Song of a Dark Angel

are ungodly!'
    Master Joseph spread his hands. 'Are we to be held accountable for that? Surely some of your priests are not what they should be?' He lowered his voice to a mock whisper. 'They even say that not all friars, monks, bishops – even popes – are what they should be.'
    Philip Nettler, who had been busy hobbling their horses, now came back, wiping his hands on his brown fustian robe. He looked squarely at Gurney.
    'Sir Simon, have we ever done any wrong? We never knew Master Monck's servant, who was so barbarously murdered, or the poor baker's wife. We very rarely go down into the village. We cause no trouble.' He pursed his lips. 'But now we have troubles of our own.'
    'What troubles?' Corbett asked.
    'One of our sisters is missing. Marina.'
    Gurney, concerned, looked at Master Joseph.
    'You mean Marina the tanner's daughter?'
    'Yes, she left last night wanting to visit her father, Fulke. She has not yet returned.'
    Master Joseph saw Corbett rubbing his hands together against the cold.
    'Come in! Come in!' he urged.
    He led them across the yard into the farmhouse. The kitchen was a long, low-beamed room. A small log fire burnt in the great hearth; beside it an oven, where bread was baking, turning the air sweet and moist. The room was clean but furnished sparsely – some chests, shelves with a few pots and pans, and a long trestle table ringed by stools. Master Joseph offered some wine or ale, but Corbett refused. They gathered around the hearth, taking their gloves off and warming their fingers. A door at the far end of the room opened and the rest of the community came in. Corbett looked at them with interest. There were sixteen of them – ten men and six women – all young. They looked cheerful enough. The men had their hair cropped, the women had theirs gathered high under simple blue wimples. All wore brown robes, bound by a cord around the waist, over hose or leggings and stout leather sandals or boots. Corbett idly wondered how discipline could be maintained among people so young but dismissed his thoughts as unfair. Such mixed communities were common in France and 'double' houses of men and women were favoured in the order Gilbert of Sempringham had founded in England.
    The community sat down around the table. Master Joseph went over to say grace before ale and bread were served. The Pastoureaux chatted quietly among themselves, almost oblivious of the visitors watching them.
    'Are they all local?' Corbett whispered.
    'It depends what you mean by local,' Nettler replied. 'There are about four from the local village, others from further afield.'
    Corbett studied the young men and women. He knew the life of back-breaking work they had escaped from and wondered what they'd think of the Holy Land after the cold dampness of England. He also caught their concern and heard the name Marina whispered. Gurney walked over and began a conversation with one young man whom he recognized. Nettler moved across to hover anxiously. Suddenly Master Joseph straightened like a hunting dog, ears straining.
    'What's that?' he asked.
    The room fell silent. Then Corbett heard it too – a pounding on the outer gate and Ranulf's voice. Master Joseph hurried out. Nettler told the other Pastoureaux to stay where they were. Corbett, Gurney and Monck followed Master Joseph out. They hurried across the yard. Master Joseph unbarred the gate. Ranulf pushed him aside.
    'Master!' he called. 'Sir Simon!'
    'What's the matter, man?' Gurney snapped.
    'One of your servants – a huntsman or a verderer – has found the body of a girl. She's been murdered!'
    'Oh, Lord help us!' Master Joseph's face paled. 'Oh, God forfend that! Master Nettler, stay here!'
    Gurney had already hurried on to where Father Augustine and the physician stood by their horses. With them was a man dressed in a dirty brown leather jacket and leggings pushed into high riding boots. Gurney turned to him.
    'Thomas, what is it?'
    The man turned. His usually tanned, bearded face was now pale, his eyes had a haunted look.
    'Further along the moors I was out looking for poachers' snares. There's a girl's body.' The man hawked and spat. 'You'd best come and see!'
    He took off in a long loping run, Master Joseph hurrying behind him. The rest collected their horses and followed. They travelled about a mile across the moor and there, in a dip in the land just before a small copse, lay the girl's corpse. Her brown robe was thrust back over her young breasts, her legs