Corbett left Culpeper and went back to the Guildhall, where Ranulf was sitting on the steps waiting for him. 'Any luck, Ranulf?'
'None whatsoever, Master. The last Holcombe died some forty years ago. However, I have found our goldsmith, Edward Orifab. He owns a large shop only a few alleyways from here. Our alderman gave me directions. But, Master, I'm starving!'
Corbett and he went to a nearby tavern and sat at the long table which ran from one wall to the wine tuns. Corbett looked at the cat stalking the counter where the meat would be cut and, seeing the greasy blobs of fat lying on the table, confined himself to bread and ale. Ranulf, however, who had a stomach as hard as flint, ate with relish a dish of meat.
Ranulf then led Corbett to a large goldsmith's shop in Conduit Street, its black beams and pink plaster freshly painted. There was a large stall in front manned by a journeyman and two apprentices, who informed Corbett that their master was not in. Corbett and Ranulf ignored their shouts and entered the shop. They found the goldsmith, a dour, vinegary-faced fellow, sitting at his counting table surrounded by chests and coffers. Corbett was reminded of a picture of a miser in a stained-glass window. He almost expected to see a devil appear to drag the man off to hell. Orifab hitched his fur-lined robe around him and sniffed, his gimlet eyes dismissing Ranulf and Corbett as not really worth attention.
'What do you want?' he demanded.
'Some manners for a start,' Ranulf replied cheerily. 'Didn't your mother ever tell you, manners maketh the man?'
'I'm busy,' the fellow retorted. He moved stacks of coins around the table.
Ranulf grabbed the table and shook it. The coins were sent spilling. Orifab leapt to his feet, lips curling like a dog.
'Master Orifab,' Corbett intervened. 'My name is Sir Hugh Corbett and I am here as the representative of the king. I need to ask you some questions.'
The goldsmith stepped back, knocking his stool over. He smiled, his head bobbing like a fawning dog.
'I didn't know,' he muttered.
'Well, you do now!' Ranulf told him – he enjoyed baiting the pompous and the wealthy in the presence of old Master Long Face.
'What is it you want? How can I help?' Orifab stuttered. The goldsmith sat down and waved them to a bench in front of the table.
Corbett remained standing.
'Do you know Robert the reeve from Hunstanton village?' Orifab pressed his lips together and shook his head. 'He came here,' Corbett continued quietly, 'a few weeks ago to collect a bequest.'
The goldsmith blinked and looked down at his coins. 'Yes, yes, I remember.'
'Who left that bequest?'
The goldsmith laced his fingers together nervously and stared longingly out of the window.
'It's a secret,' he mumbled. 'I can't tell you.'
'Fine,' Corbett replied and turned to go.
Ranulf pushed his face a few inches from the goldsmith's pale cheek.
'Master Orifab,' he hissed. 'Within a month you will receive a summons from Westminster. The barons of the exchequer will demand your presence and ask you the same question. I sincerely hope you give them a better reply than you gave Sir Hugh!'
'Wait! Wait!' The goldsmith jumped to his feet, alarmed at the prospect of a long and tiring journey to London. He waved Corbett over. 'I'll show you,' he whispered. 'But you mustn't tell anyone, particularly my wife.'
Corbett pulled a face at Ranulf. The goldsmith scuttled out to tell the journeyman to look after the shop. He then led Corbett and Ranulf down Tower Street, past Greyfriars, to a large house standing in its own grounds. Orifab pushed the garden gate open. He looked furtively around and knocked at the door. A pretty young maid answered and immediately beckoned them in. As soon as the door was closed behind them Ranulf took one look at a young girl scampering, half-dressed, upstairs and began to'chuckle. As they went into a small antechamber, Ranulf grabbed Corbett's arm.
'Ever been to a molly-shop, Master?' he whispered.
Corbett narrowed his eyes.
'A brothel!' Ranulf hissed.
Corbett stared around the small room. It was luxuriously furnished, with dyed rugs on the floor, and a log fire spluttered in the small hearth. The chamber boasted at least four chairs, all with quilted backs, as well as a large, polished chest. Two tapestries on the wall, however, convinced Corbett that Ranulf was correct. Both were classical in style and both depicted young women in various stages of undress, boldly displaying their charms to lascivious-looking satyrs.
A tall, grey-haired lady came in. She looked rather dour, with her prim face, sharp features and long brown dress. She smiled at Orifab, but looked suspiciously at Corbett and Ranulf.
'You have brought us guests, Master Orifab?'
'No, Madam,' Ranulf replied, whilst Orifab shifted from foot to foot. 'We are king's men.'
The woman stepped back so quickly Corbett thought she was going to flee.
'There's no need for any alarm,' Corbett said. 'I couldn't give a damn what you do here. But, apparently, Master Orifab wishes us to meet someone.'
'Rohesia,' the goldsmith whispered. 'They wish to meet Rohesia. Mistress Quickly, I suggest you allow them to.'
He went up and whispered in the Mistress Quickly's ear. She threw one fearful look at Corbett and hastily left the room. A few minutes later she returned, accompanied by a tall, beautiful young woman. The newcomer wore a green taffeta dress, and her corn-coloured hair was covered by a wimple of the same colour, bordered at the edge with gold thread. Jewellery sparkled from her fingers and there were gold and silver bangles on her wrists. The tight-fitting dress emphasized her ample bosom and her slender waist. She looked as innocent and gentle as a young fawn. Corbett thanked God that Maeve would never know about this part of his mission.
'You wish to see me, Master?'
'By yourself.'
Mistress Quickly and Orifab hastily left the room. Ranulf closed the door behind them. Corbett waved the young woman to a seat.
'You are called Rohesia?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Do you know who I am?'
'No. Mistress Quickly didn't tell me.'
'I am Sir Hugh Corbett and I am here on the king's business. I come from Hunstanton. I want to know why you left considerable monies with the goldsmith Orifab for Robert the reeve from that village?'
The change in the young woman was remarkable. Her eyes became hard and unblinking, the generous lips became a thin, angry line and the golden hue of her face quickly dimmed.
'That is none of your business, sir.'
'It will go badly with you if you do not answer. Why did you leave money for Robert the Reeve?'
'A customer asked me to.'
Corbett rubbed his chin and stared long at her.
'I think you'd best come back with me,' he said quietly. 'Come back to Hunstanton.' He saw the tears glisten in the girl's eyes. 'I also bring.you bad news. Marina has been murdered.'
Rohesia moaned as if in pain. She put her face in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably.
The following morning, having spent the rest of the day down at the quayside, Corbett, Ranulf and Maltote left Bishop's Lynn. They called again at the brothel, where the young woman calling herself Rohesia was waiting for them, swathed in a great cloak and hood. Corbett would not allow Ranulf or Maltote to question her, nor discuss her between themselves, as they left the city and took the road north to Hunstanton.
Their journey back was uneventful. Corbett was relieved that they didn't have to travel through the village to Mortlake Manor. Sir Simon and Alice came out to greet them. Corbett curtly acknowledged their welcome – he still had his suspicions about who had tried to drown them in the marsh. He insisted that Rohesia be shown to a chamber and given refreshment but that no one other than himself be allowed to talk to her.
'I also want Catchpole,' he said. 'And any liveried retainers you can spare. They are to be armed and mounted and they are to accompany Ranulf to the Hermitage. He has his orders. He is to bring Master Joseph and Philip Nettler here immediately.'
'What's this all about?' Gurney demanded. 'This is my manor, Hugh.'
'Aye, but the king's writ runs here. I want both men brought to Mortlake immediately. Only then will you discover the reason why.'
Gurney reluctantly agreed and, within the hour, Catchpole and Ranulf, accompanied by a dozen armed retainers, thundered out of the yard. Maltote unpacked their bags. Corbett visited Rohesia and then went down to the great hall to wait. Gurney, irritated by Corbett's taciturn demeanour, left him alone and went out in to the yard in nervous anticipation of Ranulf's return.
Ranulf arrived, just before dusk, in a clatter of hoof beats and shouted exclamations. Corbett, standing with his back to the fire, steeled himself for the coming confrontation. Gurney joined him. Ranulf and Catchpole brought the two Pastoureaux leaders in. Both men had their hands tied and Master Joseph's face was red with fury. Nettler looked pale and rather frightened. If it hadn't been for Ranulf, Master Joseph would have thrown himself at Corbett. His eyes dilated and specks of froth appeared at either side of his mouth.
'You'll pay for this, Corbett! You snivelling turd of a clerk! How dare you lay hands on me and send your servant to invade our private chambers?'
Corbett ignored him. He stared across at Ranulf, who smiled and nodded imperceptibly.
'Sir Simon!' Master Joseph turned as Gurney walked into the hall. 'This is against the law and Holy Mother Church! We put ourselves under your protection!'
'Oh, shut up!' Corbett roared.
Master Joseph looked so furious that he seemed on the verge of apoplexy.
'Shut up, Master Joseph! Or I'll use the considerable powers the king has given me and hang you from the rafters! Sir Simon, I should be grateful if you would release Gilbert and have him brought here. And I'd like my mysterious guest, the young woman from Bishop's Lynn, to be brought here also.
Master Joseph's shoulders sagged. He became quiet, narrowed his eyes and licked his lips nervously.
'What's all this about?' he muttered.
'What do you mean, Hubert?' Corbett asked.
The Pastoureaux leader gasped and paled.
'You are not Joseph,' Corbett continued. 'You are Hubert Mugwell, convicted ten years ago as a felon. So you'll shut up and listen to what I have got to say! Sir Simon, I'd be grateful if your retainers could hold both these men because I am sure they will become violent.'
Corbett walked over to the table, conscious of everyone watching him. He poured himself a cup of wine and sat on the edge of the table, sipping the wine carefully. Gilbert came into the hall. He hadn't shaved for days, but he seemed well enough, smiling vacuously around. Corbett told him to stand just within the door.
'You'll be a free man soon, Gilbert. Don't worry.'
Rohesia arrived next, still cowled and hooded. Corbett beckoned her across. He put his wine cup down, took her by the arm and stared at the pale, frightened face almost hidden in the cowl.
'Don't worry,' he said to her also. He led her across the room. Master Joseph watched anxiously, then gave a groan as she threw back her hood. Philip Nettler's terror was so great that he crouched down, arms across his chest, and began to whimper like a beaten dog.
'Lord save us!' Gurney cried. 'It's Blanche. You look beautiful. You're Blanche, the reeve's daughter.'
'Blanche,' Corbett began. 'Do you know this man who calls himself Master Joseph, the Pastoureaux leader?'
The girl's hand came out from beneath her cloak and her dagger stabbed towards 'Master Joseph's' chest. Corbett leapt forward in time to knock the dagger out of her hand, but he wasn't fast enough to top her slapping her other hand across the man's face in a stinging blow.
'You filthy bastard!' she screamed.
Master Joseph cowered, unresisting, between the two burly retainers who held him. Corbett dragged Blanche away.
'I want the hall cleared, Sir Simon.' He put Blanche's dagger on a table. 'And I want both prisoners chained, just in case.'
'Do you want everyone to leave?' Gurney asked. 'Apart from you, Ranulf and the prisoners, and Blanche, yes.'
Gurney gave the order. Catchpole came back with chains and secured the ankles and wrists of the prisoners. Blanche walked away and stood with her back to them, gazing into the fire.
Corbett picked up the dagger and thrust it into his belt. 'Let me start from the very beginning,' he said. 'Four or five years ago, through the Knights Hospitaller, the king learned that young free-born men and women of this realm were being sold into slavery, mostly for purposes of prostitution. They are prized especially for their fair hair and skin and they fetch high prices in the slave-markets of North Africa.' Corbett walked over to the table and took a sip from his goblet. 'This scandalous trade,' he continued, 'has been condemned by successive popes and Church councils – it is not only English men and women who are taken. Indeed, it is the one thing that Philip of France and Edward of England agree in opposing, though they find it impossible to stop. The trade is a very old one, but it has reached new levels since the Children's Crusade, nearly a hundred years ago, and whetted the slave-dealers' appetite.'
'I have heard something of that,' Gurney said.
'It was a strange phenomenon,' Corbett said. 'Thousands of children from all over Europe were persuaded by a shepherd boy named Stephen to follow him on a crusade to the Holy Land. Few, if any, reached it. Most fell into the hands of slavers and were sold in the markets of Algeria and Egypt.'
Gurney got to his feet. 'That is history,' he said. 'But are you saying that these two Pastoureaux leaders are involved in the present trade? They live in poverty-'
Ranulf's snort of laughter interrupted him. 'Go to the Hermitage, Sir Simon, and look into the private quarters of this precious pair. You'll find woollen blankets, goose-feather bolsters, silken sheets and tuns of fine wine brought specially from Bishop's Lynn. The rest of the community fasted but these two certainly didn't.'
'I'll wager,' Corbett said, keeping a wary eye on Blanche, who still stood by the fire, 'that Master Joseph and Philip Nettler also own some pleasant properties throughout the kingdom. Of course, there were also the occasional journeys to Bishop's Lynn to revel in the flesh-pots.'
'This is not true,' Master Joseph muttered. 'We had nothing to do with this. Sir Simon, you are right. How could we profit?'
'Easily enough,' Corbett said. 'You move around the kingdom, spending a year here, eighteen months there. Then you retire for a while to enjoy your ill-gotten gains, perhaps at some fine house in London or Lincoln. Then you re-emerge like a mummer in a play. You arrive in a lonely place such as Hunstanton, posing as some sort of St Francis of Assisi. You draw the young to you, with your dreams, ideals and visions of journeys to exciting places. The young stay with you for a while. You want to ensure there's no protest and there very rarely is. After all, many a peasant lad or lass is only too willing to escape the servitude of the soil. And why should their parents object? After all, it means one less mouth to feed when the winter comes.'
'But the ships' captains – they would have to be involved!' Gurney exclaimed.
'It's a thriving trade,' Corbett said. 'There's many a captain willing to engage in this lucrative business as it's so easy. No questions asked, no duty to pay and nobody to object.'
'The victims could,' Nettler whimpered. It was his only attempt to defend himself.
'Have you ever tried to escape from a sea captain who's paid good silver for you? From a brothel in Marseilles or Salerno, or from an Ottoman harem? And, if you do escape, where can you go? If those who own you don't track you down and kill you, others will. How can a girl from Hunstanton walk from Marseilles to Dieppe? She doesn't know a word of the language, and, if she did manage to tell her story, who would believe her? Our friends here would simply say that she had jumped ship or, tired of her religious vocation, had decided to further her fortunes elsewhere. And, even if she was believed, it might take years to prove. By then, Master Joseph would have changed his name again and moved on to some other part of this country or anywhere in Christendom. God save us, Sir Simon, you know how long it takes to obtain justice simply over a piece of cloth!'
'So, what went wrong?' Gurney asked.
'I went wrong.' Blanche turned, her face white with anger. 'And Sir Hugh Corbett is correct. Look at me, Sir Simon. I am too ashamed to go home and, if I did, who would believe me? And why should I bring shame on my parents? I joined the Pastoureaux. This bastard here, this hell-hound, negotiated my passage abroad. But I was fortunate.' Blanche swallowed hard. 'On board ship, I overheard the captain talking to the first mate. He didn't know I was hiding in the shadow of the stern castle, crouching like a dog, listening to my future.'
She went across and spat at Master Joseph.
'They talked about me as if I was a piece of merchandise. I had had my suspicions, just vague ones, because of the way the captain would look at me sometimes, but I dismissed them as impure thoughts.' Her voice broke slightly as she stared at Corbett. 'Anyway, it was autumn and a fierce storm grew worse and the ship was forced to enter the Thames. I jumped ship near Queenshithe. Anyone from Norfolk is a good swimmer and I swam ashore.' Blanche laced her fingers together. 'At first I begged. The friars and some of the nuns were good.' She shrugged. 'But there are many hungry mouths in London. One night a sailor tried to take me. He was drunk. I stole his silver and bought myself some new clothes. Then I met a merchant in Cheapside.' She lowered her head. 'In a few months I had earned enough silver to travel back to Bishop's Lynn. I was too ashamed to go home. As I have said, who would have believed me? But I wanted vengeance. I'd have earned enough money to hire someone to kill this demon and his familiar!' Blanche played with the hem of her sleeve. 'One of my clients was a goldsmith. Through him I arranged for money to be sent to my family. And I got a message to Marina. I gave it to a pedlar. I promised him more coins if he came back and faithfully described both Gilbert and the old oak tree.' Blanche slumped down on a stool. 'I shouldn't have done that,' she added weakly. 'Marina tried to escape.'
Corbett walked across to Master Joseph and, bringing his hand back, struck him violently across the face.
'You deserved that,' he said quietly. He struck again, drawing blood from the man's lips. 'And that's for Marina, whom you undoubtedly murdered!'
'That's a lie!' Master Joseph screamed..
'No, it isn't, you bastard!' Corbett hissed.
He went over and looked down at Philip Nettler. 'You are going to hang, you know, both of you?'
Nettler only whimpered in reply. Corbett crouched next to him.
'You'll hang,' he whispered. 'And when the king's justices hear about this they'll demand a most thorough investigation. You will be tortured until you tell us everything – the captains of the ships, destinations, where you have hidden away your ill-gotten gains. And only when they have finished with you will judgement be carried out? He killed Marina didn't he?'
Nettler nodded.
'Shut up, you whoreson!' Master Joseph yelled, and lunged at his erstwhile lieutenant.
But the chains that linked his ankles and the manacles on his wrists prevented any movement. The Pastoureaux leader fell to his knees. Ranulf dragged him to his feet.
'You killed that girl!' he said softly. 'She was fleeing from you. Fleeing across that mist-shrouded moor. God knows where to. Her family? The manor here? You knew something was wrong and you caught up with her. You raped and strangled the poor girl!' Ranulf pulled him closer. 'Perhaps my master may be good to me,' he whispered. 'Perhaps I'll be given the duty of escorting you down to London!'
Master Joseph's face broke into a sneer.
'You mustn't forget about Gilbert,' he jibed.
'Oh, yes, poor Gilbert.' Corbett left Nettler and came to stand beside Ranulf. 'You took that murdered girl's pathetic necklace and went to Gilbert's hut. By then the poor lad and his mother had fled, fearful of the whispered allegations against them. You threw the necklace down and coolly walked back to the Hermitage. You condemned an old woman to death by drowning and, if it hadn't been for God's grace, her son to death by hanging.' Corbett looked over at the white-faced Gurney. 'Don't you remember, Sir Simon, when you held the court in the parish church? Master Joseph abruptly left. I thought it was strange for a religious leader to forsake, so quickly, the corpse of one of his community. But, there again, why should he care? Marina wasn't worth a penny to him any more.'
'And how did you discover the truth?' Gurney asked.
'It was the money left to Robert the reeve that started me thinking. Why should some mysterious benefactor give money to a goldsmith in Bishop's Lynn for a poor reeve in a fishing village?' Corbett walked back and put his hands gently on Blanche's shoulder. 'Your father probably half-suspects.' He looked over his shoulder. 'Sir Simon, I am finished with these demons. You have room for them in your dungeons?'
Gurney nodded.
'Hold them there, but keep them separate. Nettler here may turn king's evidence and throw himself on the royal mercy. He may give us the dates, names, seasons. If he does, who knows what clemency we may recommend?'
Nettler looked up, a sly look in his eyes. Master Joseph swore and tried to lash out at Nettler, but fell with a crash of chains to the floor. Gurney was half-way to the door to call his retainers when Master Joseph struggled to his feet.
'Wait!' he shouted.
Corbett turned, eyebrows raised.
'A full and frank confession, Master Joseph?'
'Piss off!'
'What then?'
'Information.'
Corbett walked closer. 'What about?' 'The treasure.'
'What treasure?' Corbett asked.
The man raised his manacled hand to wipe the blood from his mouth and stared maliciously at Corbett. 'First, give me your word.'
'There'll be no pardon for you, Master Joseph, or Hubert Mugwell, whatever you wish to call yourself! You'll hang!'
'Oh, I don't worry about myself. I'll skip to the scaffold. Death doesn't worry me. I am going to hell where I'll dance with the devil and wait for you, Corbett!'
'What then?' . 'I have a house, a woman and child at Lothbury. You'd eventually find out about them. They are not to be harmed or their goods seized.'
'That's where I have seen you!' Ranulf suddenly interrupted. 'Years ago. In London, in a brothel on the stew-side in Southwark. What did you call yourself? Some French name? Oh, yes, Alphonse. I was there. You were the Master of Revels.' Ranulf walked closer. 'I never forget a face, but I couldn't clearly remember' – Ranulf smiled apologetically at Corbett – 'because the memories of that evening are sweet. How many names have you had?'
Master Joseph sneered. 'More than your wits.' He looked at Corbett. 'Do I have your word, clerk?'
'It depends on the information.'
Master Joseph was about to refuse but he shrugged and shuffled a little closer. 'I have been here eighteen months. Everybody talks about the treasure. I did a little searching of my own, but found nothing. Then you and that other black-garbed, snivelling clerk came, asking about Alan of the Marsh.'
Corbett nodded. 'How do you know about him?' 'Give me your word about the woman and child!' Corbett stared back, chewing his lip.
'I want your word! Your solemn word here in the presence of witnesses!'
'You have it,' Corbett answered.
'Go to the Hermitage!' Master Joseph said. 'There you will find out about Alan of the Marsh. I do have your word?' Corbett nodded. 'Take them away!' he ordered.
Once the door was closed behind the prisoners, Corbett walked across to Blanche. 'It's finished,' he whispered.
The woman looked round. 'No, Sir Hugh, it's only just beginning. Master Joseph will hang. You will go back to London. But, tomorrow morning, I will return to a brothel in Bishop's Lynn.'
'You needn't,' Corbett replied.
The girl half-smiled. 'Yes, yes, I know. But you see, Sir Hugh, what can I go back to? Back-breaking work in the fields? Scornful glances until the day I die? No, I'll go back.' She smoothed the front of her dress. 'I'll think. Perhaps one day… But tomorrow morning I will return.' She glanced fleetingly at Gurney. 'You will give me an escort?'
'Of course.'
'And tell my father nothing?'
Gurney nodded.
Corbett watched her leave.
'The whole village will know,' Ranulf murmured.
'Of course they will,' Gurney replied. 'In a community like this, gossip crackles like flames amongst dry stubble.' He sighed and got to his feet. 'We'll leave you alone, Hugh. I'll send food to your chambers. You'll want that?'
'Yes.'
Gurney pointed to Ranulf. 'You'll come with me?'
'Where to?'
'The Hermitage. I've got to inform the so-called community that it's finished. Some can walk home, others I'll give money to.' Gurney glanced at Corbett. 'What about their possessions?'
'Let them take their own belongings with them,' Corbett suggested. 'The place will be stripped of everything else once the villagers get to know. I doubt if Master Joseph's wealth is there. It will take months for officials from the exchequer to track it down. A house here, money banked there. Our prisoner's a master criminal and I don't think he will hang as quickly as he wished.'
'Will his accomplice be pardoned?' Ranulf asked.
'If he sings a song the justices want, he'll probably spend some months in prison before being exiled for life.' Corbett laughed sourly. 'I am sure he'll know enough ships' captains to secure safe passage abroad.' Corbett placed Blanche's dagger on the table. 'But, Ranulf, you go with Sir Simon.'
Corbett left the hall. He could tell from the anxious whispers and looks of the servants that the story was already out. Gilbert was there, a free man. He was hopping from foot to foot and smiling vacuously at Alice, who was pressing food and a few coins into his hands. Corbett went up to his chamber. For a while he sat on the bed and thought about the young lives the Pastoureaux had ruined. Then he lay down, staring up at the rafters, puzzling over the heart-shaped parchment that Culpeper had given him in Bishop's Lynn.