‘Oh, he’s probably in the tavern,’ Corbett replied. ‘You know Maltote: he’ll be talking horses with the stable boy and grooms and downing tankards as if his life depended on it. What were you going to say?’
‘Someone in York,’ Ranulf continued, ‘has found a treasure trove, melted it down and made coins. He has then used those coins to buy comforts and luxuries for himself.’
‘Precisely,’ Dame Jocasta agreed. ‘It’s the only way. If you take gold and silver objects to a goldsmith, you immediately become suspect, either as a felon or someone who’s found treasure trove and is flouting the king’s rights in the matter. Now, such treasure is easy to trace. No goldsmith would be party to that.’ She played with the coin in her hand. ‘Whoever made this has a very good forge and the means to buy all the coining tools.’
‘But wouldn’t anyone become suspicious?’ Claverley asked. ‘If gold vessels can be traced back to their original owner, so can gold coins.’
‘Not if fifty or sixty appeared at the same time,’ Jocasta replied. ‘And that’s what Robard used to do with his counterfeit coins. The more you distribute, the safer you are. The man who counterfeited these coins did the same. He must have the means to move round York and bring these coins into circulation without raising suspicion.’ She rubbed the coin between her fingers. ‘And that’s the whole beauty of it. All a goldsmith and a banker will do is weigh coins on a scale. After all, its not their fault if these coins end up in their possession. They have become party to the crime but can act the innocent. They have sold foodstuffs or cloths, wines or whatever. They have a right to be paid: the coins are accepted and people become forgetful.’
Corbett leaned back in the chair. ‘Brilliant,’ he whispered. ‘You find gold. You melt it down into coins, you distribute them and, by doing so, bring everyone else into your game. At the same time you evade the law and become very, very rich.’ He looked at Dame Jocasta. ‘And you have no idea. .?’
‘Don’t stare at me like that, Clerk,’ she teased back. ‘This counterfeiter is no ruffian or miscreant clipping coins or melting them down over a charcoal fire. This cunning man is very wealthy: he has the means and the wherewithal.’
‘But couldn’t the coins be traced?’ Ranulf asked insistently. ‘Someone, somewhere, would remember?’
Dame Jocasta pointed to Corbett’s purse. ‘Master Clerk, you have good silver there? Can you remember exactly which coin was given to you by what person?’
‘But I’d remember a gold coin,’ Ranulf replied.
‘Would you?’ Jocasta retorted. ‘If you thought it might be seized and taken away from you? However,’ she handed the coin back to Corbett, ‘you have a point. This counterfeiter probably doesn’t use coins to buy anything from city merchants. After all, anyone paying gold here and there would eventually be recognised.’
‘So?’ Corbett asked.
Dame Jocasta looked into the flames of the fire. She watched the small, sweet-smelling pine logs crackle and snap on their charcoal bed.
‘I wish Robard was here,’ she whispered. ‘He’d know.’ She glanced up quickly. ‘You are staying at Framlingham, the Templar manor?’
Corbett nodded.
‘Why not start there?’ Jocasta murmured. ‘The Templars have the means: woods and copses to hide a secret forge. They import foodstuffs and goods from abroad. They have connections with bankers and goldsmiths. And, unless I am mistaken, this gold appeared at the time the Templars arrived in York.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Corbett replied. ‘The king and Court moved down from the Scottish march and stayed outside York. Shortly after the Templar commanders arrived, these coins began to appear.’
‘But where would they get the gold from?’ Claverley asked.
Corbett toyed with his Chancery ring which bore the insignia of the Secret Seal.
‘They did grant the king a huge gift,’ Ranulf remarked. ‘And they have treasures not known to anyone.’
Corbett recalled the secret room at Framlingham. Was there a connection between this gold and the murders?
‘Sir Hugh?’
Corbett shook himself from his reverie. ‘I am sorry, Dame Jocasta.’ He rose to his feet, took her hand and pressed it with his lips. ‘I thank you for your help.’
‘You are not just hunting a counterfeiter, are you?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘Not the king’s principal clerk!’
Corbett stroked her cheek gently with his finger. ‘No, Domina, I am not. As usual,’ he added bitterly, ‘I am hunting demons: men who kill for the-devil-knows-what reason.’
‘Then you should be careful, Clerk,’ she replied softly. ‘For those who hunt demons either become hunted, or demons themselves.’
Ranulf, standing in the shadows of the doorway, saw his master start, as if Jocasta’s words had struck home, but then the old lady smiled and the tension eased. Corbett and Claverley made their farewells and followed Ranulf out and across into the yard of the Jackanapes tavern: here, a guilty-faced Maltote, brimming tankard to his lips, was declaiming to the round-eyed ostlers and slatterns what an important man he was. Ranulf, ever with an eye for mischief, joined the group and began to tease Maltote, whilst Corbett and Claverley went into the taproom. They took a table overlooking the small garden. For a while Corbett stared out, watching the sun set in a glorious explosion of colours. Claverley ordered some ale. Corbett sipped his, thinking of Dame Jocasta’s warning as he fought the waves of homesickness. The flowers and the garden reminded him of home and, in his heart, Corbett knew that he would not stay here much longer. He wanted Maeve and Eleanor. He’d even sit for hours and listen to Uncle Morgan’s fabulous boasting about the great Welsh heroes. He wanted to sleep in a bed with no dagger by his side and walk without a warbelt strapped round his waist.
‘Was that helpful?’ Claverley interrupted.
‘Oh, yes, it was.’ Corbett smiled an apology. ‘We at least know the counterfeiter is powerful, wealthy, has access to gold and knows how to distribute these coins.’
‘Could it be the Templars?’ Claverley asked. ‘At the Guildhall we’ve heard rumours. .’
‘I don’t know,’ Corbett replied. He leaned across the table and clapped the man on his shoulder. ‘I am not the best of companions: Roger, are you a family man?’
‘Twice married,’ the under-sheriff replied with a grin. ‘My first wife died but my second has given me lovely children.’
‘Do you ever tire of hunting demons?’ Corbett asked.
Claverley shook his head. ‘I heard what Dame Jocasta said, Sir Hugh.’ He sipped from his tankard and continued. ‘We all bear the mark of Cain. Like you, Sir Hugh, I’ve seen the breakdown of law and order, when the demons come out of the shadows. So no, I don’t ever tire of fighting them. If we don’t hunt them, as God is my witness, they’ll eventually come hunting us.’
Across the rim of his tankard, Corbett stared at Claverley. A good man, Corbett thought, just and upright. He promised himself to mention Claverley’s name to the king. Ranulf and Maltote joined him: they would have continued their banter but one look at Corbett’s face made Ranulf change his mind.
‘Where now, Master?’
Corbett leaned back against the wall. ‘We are not going back to Framlingham,’ he declared. ‘Not tonight. The Botham Bar road is dark and dangerous. Master Claverley, one favour, or rather four.’
‘My orders are to give you every assistance.’
‘First, I’d like rooms here.’
‘That can be arranged.’
‘Secondly,’ Corbett said, ‘our counterfeiter must have a forge. Now the city has tax rolls, forges are always part of an assessment.’
‘Unless it’s a secret one,’ Claverley added.
‘I also want a list,’ Corbett persisted, ‘of all those who have a licence to import goods into the city. Finally, if this gold is treasure trove, it must have been found during some building work. No burgess can do that without a licence from the aldermen.’
‘Agreed,’ Claverley said. ‘So, you want a list of blacksmiths or anyone owning a forge: those with a licence to import and any citizen who has received a writ permitting him to build?’