by Paul Doherty
‘King’s man,’ he bellowed, ‘I didn’t ask to be created. I didn’t ask to be redeemed. All I wanted was peace, my parents, my brother . . .’
Fitzurse was seized and pushed on to the cart beneath the gallows rope. Corbett felt a deep pang of sorrow and recalled what he’d said to Ranulf. They were now watching the hideous flowering of an evil, the roots of which stretched back over thirty years. The prisoner’s hands were swiftly tied, the noose positioned around his neck, the knot placed expertly behind his left ear. The red-masked executioner jumped from the cart and looked at Corbett, who sat like a statue, left hand raised.
‘Hubert Fitzurse,’ Corbett called out, ‘you have been justly tried. You have been found guilty of heinous crimes against the King, his peace and the city of Canterbury. Do you have anything to say before sentence is carried out?’
‘Yes,’ Fitzurse shouted back, twisting his head to where Castledene sat further along the line. ‘I’ll be waiting for you, Master Mayor!’
Corbett dropped his hand. The cart creaked away. Fitzurse kicked and jerked for a while, then hung still.
‘The King’s justice has been done,’ Corbett called out. ‘Let everyone take careful note.’ He nodded at Sir Walter and turned his horse, determined to leave Canterbury as quickly as possible. Castledene and Lady Adelicia would have to wait until the weather thawed. Spring would come and so would a royal summons to both of them to account for their actions before the King’s Bench at Westminster.
Once they were free of the crowd, Ranulf urged his own mount forward and placed his hand on Corbett’s arm.
‘Master, the Cloister Map?’
‘I will tell the King the truth,’ Corbett murmured. ‘The treasure still lies there waiting to be found, but the map is gone.’
Author’s Note
This novel is woven with broad strands of historical truth. Piracy in the Channel and off the east coast of England became a common hazard during the reigns of Edward I and Edward II: pirates were actually nicknamed ‘sea monsters’. The lost treasure of Suffolk is, of course, a reality and is now known to the world as Sutton Hoo, a beautiful Anglo-Saxon ship crammed with treasure buried beneath funeral barrows in south Suffolk. Legends about this treasure circulated for centuries, though the area wasn’t excavated properly until after the Second World War. Edward I certainly recognised the value of treasure trove. By 1303 he was almost bankrupt: his commissioners even began to plunder parish chests in villages and towns up and down the country. Bounty-hunters were not just a feature of the Wild West; they also operated in medieval England: two of the most famous in the fourteenth century were Marmaduke Tweng and Giles of Spain.
A breakdown of law and order did occur in 1272, and royal clerks such as Corbett were given full mandate by the King to move into a city or shire to dispense royal justice. The treasures of St Thomas à Becket’s shrine at Canterbury are, of course, described in many chronicles.
One final note which may be of interest to modern readers: ‘chemical warfare’ is not an invention of the modern era. In fact the use of lime features prominently in the capture of Eustace the Monk, a real pirate during Henry III’s minority. His pirate ship, like that of Blackstock, was attacked and trapped by royal cogs who used lime and the direction of the wind to blind his crew. Eustace was overcome and immediately dispatched. Warfare at sea during this period was particularly cruel. Both sides adopted the proverb: ‘Dead men don’t tell tales!’
Paul C. Doherty