Song of a Dark Angel

Fitzosborne lost some of his arrogance, though he refused to be cowed.
    'Sir Simon, the manor's custom is well known,' he shouted defiantly. 'One of your tenants has been murdered, brutally. You have the power.'
    Gurney turned to Corbett and smiled weakly at him.
    'Fitzosborne is right,' he said. 'I have the power of sword and gallows. But you are the king's representative here, what do you advise?'
    Corbett looked at the throng of peasants milling by the cart with its pathetic burden. He felt the justice of Fitzosborne's demand. A young girl had been brutally murdered. Moreover, if a jury was empanelled and he was present, he might discover more about this mysterious place with its strange murders. More than one type of mist hid the place, not only from the eyes of men but from the eyes of God as well. He looked at Gurney.
    'A jury,' he declared firmly, 'must be summoned!'

Chapter 4
    Within the hour Marina's corpse had been removed to the death house on the edge of the village. At the same time the nave of the long, solidly built church had, according to custom, been turned into a court. Corbett stood outside, staring up at the squat tower, at the base of which yawned the main door to the church. He admired the sculptures over the door and round the windows. These were carefully carved with animals, flowers and strange beasts. He looked over his shoulder at the priest's house, a large cottage with plastered walls and a thatched roof. Corbett shivered; a place of secrets, he thought, why had this village now become a place of shadows and sudden death? Ranulf, Maltote and he walked around the church and stared at the gorse, weeds and creeping brambles.
    'A sad place,' Ranulf remarked.
    Corbett studied the battered wooden crosses and crumbling headstones. He wondered what any grave robber would find so interesting there and walked back into the entrance of the church. Father Augustine came bustling from the death house, wiping his hands on his robe, his thin face creased in concern. Corbett and his companions followed him in to the church. Staring up, they admired the wooden ceiling, painted in bright lozenge patterns. The walls and pillars of the nave had also been painted, with bizarre, gaudy zig-zag or dogtooth designs and the flickering cresset torches revealed vivid scenes from the life of Christ painted on the transept walls.
    The church was quiet now. A long trestle table had been placed in the nave. Six men sat on either side of it. At the far end Gurney sat enthroned in the heavily ornate sanctuary chair, which had been moved from beneath the rood screen. At the near end Father Augustine, who also served as parish clerk, had laid out parchment, inkhorn and pumice stone ready to record the proceedings. Behind Gurney stood a forbidding-looking Catchpole, Giles Selditch and Master Joseph. Villagers squatted on the ground around the table. Gurney waved Corbett forward, indicating a stool on his right.
    'Sir Hugh, you will be my witness to the proceedings.'
    Gurney got to his feet and formally pronounced the court to be in session.
    Corbett watched fascinated. He had often acted as a royal justice or commissioner, but he had never seen a serious matter dealt with in a manor court.
    'The death we are here to enquire into,' Gurney began, 'is that of Marina, daughter of Fulke the tanner, who was barbarously murdered out in the moorlands. She had been raped and strangled' – he raised his hands to still the clamour – 'by a person or persons unknown. Now,' he continued hurriedly, 'you know the ancient customs and usages. First, the death may be recorded. Secondly, if enough information is brought, a person or persons may be indicted.' His voice rose. 'If the latter is the case, then such a person or persons must be arrested and given fair trial before their peers at the next assize.'
    A low chorus of protests greeted his words. Gurney wiped his hands nervously on the edge of his gown. He looked down the line of jurors on either side of the table, staring hard at Robert the reeve.
    'You have all sworn the oath on the book of the gospels.' He pointed to the heavy tome on the table. 'Anyone who wishes to give evidence must swear on the gospels. I need not remind you that perjury can be a capital offence.'
    Gurney's last words rang like a death knell through the church, a harsh reminder to his tenants of the danger of lying on such an important occasion.
    After that the questioning began. Gurney's huntsman took the oath