fields of eastern England. Now the chronicle he wrote,’ Castledene held his hand up, ‘contained a map in the shape of a monastic cloister: a square with pillars around its garth. According to Paulents, this Cloister Map shows the treasure to be buried beneath wasteland somewhere in south Suffolk near the River Denham. Paulents trusted me fully; he copied this map and sent it to me, but it never arrived. You see, Sir Hugh, the richer I became, the more I attracted the attention of other people. In the year of the Gascon War, 1296, an audacious privateer had appeared on the sea-roads, a man I knew vaguely: Adam Blackstock, a former citizen of Canterbury, half-brother to Hubert the Monk. You know the details of their past. The chancery at Westminster must have informed you. Well, Blackstock proved himself to be a ruthless, indomitable fighter as well as a most skilled mariner. Eventually he owned his own ship, The Waxman . Now here is a problem, Sir Hugh . . .’ Castledene paused.
‘What problem?’ Corbett asked.
‘Blackstock and The Waxman were certainly patronised by leading merchants, even here in Canterbury. I always suspected Sir Rauf Decontet secretly supported him.’
‘Was there any personal animosity,’ Corbett asked, ‘between you and Blackstock?’
Sir Walter shrugged. ‘Blackstock was a citizen of Canterbury, as was I, but we never met. He became a pirate and lived beyond the law. He sank some of my ships. He also attacked Hanse merchant cogs.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It became personal when The Maid of Lubeck , belonging to Paulents, was attacked and plundered, for it was also carrying the precious Cloister Map. Paulents, myself and Edward of England decided to act.’
‘But something went wrong.’
‘No,’ Castledene replied with a sigh, ‘something went right. Paulents came across Blackstock’s lieutenant, a sly, eerie man called Stonecrop, in a Brabantine port. Blackstock had dispatched him there on some errand. Now Paulents could have hanged Stonecrop out of hand; instead the man turned traitor and told us exactly what had happened. First that Blackstock had intercepted the Cloister Map. Second that he had communicated this valuable find to his half-brother. Third that he was planning to sail back to Orwell to meet Hubert and unearth the treasure. It was easy to establish the times and dates of his proposed landfall.’
Castledene paused at a noise below.
‘Parson Warfeld and Desroches the physician have arrived,’ he declared.
Corbett shrugged. ‘They have their tasks to do and so have we. Please continue.’
‘We trapped and boarded The Waxman and subdued its crew, but Blackstock refused to surrender—’
‘Was he hanged?’ Corbett intervened.
‘No, we killed him and gibbeted his corpse.’
‘And Stonecrop?’ Corbett asked.
‘I threw him overboard,’ Castledene declared. ‘He was worthless. I could have hanged him but he deserved a slight chance. I’ve never seen or heard of him since. He probably died in the swollen icy seas. We searched Blackstock’s cabin but found nothing. The Cloister Map had disappeared; there was nothing but an empty coffer fashioned out of whalebone.’
‘And then what?’ Corbett asked. ‘You must tell me, Sir Walter! Be precise, because I believe all this has a bearing on what we’ve seen tonight.’
‘I was angry,’ Castledene confessed. ‘We took The Waxman in tow and sailed up the Orwell, but when we reached the Hermitage there was no sign of Hubert.’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘That was the last we ever heard of him or the treasure.’
‘Were there any survivors,’ Corbett asked, ‘apart from Stonecrop?’
‘No.’ Castledene shook his head. ‘Those who weren’t killed were hanged. We showed no mercy to anybody.’
‘And then what?’
‘Paulents returned to Germany and began searching for a fresh copy of the Cloister Map. The chronicle he’d first discovered was very ancient. It had passed through his
‘What problem?’ Corbett asked.
‘Blackstock and The Waxman were certainly patronised by leading merchants, even here in Canterbury. I always suspected Sir Rauf Decontet secretly supported him.’
‘Was there any personal animosity,’ Corbett asked, ‘between you and Blackstock?’
Sir Walter shrugged. ‘Blackstock was a citizen of Canterbury, as was I, but we never met. He became a pirate and lived beyond the law. He sank some of my ships. He also attacked Hanse merchant cogs.’ He smiled wryly. ‘It became personal when The Maid of Lubeck , belonging to Paulents, was attacked and plundered, for it was also carrying the precious Cloister Map. Paulents, myself and Edward of England decided to act.’
‘But something went wrong.’
‘No,’ Castledene replied with a sigh, ‘something went right. Paulents came across Blackstock’s lieutenant, a sly, eerie man called Stonecrop, in a Brabantine port. Blackstock had dispatched him there on some errand. Now Paulents could have hanged Stonecrop out of hand; instead the man turned traitor and told us exactly what had happened. First that Blackstock had intercepted the Cloister Map. Second that he had communicated this valuable find to his half-brother. Third that he was planning to sail back to Orwell to meet Hubert and unearth the treasure. It was easy to establish the times and dates of his proposed landfall.’
Castledene paused at a noise below.
‘Parson Warfeld and Desroches the physician have arrived,’ he declared.
Corbett shrugged. ‘They have their tasks to do and so have we. Please continue.’
‘We trapped and boarded The Waxman and subdued its crew, but Blackstock refused to surrender—’
‘Was he hanged?’ Corbett intervened.
‘No, we killed him and gibbeted his corpse.’
‘And Stonecrop?’ Corbett asked.
‘I threw him overboard,’ Castledene declared. ‘He was worthless. I could have hanged him but he deserved a slight chance. I’ve never seen or heard of him since. He probably died in the swollen icy seas. We searched Blackstock’s cabin but found nothing. The Cloister Map had disappeared; there was nothing but an empty coffer fashioned out of whalebone.’
‘And then what?’ Corbett asked. ‘You must tell me, Sir Walter! Be precise, because I believe all this has a bearing on what we’ve seen tonight.’
‘I was angry,’ Castledene confessed. ‘We took The Waxman in tow and sailed up the Orwell, but when we reached the Hermitage there was no sign of Hubert.’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘That was the last we ever heard of him or the treasure.’
‘Were there any survivors,’ Corbett asked, ‘apart from Stonecrop?’
‘No.’ Castledene shook his head. ‘Those who weren’t killed were hanged. We showed no mercy to anybody.’
‘And then what?’
‘Paulents returned to Germany and began searching for a fresh copy of the Cloister Map. The chronicle he’d first discovered was very ancient. It had passed through his
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