Song of a Dark Angel

just have to accept this latest pretend tirade. Corbett stared out of the window and schooled his features. He knew the king and de Warenne were play-acting but he relaxed, knowing that now he would be given at least some of the truth.
    Edward went across to the table, filled three goblets with white wine and served Corbett and de Warenne. He then sat sideways in the window seat and slurped noisily from his goblet, glaring at Corbett from underneath bushy eyebrows.
    'I'll have letters issued this evening,' he said. 'You will take over from Monck.' He smacked his lips. 'Now, my Lord of Surrey, tell my good friend Hugh here what Monck is doing at Mortlake Manor.'
    De Warenne got up and dragged his chair over. He patted Corbett on the shoulder.
    'No offence, Hugh.'
    'As always, none taken, my lord.'
    De Warenne stared into his cup. 'The story begins in October 1216, in the last year of the reign of King John, our present lord's most noble and puissant grandfather.'
    'Less of the bloody sarcasm!' Edward intervened.
    'Well, the story is as follows. John spent most of his reign fighting his barons, moving around the country, trying to bring this earl or that lord into submission. He died at Newark-on-Trent. Some people think he was poisoned, others that he died of a broken heart after losing all his treasure and regalia in the Wash.' He smiled at the change in Corbett's expression. 'Ah, so you have heard the story. Let me refresh your memory. John was travelling north from Bishop's Lynn. He had his whole household with him and a long line of pack horses carrying his treasures. He was trying to cross the estuary of the Nene when, according to the chronicle, he lost all his wagons, carts and pack horses with the treasures, precious vessels and all the other things he cherished.' De Warenne paused and licked his lips. 'According to the chronicler Florence of Worcester, whose writings my clerks have studied, the ground opened up and violent whirlpools engulfed men, horses, everything.'
    'What happened,' Edward explained, 'is that dear grandfather tried to cross the estuary too late in the day. You know the area? There was a sudden tidal surge, the waves rushed in and the treasure train was lost.' Edward shrugged. 'Dear grandfather went to Swynesford Abbey to console himself with fresh cider and rotten peaches and then on to Newark, where he gave up the ghost in something akin to the odour of sanctity.' Corbett smiled – 'Dear grandfather' had been the black sheep of the Plantagenet family; he had neither lived nor died in anything akin to sanctity.
    'What was the treasure?' Corbett asked.
    'A king's ransom,' Edward replied slowly. 'Dozens of gold and silver goblets, flagons, basins, candelabra, pendants and jewel-encrusted belts. The coronation regalia-' Edward sighed. 'And, what is worse, the coronation regalia of dear great-great-grandmother Matilda when she was Empress of Germany: a large jewel-encrusted crown, purple robes, a gold wand and the sword of Tristram.' Edward rubbed his stomach and groaned. 'A fortune,' he murmured. 'A bloody fortune lost in the sea!'
    'Was there any attempt to search for it?'
    'Well, you can imagine the confusion that broke out after grandfather's death. It was every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost. Father was only a child. He had difficulty keeping the crown, never mind looking for lost treasure!'
    'And how does Monck come into this?' 'Well,' de Warenne replied. 'My family have always felt deeply ashamed about King John's disaster at the Wash. You see, my grandfather was in charge of the pack train.'
    He glared at Corbett, daring him to smile – planning and other intellectual skills had always been a rarety in the Surrey family. Corbett refrained from comment.
    'Good!' de Warenne breathed. 'Now, the treasure's lost. John dies. Everyone more or less forgets about it until a year ago, when Walter Denuglis, a leading goldsmith in London, purchased from a pawnbroker an ancient gold plate with John's arms on it.' De Warenne rolled his goblet in his fingers. 'Denuglis brought it to the exchequer. Then two other, very similar, pieces of plate were found. The clerks of the exchequer scrutinized the records from John's time. Sure enough, all three pieces had been part of John's treasure.'
    'But,' Corbett interrupted, 'I thought everything was lost. Is it possible that these pieces were thrown up on some marsh, found by a pedlar and brought to London to be sold?'
    'That isn't likely,'