Song of a Dark Angel

graves. It has been going on for the last year and seems to have neither rhyme nor reason.'
    'Why do you say that?' Corbett asked.
    'Because the graves that are pillaged are never recent ones but often decades old. Nothing remains except a few bones.'
    'And has anything been taken?' Corbett asked.
    'To my knowledge, nothing.'
    The church began to grow dark as the day died. Gurney gave a pithy summary of what had been said. The jury retired, but came back a short while afterwards. They trooped in behind their reeve, Robert, who looked, as Ranulf whispered to Corbett, as important as a cockerel on a dung heap.
    'You have a verdict?'
    'We have, my lord. We find that Marina, daughter of Fulke the tanner, was murdered by Gilbert with the connivance and support of his mother Gunhilda. We demand that they both be arrested to stand trial for their lives.'
    Gurney held up his hand. 'They will be arrested,' he promised. He looked warningly down the table, then at the other villagers clustered in the nave, who were murmuring threateningly amongst themselves. 'They are to have a fair trial,' he said firmly. 'They must be given a fair trial.'
    There were mutinous sounds from the villagers. 'The business of this court is concluded,' Gurney said. He dug into his purse and placed two silver pieces on the table. 'This is for Fulke the tanner, to pay for his daughter's funeral Mass. I shall also give Father Augustine a chantry fee for Masses to be sung for the repose of her soul between now and Easter Day.'
    The villagers, humming like an overturned beehive, swarmed around the jurymen, slapping them on the back as they left the church. Father Augustine, murmuring he had other business to attend to, left his record of the proceedings with Gurney and hurried after his parishioners.
    Gurney beckoned Catchpole forward. 'Take some men,' he.ordered, 'and go and arrest Gunhilda and Gilbert. Pray God that we do so before the villagers, now thronging in the taproom of the Inglenook, become so full of ale they take the law into their own hands.'
    Catchpole hurried off. Gurney rose, stretched and looked at Corbett.
    'Well, Hugh, a bloody day's business.'
    'Aye, and it won't end well.' Corbett pursed his lips and looked down at the door of the church. Your tenants, he thought, want justice and blood.
    'Are you going back to the manor, Hugh?'
    'Perhaps in a while. The day is drawing on. I would like to see more of the countryside before darkness falls.'
    Corbett excused himself and, accompanied by a taciturn Ranulf and Maltote, collected the horses idly grazing in a small paddock behind the priest's house. They rode back through the village. Corbett, going ahead, stared around at the white-washed, thatched cottages, each standing in its own little plot of land. A prosperous, thriving place, he thought. Nevertheless, he felt the heavy hand of violent death. The place was deserted. The women were indoors with their children, the men in the tavern opposite the village green with its now ice-covered pond.
    Some of the villagers standing at the door caught sight of Corbett and shouted greetings. Corbett raised a gloved hand in reply. He saw Robert the reeve leave his house, a freshly painted, half-timbered building, and wondered about the reeve's newly found wealth. Further along was the baker's house, with its small, gaudily painted sign depicting three white manchet loaves on a silver platter. Corbett would have stopped, but the house was shuttered and closed, as if the young girl's death had reminded the baker of his own tragedy. Corbett rode on out of the village, taking the path towards the cliff edge.
    The darkness was drawing in and the mist seethed above the angry waves sweeping in at low tide. The haunting cry of sea birds sounded above the low, moaning wind. Corbett sensed the desolation of the moors. He recalled legends of the place. Someone at Swaffham had called the wind the Dark Angel and told Corbett how this part of Norfolk had once been ruled by an ancient tribe which had rebelled against the Romans and drenched the land in blood. Corbett almost jumped as Ranulf pushed his horse alongside.
    'Master,' he began cautiously, glimpsing Corbett's close-set face. 'Maltote and I were wondering how long we are to stay here?'
    Corbett smiled. 'How long is a piece of rope, Ranulf?'
    Ranulf changed tack. 'The villagers have already made up their minds who killed that girl. Sir Simon is right – if Gilbert falls into their hands they will kill