‘What did you think about the prospect of recovering a valuable hoard of precious metal?’ asked the Archdeacon.
‘I thought it would be a great honour to be able to hand such a gift over to the Church,’ replied de Limesi virtuously. ‘For that was what Saewulf had commanded his priest to do, if it could not be returned to his family.’
‘So you secretly recruited a mercenary to recover it for you?’ said the coroner sarcastically. ‘Why not go to the Archdeacon or even the Bishop and enlist the powerful aid of the Church?’
The canon flushed, either from shame or anger, de Wolfe was not sure which. ‘That was my sin. I wanted to have the praise of the chapter and the Bishop. It was arrogance and pride, driving me to overtake poor Robert de Hane in finding the treasure. But it was the sin of vanity, not of my own greed.’
John held his tongue, but thought that anyone who believed that was either a saint or a fool.
‘So why go to a man of fortune, if you didn’t know where the hoard was hidden?’ asked John de Alencon.
‘I did that after I had found such directions,’ replied the canon. ‘The day after reading the Saewulf story, I arranged to be in the archives when de Hane was absent at devotions. I searched high and low, but found nothing. Later that day, when he had returned to the library, I went to his house on some pretext and hunted around there – we canons often visit each other’s dwellings and the servants are used to other clergy being in and out – but again there was nothing. The hiding-places in his Spartan dwelling were few indeed.’
‘Get to the point, man!’ snapped the coroner, wearying of this slow tale.
‘I found it eventually, carefully hidden in his high desk in the archives. He had sewn two old parchments together at three edges, forming a pocket. It was a single half-page of old vellum, with obvious directions to the spot where Saewulf had secreted his wealth. I copied this on to a new page, then returned the original to its hiding-place.’
‘Where is that copy now?’
‘I destroyed it – and the original has vanished too, for I looked yesterday. De Hane must have taken it away before his death.’
At this news there was a collective sigh.
‘You had better explain,’ said de Wolfe grimly.
De Limesi moved uneasily on his bench. ‘The directions were to a certain spot just outside the churchyard at Dunsford. No doubt this was where de Hane went when he took those rides on his pony, to survey the scene. I went there myself, during the first days of this month. The directions were clear, but when I looked over the hedge of the churchyard, so many paces from the church and so many from one of the ancient yews, many small trees and bushes had grown over the spot. I realised that Robert could not have recovered it alone and I soon saw that it was also beyond my capabilities. I needed help to dig at that place and that is why I asked my vicar to find me a man who would do the task.’
The Archdeacon looked askance at his brother canon. ‘Yes, Eric Langton! He will have to answer to the Consistory Court over this affair. But that’s another matter. What came next?’
‘Giles Fulford came to see me privately. He is distantly related to the Fulfords who come from near Dunsford, but that was a mere coincidence. We agreed that for recovering the hoard he would receive a tenth part of its value. This seemed appropriate as it is the same share as our tithes, if the wealth was to go to the Church.’
The stony silence that greeted this repeated assertion of his virtue spoke eloquently of the scepticism of his listeners.
‘Surely you were not so naïve as to believe that a mercenary recruited in a tavern would play honestly by you?’ De Wolfe had a scathing lack of belief in de Limesi’s truthfulness. ‘What was to stop Fulford recovering the treasure and making off with the whole lot?’
‘I promised him excommunication and to be damned to eternal hell if he betrayed the Church in that way,’ answered Roger earnestly.
John snorted in derision. ‘Then you must be a bigger fool than you are a rogue, sir, if you believe that a man like that would care more for his soul than even a handful of silver. But carry on with your unlikely tale.’
De Limesi showed the first signs of defiance. ‘Not so, Coroner! I intended going with him myself, to make sure he handed over what we agreed.’
‘And I suppose you were going to make him submit by disarming his sword with your walking-stick!’ retorted the coroner.
The Archdeacon raised a hand to stop the squabble. ‘Let’s hear the rest of your story.’
‘Two weeks ago, we met outside the city and rode to Dunsford together. If we had met the parish priest I would have said that I was interested in church history – I had enough knowledge of Canon Robert’s work to make it sound convincing. But in the event it was not needed. We saw no one but local peasants who were of no account.’
This dismissive attitude to those of the lower orders in his pastoral flock also registered in the minds of his audience.
‘We surveyed the churchyard, and the field and wood beyond it. The directions pointed to a patch of wasteground just over the hedge. Fulford said it was an impossible task for one man, due to this overgrowing of vegetation. It’s well over a century since Saewulf buried his treasure and the place has changed.’ The canon mopped his face before continuing. ‘Fulford said that he would need two strong men to help him, and that made a discreet operation all the more difficult. He demanded a quarter of the proceeds instead of a tenth, and I had to agree.’
‘You could have dismissed him and sought the ample help of the chapter,’ said the Archdeacon, with a steely look at his colleague. ‘We have more than enough strong servants in the close here.’
De Wolfe was less reticent. ‘You fool, he could as easily have said he would do it for free, for he had no intention of giving you anything at all – except perhaps a few blows from the flat of his sword.’
‘Let him have his say, John,’ advised de Alencon.
‘Fulford then forbade me to accompany him on the next visit, to keep his accomplices unidentified. He said that he would bring whatever he found to my house at night, when he and his friends had finished their digging.’
‘What about the parish priest at Dunsford – and, indeed, the lord of the manor? How was he to avoid their attention?’
‘This didn’t seem to worry him. When I had first told him the place was Dunsford, he had laughed and said there would be no problem. Maybe because he claimed kinship with his namesakes there.’
‘And did he turn up at your dwelling with a sack of gold?’ asked John sarcastically.
‘He did, in a manner of speaking. A week ago, he came slyly to Canons’ Row in the evening, bearing an earthenware jar.’
De Wolfe’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but his cynicism was soon restored.
‘He was in a high temper, for after many difficulties, he said, all he and his men had unearthed was this pot. On opening it, he had by no means found the expected treasure.’
‘What was in it?’ cried Jordan de Brent, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
‘A single brooch – admittedly a very fine one, of Saxon workmanship, made of gold with inset jewels. It was of some considerable value, but hardly a treasure hoard as expected.’
‘Anything else?’ asked the Archdeacon.
‘A slip of parchment, much faded and covered with mould, even though the jar had been tightly stoppered and sealed with wax. Fulford could not read so he had to bring it me. It was just about legible when I unfolded it, a short message to the effect that the brooch had been overlooked “when his treasure was hid”, so that it could not be buried in the same spot as described “in the other document”.’