Song of a Dark Angel

were packed with a tangle of shipping – small herring boats, fishing smacks, merchant ships and even a great belly-bottomed cog belonging to the Hanse. The air was thick with the smell of salt, fish and spices and the quayside thronged with carters, port officials, merchants and sailors. Traders stood offering a wide range of goods, from ribbons to hot pies – Corbett found their shouting and talking in different dialects and tongues confusing. At last he espied a port official dressed in his brown fustian robe and carrying a white wand of office. After more deliberations, Corbett was eventually directed to the Green Wyvern tavern next to the custom house, where Culpeper and other members of his guild met to do business. In its taproom Corbett found Culpeper, a thick-set, burly man with watery eyes and vein-streaked face. He was already deep in his cups, chattering to his fellows. Corbett had to shout to make himself heard.
    'You had a daughter, Amelia?'
    Culpeper sobered up. He put his tankard down and pushed his face close to Corbett's. 'What is that to you?'
    Corbett explained who he was and Culpeper rose drunkenly to his feet.
    'I've drunk enough,' he muttered. 'And this is not the place to talk.'
    He led Corbett back out on to the quayside and into the timber custom house. The miller slumped down on a wooden bench just inside the entrance and gestured at Corbett to do the same.
    'I know it's early,' he slurred, 'but it's market day and the price of flour has risen.' He gazed bleary-eyed at Corbett. 'A man has to reward himself, as well as forget the past.'
    'What have you to forget, Master Culpeper?'
    'A daughter named Amelia. She was our only child. I lavished everything upon her – finery, trinkets, clothes – nothing was too good for her. But she was headstrong.' Culpeper turned away to wipe the tears from his cheeks. 'I went to Hunstanton, you know, to bring her body back. Her mother wanted that. Now we have locked away the past and I let it be.'
    'Do you know why she was murdered?'
    'God knows! Or at least he pretends to. Who would hurt poor Amelia, eh, Master Corbett? What a death, to be strung up like a rat on that lonely, horrible gibbet!'
    'Why did you let her go to Hunstanton?'
    The man blew out fumes of ale and placed his fat hands on his thighs.
    'I had no choice. Amelia was finished here. A laughing stock, a shame to her family! Somebody once called her "used goods". Can you imagine that, eh, Master Corbett? A lovely girl being discarded like a piece of dirty cloth?'
    Corbett remained silent. He could guess what was coming. No miller was popular because no miller was poor. Such a tradesman always provoked envy amongst those who had to buy his products.
    'Amelia became pregnant,' Culpeper explained. 'What, oh, some ten, twelve years ago.'
    'And the father?'
    'We never knew. Never once did Amelia talk about him.' 'You honestly never knew?'
    'No, it was always a great secret. You know the games young, lovelorn women play? She would say she was visiting friends or relations.' Culpeper blinked. 'Anyway, Amelia became pregnant, but she told no one about the father. The child was born, but died within days. Amelia became listless. She had not only lost her child but the man she loved. All she would say was that something had ended which could never continue.' Culpeper wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. 'The years passed. Amelia never referred to her love and he certainly made no attempt to communicate with her. Now, Master Fourbour was a constant visitor to our mill to buy flour for his bakery in Hunstanton. He knew about Amelia's past but offered his hand in marriage. She, surprisingly, accepted. I don't know why.' He shrugged. 'The rest you know.'
    'Was Amelia happy with her husband?'
    'Sir, Amelia was never happy. Fourbour loved her and I think she tolerated him. And, before you ask, she never gave any indication of the tragedy which befell her. Only recently, when going through certain belongings she had left behind, I found a piece of parchment in a small, velvet pouch. Here, you can look for yourself.' Culpeper fumbled in his wallet. He took out a small, dark-blue velvet bag and gave it to Corbett. 'I always carry it around with me.' His voice became choked. 'It's the only memento I have.'
    Corbett undid the pouch. The parchment was a mere scrap, cut in the shape of a heart. On it was written Amor Haesitat above Amor Currit. The four capital letters were heavily