Song of a Dark Angel

ewers, jewelled hanapers, diamond-studded goblets – cascaded out, clattering and clanging on the cavern floor.
    'Hell's teeth!' Ranulf knelt down. He picked up a silver plate and glanced up at his master, his eyes shining. 'Must we take it all back?'
    Corbett prised the silver plate from his hand and tossed it to the ground.
    'What else can we do? Steal a portion? Sell it on the market in London?'
    Ranulf stared back.
    'Can't you see?' Corbett explained. 'We would be drawn into the same circle of deceit and murder as all those who've died for this. No, all the treasure will be brought out. Ranulf, I'll leave you here. Fresh bags will be sent down. You will fill them with every item. They will be sealed and placed in some chamber at Mortlake Manor until the exchequer sends officials north.'
    With Ranulf's help, Corbett climbed back to the cliff top, where he spent the rest of the day, freezing and cursing in the icy, bitter wind. One by one, Ranulf filled new bags with the treasure. They were pulled up and placed in the waiting cart. At last the task was finished. Corbett bound and sealed each bag. He was uneasy as he glimpsed the greedy look of some of his companions, recognizing in the wetting of the lips, the narrowing of the eyes, an itchiness to grasp something precious and keep it for oneself. At Mortlake Manor the treasure was transported to an upper room. The door was locked and Corbett took the key. Two of Gurney's retainers were placed on guard. Maltote was ordered to take a change of horses and ride as swiftly as possible to Walsingham with the news.
    'The sooner the king has his hands on this,' Corbett muttered, 'the better!'
    Later the same day, Corbett and Ranulf attended the burial of Monck's corpse in the village churchyard. Then Father Augustine's sheeted corpse was placed into an elm-wood coffin and swiftly interred. Gurney promised that, as soon as a new priest arrived, Masses would be offered for the repose of both men's souls. After the burials, Corbett walked through the priest's deserted house. Rumours about Father Augustine had swept through the village and, as was customary, the peasants had swarmed into the house to take anything precious which caught their eye – mattresses, bolsters and candlesticks. Gurney followed Corbett and stared grimly around.
    'The place should be purged, cleansed!' he said. 'Thank God the treasure's found and the chaos of the last few months will disappear!'
    Corbett made his farewells and left the churchyard. He rode back to Mortlake Manor, leaving Gurney to confer with the verger about how the church should be administered until a replacement priest was found. Whilst Ranulf packed their belongings, Corbett paid a courtesy visit to a white-faced and rather nervous Alice, still resting in her own chambers. Gurney returned in the evening, insisting that Corbett and Ranulf be his guests at a small informal banquet. The meal turned out to be a desultory affair. A taciturn Gurney and his household tried to hide their relief at Corbett's impending departure. Ranulf, though, had no inhibitions – he drank deeply and declared loudly that, no offence to present company, it would be a long time before he returned to Norfolk.
    'The exchequer officials will be here soon?' Gurney asked, yet again.
    'If I know the king,' Corbett told him, 'he'll probably come here himself. They'll take the treasure as well as your two prisoners in the dungeons, the Pastoureaux. Both will probably be sent to London to stand trial. I'll pay for the cross above Monck's grave,' he added. Gurney demurred. 'No, no.'
    Corbett, however, insisted and took several coins out of his purse. 'A stone for Monck, a cross for the priest and Masses for their souls.'
    The meal ended shortly afterwards. Corbett and Ranulf went back to their own chamber, the latter chattering like a squirrel about what he would do once they were back in London.
    Corbett listened with half an ear. He lay down on his bed and pulled the blankets over him. For some reason he couldn't forget Amelia Culpeper. He recalled that lonely scaffold on the cliff top, and pictured Amelia Culpeper, with her arms around her lover, failing to notice the noose being slipped over her head. Or had she, he wondered, in the last few seconds of her life, realized – and submitted.
    The next morning Corbett hurriedly dressed. He broke his fast and took his farewell of Gurney and of Alice. Followed by a rather silent Ranulf, who was still suffering from