‘What does it mean?’ Ranulf asked.
Corbett leaned against the headstone, staring at the ruined church. ‘Ranulf,’ he looked over his shoulder, ‘those paintings were a warning to Lord Scrope. The Free Brethren had two ideas: one was to draw on the fall of Babylon, which is really a parable for the fall of Acre. The second was a vision of hell, with Scrope, the greatest sinner of them all, lying at the centre. Apparently they decided on the fall of Babylon, but this begs the important question, one that has been hinted at but never developed. The Free Brethren definitely came here to wreak vengeance on Lord Scrope. They, or some of them, certainly hated him; they had a grudge to settle. Hence the paintings, their weapons. Perhaps they really did plan to storm Mistleham Manor.’
‘But why?’ Ranulf asked. ‘What connection did the Free Brethren have with Lord Scrope?’
‘The vital question,’ Corbett declared. ‘I still don’t know, but there was a connection; a hidden, lasting one, formed of blood and riddled with festering resentments and grievances.’
‘If that was so,’ Ranulf argued, coming up to stand beside Corbett, ‘their deaths should have ended the matter.’
‘Which begs two possible conclusions,’ Corbett replied. ‘First, not all of them were killed in the massacre; or second, is there someone else, associated with the Free Brethren, carrying out vengeance on their behalf? I don’t know, Ranulf.’
‘And the treasure?’
‘Ah.’ Corbett smiled thinly. ‘Master Claypole has a great deal to answer for. This is what I suspect. The King’s treasure in the crypt at Westminster was robbed, its contents hauled away. Now I know from Drokensford that many goldsmiths in London were implicated in receiving these stolen goods and selling them on the open market. Now, to do that, Puddlicott and his gang must have made arrangements with goldsmiths in the city to receive what they’d stolen.’
‘And goldsmiths elsewhere?’ Ranulf asked.
‘Precisely!’ Corbett retorted. ‘John Le Riche didn’t come here by accident. Think, Ranulf! Puddlicott and his gang would cast their net far and wide. They would have negotiated with London merchants but they would also look for customers elsewhere. Why not Mistleham, a prosperous Essex wool town? And its mayor, Master Claypole, who appears to have no sense of right or wrong, never mind any loyalty to the Crown. Le Riche wasn’t trapped, not in the way Claypole or Lord Scrope described. That deviouspair had a more subtle plan. They’d received the proclamations from the King, warning that his treasure had been taken and promising the strictest penalties for anyone who received stolen items. Le Riche turns up in Mistleham expecting a hero’s welcome. Instead he is arrested. Scrope and Claypole manage his trial, his imprisonment and his swift hanging.’
‘But surely Le Riche would have objected, made allegations against them?’
‘What proof did he have?’ Corbett asked. ‘I suspect he was given drugged wine; from the moment he was arrested his wits would have been dulled. For all we know, Scrope and Claypole might have promised him some form of escape, either from prison or the hangman’s noose. We both know, Ranulf, how an understanding can be reached with the executioner, a tight leather collar around the throat to protect it, the body later cut down and the victim revived.’
‘But that didn’t happen?’
‘Ah.’ Corbett pointed towards the church. ‘Le Riche had to be careful. He couldn’t simply go blundering into Mistleham, so he came to Mordern Forest and took shelter amongst the Free Brethren. They would be welcoming hosts. Whatever we think about them, Ranulf, the Brethren seemed quite sincere in their beliefs, with little regard for wealth or treasure. Le Riche hid his ill-gotten gains with them and moved into Mistleham to negotiate with Claypole.’ He waved a hand. ‘I suspect there was some previous secret agreement between Le Riche, Claypole and Scrope, but it proved false. By then Le Riche would have been desperate: nine months as utlegatus – beyond the law – would have exhausted him. In a word, he was ambushed. He was certainly given some opiate; completely drugged, he was hustled off to the scaffold.Perhaps he was promised his life; we’ll never know. The Free Brethren, realising that more villainy had been carried out by Scrope, cut down Le Riche’s corpse, brought it back to Mistleham and gave him what could be called honourable burial here in this deserted cemetery. They also held on to his plunder.’
‘And buried it with him?’
‘Together with these two drawings. They also left secret directions on that sacristy wall. Ranulf, I am now beginning to see the motivation behind Scrope’s massacre of the Free Brethren. First,’ he held up his hand, ‘there’s that wall painting in St Alphege’s. He recognised it as a warning to him. Second, by questioning Le Riche, Scrope may have established that the rest of the treasure was still here in the deserted village of Mordern. He arrives early on that fateful morning, the attack is launched in the grey light of dawn and the Free Brethren are massacred. Now Scrope and Claypole hoped they would find Le Riche’s treasure, but they didn’t. They acted very carefully. If they conducted a truly thorough search it would arouse suspicion. Moreover, if they were found with such ill-gotten goods they would have to answer for it before King’s Bench. If we hadn’t arrived, they would have continued their searches, but, of course, the presence of king’s men at Mistleham meant they had to restrain their impatience, curb their greed and wait for a better day.’
‘But they know we found the crypt.’
‘But nothing in it,’ Corbett replied. ‘I suspect Scrope also searched that.’
‘And now?’ Ranulf asked.
‘What I’ve said is mere supposition, empty theory,’ Corbett declared. ‘If we forced Master Claypole to confess then we’d havethe truth, but I want to be certain. We’ll take the treasure, make no mention of it and give Le Riche honourable burial. When this business is finished, I’ll leave coins with some priest to say a requiem mass for him. But the dead don’t concern me; the living do. Back in Mistleham a skilled assassin lurks in the shadows, cunning and devious. We suspect part of the truth but cannot yet reveal the full story. We must be patient and logical, not come to judgement till we have all or most of the facts. We must act all innocent yet curious. We must carefully observe and note, because,’ Corbett sighed, ‘scripture is correct: “The children of this world are more astute in their dealings with their own kind than the children of the light.”’
12
Whatever treasure is found in the hands of these malefactors, you must deposit in a safe and secure place.
Corbett had scarcely returned to Mistleham when there was a tap on his door. He answered it to find a servant hopping from foot to foot in the gallery outside.
‘Sir Hugh,’ he declared, ‘Lady Hawisa sends her regards and asks you to join her in the chapel.’
Corbett went back into his chamber, picked up his cloak and followed the servant along the gallery, down the steps and into the chapel, where Lady Hawisa sat on the mercy seat near the lady altar. The servant ushered Corbett over, then withdrew, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Sir Hugh.’ Lady Hawisa didn’t even turn in her chair. ‘I’d be grateful if you would bolt that door.’ He did so, then walked towards the sanctuary. Lady Hawisa rose to meet him. She was dressed in full black, and as he drew closer, she lifted up her veil and smiled serenely at him.