed round the signpost. You wouldn't have been the first travellers to die in some Godforsaken Norfolk marsh.'
'That's when I began to wonder how Monck may have died,' Corbett said. 'Maltote freed me. He threw me a rope to put round the horse's neck so as to pull it from the mire. I widened it to loop round my saddle horn.' Corbett took a step nearer, watching the shadow behind the priest, further down the passageway. 'I really have a lot to thank you for, Father Augustine. After all, only when I raced for my life along the beach did I see the skull etched in the cliffs.'
'Oh, so you know about that?' Father Augustine stared in surprise.
'Yes, and how did you?'
'Now that's my secret,' Father Augustine hissed. He raised his hand and tapped the side of his head. 'And it's all in here. I memorized then destroyed the fruits of my searches.'
He began to walk backwards again, dragging a now unresisting Alice.
'Where are you taking her?' Corbett asked.
'Oh, I am taking her nowhere. I want to ask you one question. After that I am going to kill her and I am going to kill you. The treasure? The skull and the triangle? Let's see if we agree!'
'First, look behind you!'
The priest smirked. 'Don't be stupid!'
'Very well,' Corbett snapped. 'Kill him!'
The smirk faded. Father Augustine turned slightly. As he did, Ranulf fired the crossbow. The bolt smashed into Father Augustine's skull just above the right ear. The priest staggered forward. The knife slipped. Corbett raced forward, pushed him aside and pulled Alice out of his slack grip. The priest stood, a look of stupefaction on his face. He coughed. A trickle of blood spurted out of the corner of his mouth. He sighed, then collapsed to the ground. Corbett laid Alice down gently on a window seat. He felt the side of her neck and the blood beat in her wrist, her hands and face were ice cold. He looked up as Ranulf came padding down the corridor, his face white with fury. He pulled the priest's head back by his hair and Corbett saw the glint of his knife.
'Leave him!' Corbett snapped. 'The bastard's dead! Open the doors and get Sir Simon.'
Ranulf threw the priest's head back, re-sheathed his knife and did as Corbett asked. The next hour all was confusion. Alice was taken back to her chamber with Selditch in attendance, though the physician had to ease his own discomfort with a constant supply of wine. Catchpole was despatched to the priest's house to see what he could find. Gurney instructed his servants to remove the corpse, then sat like a man bemused in front of the fire. He gazed bleakly at Corbett.
'You shouldn't have brought him here. For God's sake, man, why not just arrest him?'
Corbett looked over his shoulder to where Ranulf was supervising the servants.
'What could I do, Sir Simon?' he asked, sitting down. 'Confront him in his own church? God knows what weapons are hidden away there. He could have killed me like he did Cerdic or Monck.'
Corbett described how Father Augustine had murdered Monck. Gurney whistled under his breath.
'All that for some treasure!'
'Why condemn him?' Corbett replied. 'You were looking for it as well. How would you feel if you really thought that treasure was yours, paid for by the blood of your ancestor?'
'But he was priest!'
'He was mad. Even at the end, all he could think of was the treasure. He could no more have escaped from his dream than a prisoner in the deepest dungeon.'
'Do you think he knew about the Pastoureaux?' Gurney asked.
'Possibly. He used them as a shield for his own activities, that's why he mutilated Cerdic's body.' Corbett paused as an ashen-faced Selditch joined them.
'Lady Alice is resting now. I gave her a sleeping potion.' Selditch shook his head. 'If it hadn't been for your servant, Ranulf…'
Corbett stared at the flames of the fire, listening as his manservant argued with Maltote over some minor matter.
'There's not a room,' he said, 'that can hold Ranulf.'
'He went through the window like a cat,' Gurney murmured. 'One minute he was sitting down, the next he'd collected both crossbow and bolts.' Gurney sighed. 'Hugh, do you really know where the treasure is?'
'Oh, yes,' Corbett replied. 'And tomorrow morning, as soon as dawn breaks, I'll show you.'
Fourbour the baker came up. The baker was more shocked from grief than from the revelations about Father Augustine. He grasped Corbett's hand.
'I thank you,' he muttered. His eyes brimmed with tears. 'You're sure she wouldn't have suffered long?'
Corbett refused to meet his gaze. 'I don't think so.'
'If only she had told me!'
Corbett looked away. The baker was still mumbling the same forlorn regret as he left the hall.
'Isn't it strange?' Corbett whispered. 'Amelia loved but did not recognize what she was loving?'
'What's the role of the sisters of the Holy Cross in this?' Gurney asked crossly.
'Sir Simon, that's a matter between you and the prioress.'
'And the treasure?' Gurney persisted. 'You say it's near here?'
'I think so,' Corbett replied. 'And I suspect Father Augustine knew where it was. We have to wait till morning, for the tide to turn. What still concerns me is how Alan of the Marsh could, by himself, hide it all.' Corbett raised his fingers to his lips and stared at the flames. 'That's one puzzle. The other puzzle is where did Father Augustine get his information from? Monck found out about that from the royal records and I from your ancestor's confession. But how was Father Augustine so knowledgeable?'
Corbett sat back in the chair. He absent-mindedly heard Ranulf and Maltote say they were returning to their chamber.
'Sir Simon,' Corbett asked. 'How long has the village of Hunstanton been here?'
'Since time immemorial.'
'And so's murder,' Corbett replied. 'And, I suspect, there's still one more to resolve!'
Chapter 14
They gathered in the cold hall just after dawn, tired and haggard from lack of sleep. Gurney said that Alice was now resting. They broke their fast and listened as Catchpole described his visit to the priest's house.
'There's nothing much there,' he said. 'Clothes, a few possessions, nothing remarkable at all.' He dug into a sack and brought out a sheet of parchment and looked sheepishly at Corbett. 'I can read a little. Most of the manuscripts were parish accounts but there was this.'
Corbett took the parchment and smoothed it out. It bore a marked resemblance to what he had seen amongst Monck's possessions – maps of the area, some crude and rough, others finely drawn. Then a cipher, words abbreviated, question marks beside them. Nothing startling except a name, Jacobus, written time and again. In one place it was Pater Jacobus.
'Ah,' Corbett murmured. 'Father James.' He glanced at Ranulf. 'We learnt about him at the convent.' 'I think-!' Selditch exclaimed. 'What?' Corbett asked softly.
'I have heard of him too!' Selditch confessed, and waddled off, shaking his head.
Selditch returned, breathless, carrying a small roll of vellum tied with a piece of faded silk. He unrolled it and handed it to Corbett.
'Study it carefully,' he said. 'It's an index of letters
written by Sir Simon's ancestor in January 1218.
Corbett studied the faded contents, the headings of letters the Gurneys had written in January 1218. However, one fairly long entry was a complaint to the Bishop of Norwich alleging that, 'since the disappearance of Father James', the diocese had offered no priest to the parish church of Hunstanton.
Corbett looked up. 'Disappearance?' He rubbed his chin with his fingers. 'I doubt it. This is our final murder.' He put the parchment down. 'You see, if Alan of the Marsh hid his portion of the treasure where I think he did, he would have needed an accomplice. Somebody who helped him carry and hide it. Someone above suspicion.' Corbett smiled weakly at Sir Simon. 'In this case, once again, the parish priest – Father James.' Corbett tapped the document. 'This is another reason why Father Augustine came to Hunstanton. He probably knew about Father James. He saw the chalice at the convent and wondered if there were similar treasures hidden away in the village church. I wager he searched that priest's house from top to bottom and, of course, it was another reason for ransacking the graves. He may have been looking for hiding-places or even some document written by Father James.'
'Subtle and devious,' Sir Simon said. 'Secrets hidden in a graveyard are fairly safe.'
'I agree,' Corbett replied. 'Father Augustine must have pondered all the possibilities. He did his own investigation and found out that Father James disappeared at about the same time as Alan absconded and Holcombe was executed. He realized that this was more than mere coincidence. And the devil once again came to Hunstanton. Father Augustine must have prayed that that little parish church or its churchyard held the key to the great mystery.' He stared at his companions. 'You can imagine his fury when he was unable to discover the treasure? This turned to madness when Amelia Fourbour arrived, followed by Monck and, finally, myself. The whole world was turning its hand against him. Ah well, let's finish this story.'
They collected their cloaks and went out into the yard, where Maltote and others had their horses ready. A few minutes later they left the manor and took the path towards the convent. The morning was cold and blustery and rain clouds were sweeping in above a sullen sea. On the cliff top they dismounted and left their horses with the retainers. They slipped and slid down the path to the beach. Corbett stared across it and shivered.
It looked so peaceful, with the desolate sand and shingle soaked by the receding tide. Gulls, their cries wafted by the wind, circled above them. Corbett found it difficult to believe that only a few days previously, he had raced along this beach for his very life.
'There's no need to worry,' Sir Simon murmured, putting up his hood against the blustering wind. 'Father Augustine knew what he was doing when he struck you on the head and left you here. Our priest studied Hunstanton. He knew that strong gales and heavy seas would create a sudden surge.' He smiled thinly, narrowing his eyes as they watered in the salt-soaked wind. 'Just as they did when my ancestor and King John tried to cross the Wash.'
'Come on!' Corbett urged. 'The sooner the better. I have brought you here to show you a sketch.'
They walked across the beach. Corbett looked back towards the cliffs, trying to find the exact spot where he had vellum tied with a piece of faded silk. He unrolled it and handed it to Corbett.
'Study it carefully,' he said. 'It's an index of letters written by Sir Simon's ancestor in January 1218.
Corbett studied the faded contents, the headings of letters the Gurneys had written in January 1218. However, one fairly long entry was a complaint to the Bishop of Norwich alleging that, 'since the disappearance of Father James', the diocese had offered no priest to the parish church of Hunstanton.
Corbett looked up. 'Disappearance?' He rubbed his chin with his fingers. 'I doubt it. This is our final murder.' He put the parchment down. 'You see, if Alan of the Marsh hid his portion of the treasure where I think he did, he would have needed an accomplice. Somebody who helped him carry and hide it. Someone above suspicion.' Corbett smiled weakly at Sir Simon. 'In this case, once again, the parish priest – Father James.' Corbett tapped the document. 'This is another reason why Father Augustine came to Hunstanton. He probably knew about Father James. He saw the chalice at the convent and wondered if there were similar treasures hidden away in the village church. I wager he searched that priest's house from top to bottom and, of course, it was another reason for ransacking the graves. He may have been looking for hiding-places or even some document written by Father James.'
'Subtle and devious,' Sir Simon said. 'Secrets hidden in a graveyard are fairly safe.'
'I agree,' Corbett replied. 'Father Augustine must have pondered all the possibilities. He did his own investigation and found out that Father James disappeared at about the same time as Alan absconded and Holcombe was executed. He realized that this was more than mere coincidence. And the devil once again came to Hunstanton. Father Augustine must have prayed that that little parish church or its churchyard held the key to the great mystery.' He stared at his companions. 'You can imagine his fury when he was unable to discover the treasure? This turned to madness when Amelia Fourbour arrived, followed by Monck and, finally, myself. The whole world was turning its hand against him. Ah well, let's finish this story.'
They collected their cloaks and went out into the yard, where Maltote and others had their horses ready. A few minutes later they left the manor and took the path towards the convent. The morning was cold and blustery and rain clouds were sweeping in above a sullen sea. On the cliff top they dismounted and left their horses with the retainers. They slipped and slid down the path to the beach. Corbett stared across it and shivered.
It looked so peaceful, with the desolate sand and shingle soaked by the receding tide. Gulls, their cries wafted by the wind, circled above them. Corbett found it difficult to believe that only a few days previously, he had raced along this beach for his very life.
'There's no need to worry,' Sir Simon murmured, putting up his hood against the blustering wind. 'Father Augustine knew what he was doing when he struck you on the head and left you here. Our priest studied Hunstanton. He knew that strong gales and heavy seas would create a sudden surge.' He smiled thinly, narrowing his eyes as they watered in the salt-soaked wind. 'Just as they did when my ancestor and King John tried to cross the Wash.'
'Come on!' Corbett urged. 'The sooner the better. I have brought you here to show you a sketch.'
They walked across the beach. Corbett looked back towards the cliffs, trying to find the exact spot where he had grinned at Corbett. 'I'll go first. You are coming?' Corbett nodded.
'Then follow me. But slowly and don't look down!' He took off his sword belt and slung it over his shoulder. 'Maltote, you stay here. Watch the strain on the pegs!'
Ranulf grasped the rope ladder and began to walk backwards. He lowered himself over the edge of the cliff and disappeared out of sight. Corbett prayed. He heard Ranulf's shout. Grasping the rope ladder, he too went over the edge of the cliff. He shut his eyes, lowering one foot then another. He gripped the ladder with both hands. Now and again he stopped as a buffet of wind caught him. He thanked God that the wind was coming from the land and not the sea. Even so the rope ladder swayed dangerously, and Corbett grasped the rope tighter as he continued his descent.
'Not far!' Ranulf shouted.
The voice seemed to come out of the rock face beside Corbett.
'Here, Master!'
Corbett turned to his right and saw Ranulf's outstretched hand. He grasped the guide rope more securely, and then Ranulf's hand.
'Let go!' his servant ordered.
Corbett did and, a little bruised where he had brushed the face of the cliff, he was abruptly pulled into an underground cavern. It was dark and wet. Ranulf walked deeper into the darkness. He took two candles out of his jerkin, struck a tinder and lit both. He came back and handed one to Corbett. The clerk stared around and glimpsed the pools of water on the floor.
'Is it safe?' he muttered. 'Can the tide creep in here?' 'We're too high,' Ranu
lf assured him. 'But the cave catches the spray and the rain, hence the dampness. You've seen the cliff, it's chalk-layered, it must soak up a lot of water.' Ranulf's voice echoed round the cavern.
'Hell's teeth!' Corbett muttered. 'I'm tempted to tell the king to search for his treasure himself!'
Ranulf, however, was eager to continue. 'There's no one else coming?' he asked.
Corbett shook his head. 'I think it's best if we do this by ourselves.'
They walked further down the cave. At one point Corbett stopped to examine strange drawings etched on the walls – men, armed with spears and shields, hunted strange creatures he had never seen before. The paintings were done in black, red and blue dyes.
'Does that have anything to do with the treasure?' Ranulf asked.
Corbett peered closer. 'I doubt it. I've heard of these drawings in caves along the southern coast, painted by peoples long dead.'
Corbett followed Ranulf. His nervousness increased as the tunnel narrowed. Would it end in a rock face, he wondered? Had he misunderstood Alan of the Marsh's drawing? Or was that some subtle ploy to disguise the true hiding-place? Ranulf, also, lost some of his jauntiness. Soon they were forced to walk in single file, the walls closed in, the rock above them seemed to swoop down to trap them. They entered a narrow passage, no more than a foot across. Ranulf squeezed through. Corbett heard his exclamation and followed to find they had entered a spacious underground chamber.
'This must be it,' Ranulf murmured.
They walked forward, the pool of light from the tallow candles going before them. They separated, Corbett going to the right, Ranulf moving over to the far corner. Corbett's heart sank. Would there be anything here? Ranulf's shouts answered his question. 'Master, it's here!'