Song of a Dark Angel

Master Ranulf. Why are you here?'
    'Oh!' Ranulf shrugged. 'Like you, Master Joseph, I'm doing God's work but in a different way.'
    Master Joseph's face became serious. 'We heard about Master Monck's death. Please accept our condolences.'
    Ranulf nodded.
    'Have you discovered anything about his death?'
    'No, Master Joseph, we have not. It's as much a mystery as anything around here.'
    'Will Sir Hugh continue Monck's work?'
    Ranulf smiled and nodded. 'Of course. We are leaving soon for Bishop's Lynn, but Sir Hugh will return.' He stared into the man's face. 'I am sure,' he continued, 'I have met you before but I can't remember where.'
    The Pastoureaux leader pulled back his hood and returned to his hoeing.
    'Perhaps in another life, Master Ranulf! But I think your guide is becoming anxious.'
    Ranulf looked over his shoulder. The old lay sister was comically hopping from one foot to another.
    'I have shown you enough! I have shown you enough!' she bleated. 'The prioress would be angry. Please come!'
    Ranulf and Maltote followed her. They collected their horses and left the convent. Laughing and joking over Dame Cecily's discomfort, they rode down past the church and into the village. They stopped at the "Inglenook" to sample some ale. Ranulf chattered a little with Robert the reeve and Fulke the tanner but their dark looks and surly replies showed they were not welcome. Ranulf and Maltote left and returned to the manor house, where Corbett was poring over a piece of parchment. Every so often he would scribble a little and, throwing his quill down, he'd sit, head in hands, and stare at what he had written. He listened quietly as Ranulf described what had happened at the convent. Corbett picked up his quill and tapped the table top.
    'Bishop's Lynn!' he said. 'Are the bags packed?'
    Ranulf nodded.
    'Then we should leave. I want to be there by nightfall.'
    Ranulf and Maltote went down to the stables. Corbett followed with the saddlebags. He stopped to take leave of Gurney who seemed agitated that they were going so abruptly. He insisted that they should take some refreshment and allow his cooks to prepare food for the journey. Corbett was reluctant to alienate his host any further and so he agreed. The steward laid out a table in the main hall and served a range of meats and cheeses, whilst Catchpole gave them directions on which roads to take.
    An hour later they left, Corbett quietly cursing. The sky had become overcast and the cold, wet sea mist was creeping in over the cliffs. By the time they reached the crossroads the mist was swirling about them. Maltote and Ranulf debated on which road to take.
    'Follow the directions on the post,' Corbett rudely interrupted. 'That's what Catchpole told us.'
    He led them on. Within the hour Corbett had serious misgivings. According to Catchpole, the road ought to be broader and they should have passed through a series of small hamlets. However, because of the lowering sky and thickening mist, Corbett believed they were heading further inland across the moors. At last they stopped, cursing and muttering. The horses caught their unease and pawed the ground, snorting and whinnying against the black stillness of the moors. Corbett moved his horse round.
    'How long have we been travelling from Mortlake?'
    Ranulf shrugged and blew on his fingers. 'About two hours. Maltote, what's the matter?'
    The young messenger was staring back the way they had come.
    'Maltote!' Ranulf snapped. 'For God's sake, you are as skittish as a maid!'
    Maltote turned back, his face white, eyes anxious.
    'I don't know,' he muttered. 'After we left the crossroads I fell back. I am sure we are being followed.'
    'Nonsense!' Ranulf scoffed.
    'I am certain we were,' Maltote insisted. 'I heard the jingle of harness.'
    'Hell's teeth, Master!' Ranulf snapped. 'We are lost and we'll freeze if we stay here.'
    Corbett patted his horse's neck. 'There's only one thing for it. Let's return to the crossroads.'
    'Look!' Ranulf cried. 'Perhaps all is well!'
    He pointed into the mist, which shifted like steam above a cauldron. Corbett glimpsed the flare of light that Ranulf had seen. A farm, perhaps one of the villages. He moved his horse, leaving the path, crossing the rain-soaked moor in the direction of the light. His horse protested but Corbett urged it on. Again the horse whinnied. Corbett tugged at the reins but the horse was stuck fast. Corbett stared down in horror – his horse was really floundering, hoof and fetlock