Song of a Dark Angel

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 the 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?'
    'Monck's dead. A crossbow bolt in his chest!'
    Corbett and his two companions hurried down into the yard. Sir Simon, Catchpole and other retainers were grouped just inside the entrance to the barn. Corbett pushed his way through. Monck's corpse lay on a pallet of straw, arms and legs flung out, head back. The heavy-lidded eyes were half-closed. The left side of his mouth was stained with dried blood, the crossbow bolt deeply embedded in his chest.
    Corbett knelt down and stared at the white, waxen face.
    'What happened?'
    'Yesterday,' Gurney replied, 'Master Monck left late in the afternoon. He visited Father Augustine at Hunstanton before going on to the Holy Cross convent.'
    'Last night he was seen thundering through Hunstanton village,' Catchpole added, 'riding his horse as if pursued by Satan and all his demons.'
    'Where did you find him?'
    'Out on the moors, just sprawled on the grass. No sign of his horse. That could be anywhere.'
    'Where on the moors?' Corbett asked.
    'Oh, on the wasteland area. And, before you ask, Sir Hugh, there were no other marks of violence or any sign of a struggle. Just Monck's corpse and the hoof prints of his own horse. The beast must have galloped off after his master's fall.'
    Corbett glanced at the red-eyed physician; his face was drawn and unshaven.