Song of a Dark Angel

you. You should pray for royal clemency and the forgiveness of your bishop.' He leaned forward. 'You are a smuggler. You own sheep, you have shearing-sheds, you load the wool into bales and your carters take it down to the custom house at Bishop's Lynn. Now, let us say you have three hundred bales. Two hundred and fifty go through customs and are loaded on board ship at Bishop's Lynn. The ship leaves harbour, probably on the evening tide. Standing off the coast it heads towards Flanders. But instead of sailing across the Channel it anchors off the Norfolk coast and takes aboard the other fifty bales. Whether it sends a boat to the shore or whether a boat is rowed out to it from here, I don't know. You are paid in cash and pay no duty. The ship's captain makes a healthy profit in Flemish ports.'
    'This is ridiculous,' the prioress exclaimed.
    'No, it's the truth. So now we come to the death of Dame Agnes. She was the treasurer of this priory and every so often she would go for a walk on the cliff top. She would take a staff and a lantern. Most people viewed her as eccentric. In reality, she was signalling to a ship. I believe you even have a small boat in the cove to help you in your nefarious business arrangements.' Corbett got to his feet and walked over to stare at a painting. 'One night, however, tragedy occurred.' He turned, raising one hand. 'Oh, I agree, no foul play was involved, but Dame Agnes was getting old. Perhaps the cliff was beginning to crumble or the wind was too strong? Anyway, the good sister stumbled and fell to her death.' Corbett looked over his shoulder and smiled. 'She was the treasurer to this house and, in time, will be replaced. Your smuggling activities will undoubtedly continue, once snooping royal clerks disappear.'
    'You have no proof,' the prioress snarled.
    'But I have,' Corbett lied. 'I have interviewed one of the ships' captains. He has confessed all.' Corbett walked back, playing with the hilt of his dagger. 'Perhaps I should also question some of your retainers, particularly those who are so well paid for rowing that boat out?'
    Dame Cecily could take no more. She put her head down and sobbed.
    'Madam,' Corbett said quietly.
    Dame Cecily raised her tear-stained face. 'We have always done this,' she whispered. 'And, Sir Hugh, can you blame us? The taxes are so heavy. Our profits are cut.'
    Corbett glanced around the luxurious chamber.
    'You could make economies,' he murmured.
    Dame Cecily composed herself. 'What will you do, Sir Hugh? Inform the king?'
    'Not necessarily,' Corbett replied. 'Provided two conditions are fulfilled.' He saw the hope flare in the prioress's black-button eyes.
    'Which are?'
    'First, that the smuggling must cease forthwith. Secondly, that you tell me what you know of Alan of the Marsh.'
    Dame Cecily burst into tears, her shoulders shaking so much that even Ranulf felt sorry for her.

Chapter 12
    'Madam,' Corbett asked. 'Why should a man who died so many years ago trouble you?'
    Dame Cecily rose to her feet. She grasped the ring of keys hanging from the belt at her waist and walked over to a large, iron-bound coffer. She opened it, brought out a small roll of yellowing parchment and handed it to Corbett.
    'Read it, Sir Hugh. It is a piece removed from the chronicles of our convent that only the prioress of the day is permitted to see.'
    Corbett took the parchment over to the window, where the light was stronger. He saw that the convent's chronicle must be a roll of parchment made up of pieces stitched together. The portion he held in his hand had been carefully removed so that the loose ends of the chronicle itself could be re-stitched, leaving no sign that a piece was missing.
    Dame Cecily moved towards the door. 'I'll return,' she said. 'I have something else to show you.'
    Corbett shrugged and began to read, studying the blue-green lettering, quickly translating the Latin.
    'Does it mention Alan of the Marsh?' Ranulf asked.
    'No, it doesn't.'
    'Then what use is it to us?'
    'It is very useful indeed. Listen to this. It's dated August 1217, almost a year after King John lost his treasure in the Wash. In that month a fugitive took refuge in the convent. He reached the chapel and grasped the high altar, claiming sanctuary, which the prioress of the time granted. The fugitive demanded food and water and claimed his right to remain for the statutory forty days. But listen to this, Ranulf. It becomes more interesting. Sir Ralph Gurney came to the convent