Song of a Dark Angel

companion's concern. 'Why are you here? You've not come to interfere or move us on?'
    Corbett smiled and shook his head.
    'Master Joseph, you are blunt so I'll be equally honest in return. The bishops are concerned about any new communities and have conveyed their anxieties to the king. He is' – Corbett chose his words carefully – 'interested in what you do, though at the moment more intrigued by the recent deaths in the area.'
    'Aye, I thought so.' Master Joseph's voice suddenly betrayed a country burr.
    'We have nothing to do with those.' Nettler spoke up, his voice high, rather waspish. 'Sir Simon knows we keep ourselves to ourselves.'
    Monck suddenly urged his horse forward. 'Are we to stay here and freeze?' he asked.
    'Sir Simon,' Master Joseph said flatly, 'you gave us the Hermitage and your solemn word that, as long as we lived here in peace, we had the right to say who came or left. We are an enclosed community. We cannot allow anyone, without a by-your-leave, to ride in and ride out.'
    He stared at Gurney's other companions. Corbett saw the shift in attention and noticed a slight worry in the Pastoureaux leader's eyes when he caught sight of Ranulf.
    Master Joseph, as though he had made up his mind, took a step back. 'Sir Simon, you are welcome, as always. So are Sir Hugh Corbett and Master Monck. Surely the others can wait outside?'
    Gurney agreed, and he, Corbett and Monck rode forward, leaving Ranulf and Maltote to converse with an aggrieved Father Augustine and a rather disappointed Selditch. At the gates all three dismounted and followed Master Joseph and Nettler into the wide enclosure. Corbett stared around. It looked to him like any other small farm. There was a low one-storeyed house surrounded by a number of outhouses. Two dogs lay dozing at the entrance to a small barn near a well and some scrawny chickens pecked on the cobbles. He saw a small pig-sty and, on one side of the farmhouse, a small grassy hillock which probably served as a rabbit warren. Master Joseph followed his gaze.
    'We are largely self-sufficient,' he said. 'We have plenty of water, we have fresh meat, and we grow our own herbs. Sir Simon pays us in cash or in kind for our work. And the sisters of the Holy Cross are generous to us, as are some of the more prosperous farmers.'
    Corbett stared around. The place looked shabby yet well kept – the Pastoureaux had apparently worked hard to build their refuge.
    'It's very quiet,' he said.
    Then he heard the faint sounds of singing and Nettler pointed across to the farmhouse. 'The community is at prayer.'
    'Then perhaps,' Monck said tartly, 'you should have allowed Father Augustine to enter.'
    'The community rule is quite precise,' Master Joseph said. 'No more than three visitors are allowed at any one time. Father Augustine will understand.'
    Corbett remembered the sour look on the priest's face and thought otherwise.
    'You pray often?' he asked, tapping his feet on the ground and wondering if the Pastoureaux would take them in from the cold.
    'Our rule is sweet but light,' Master Joseph replied.
    Corbett looked quickly at him; he was sure he detected a note of sarcasm in the man's voice.
    'What we do,' Master Joseph continued hurriedly, 'is rise, say prayers, study, do some work and return for community prayers and a meal at night.'
    'And you never leave here?' Monck asked.
    'Only for our journeys to Bishop's Lynn.' This time it was Philip Nettler who replied. 'Father Joseph and I go there when, now and again, we need supplies and when a period of purification is over.'
    'Purification?' Monck asked innocently as if that was the first time he had heard the word.
    'We are the Pastoureaux.' Master Joseph enthused. 'We are Christ's good shepherds. We accept young men and women of good standing and prepare them in our rule.' He cleared his throat. 'When they are ready we take them to as port, in our case, Bishop's Lynn. We secure passage for them abroad, to our house at Bethlehem, where Christ will come again.'
    'You really believe that?' Monck asked, not bothering to hide his sneer.
    'Don't you?' Master Joseph asked, blue eyes widening in surprise. 'Don't you, Master Monck, accept the Church's teaching that Christ will come again?'
    Monck sensed the theological trap opening for him and drew back.
    'It's just strange,' he muttered.
    'I have been there,' Joseph said. 'And so has Philip. The Lord is coming.'
    Monck returned to the attack. 'But in France and on the Rhine the Pastoureaux