Song of a Dark Angel

Corbett leapt forward in time to knock the dagger out of her hand, but he wasn't fast enough to top her slapping her other hand across the man's face in a stinging blow.
    'You filthy bastard!' she screamed.
    Master Joseph cowered, unresisting, between the two burly retainers who held him. Corbett dragged Blanche away.
    'I want the hall cleared, Sir Simon.' He put Blanche's dagger on a table. 'And I want both prisoners chained, just in case.'
    'Do you want everyone to leave?' Gurney asked. 'Apart from you, Ranulf and the prisoners, and Blanche, yes.'
    Gurney gave the order. Catchpole came back with chains and secured the ankles and wrists of the prisoners. Blanche walked away and stood with her back to them, gazing into the fire.
    Corbett picked up the dagger and thrust it into his belt. 'Let me start from the very beginning,' he said. 'Four or five years ago, through the Knights Hospitaller, the king learned that young free-born men and women of this realm were being sold into slavery, mostly for purposes of prostitution. They are prized especially for their fair hair and skin and they fetch high prices in the slave-markets of North Africa.' Corbett walked over to the table and took a sip from his goblet. 'This scandalous trade,' he continued, 'has been condemned by successive popes and Church councils – it is not only English men and women who are taken. Indeed, it is the one thing that Philip of France and Edward of England agree in opposing, though they find it impossible to stop. The trade is a very old one, but it has reached new levels since the Children's Crusade, nearly a hundred years ago, and whetted the slave-dealers' appetite.'
    'I have heard something of that,' Gurney said.
    'It was a strange phenomenon,' Corbett said. 'Thousands of children from all over Europe were persuaded by a shepherd boy named Stephen to follow him on a crusade to the Holy Land. Few, if any, reached it. Most fell into the hands of slavers and were sold in the markets of Algeria and Egypt.'
    Gurney got to his feet. 'That is history,' he said. 'But are you saying that these two Pastoureaux leaders are involved in the present trade? They live in poverty-'
    Ranulf's snort of laughter interrupted him. 'Go to the Hermitage, Sir Simon, and look into the private quarters of this precious pair. You'll find woollen blankets, goose-feather bolsters, silken sheets and tuns of fine wine brought specially from Bishop's Lynn. The rest of the community fasted but these two certainly didn't.'
    'I'll wager,' Corbett said, keeping a wary eye on Blanche, who still stood by the fire, 'that Master Joseph and Philip Nettler also own some pleasant properties throughout the kingdom. Of course, there were also the occasional journeys to Bishop's Lynn to revel in the flesh-pots.'
    'This is not true,' Master Joseph muttered. 'We had nothing to do with this. Sir Simon, you are right. How could we profit?'
    'Easily enough,' Corbett said. 'You move around the kingdom, spending a year here, eighteen months there. Then you retire for a while to enjoy your ill-gotten gains, perhaps at some fine house in London or Lincoln. Then you re-emerge like a mummer in a play. You arrive in a lonely place such as Hunstanton, posing as some sort of St Francis of Assisi. You draw the young to you, with your dreams, ideals and visions of journeys to exciting places. The young stay with you for a while. You want to ensure there's no protest and there very rarely is. After all, many a peasant lad or lass is only too willing to escape the servitude of the soil. And why should their parents object? After all, it means one less mouth to feed when the winter comes.'
    'But the ships' captains – they would have to be involved!' Gurney exclaimed.
    'It's a thriving trade,' Corbett said. 'There's many a captain willing to engage in this lucrative business as it's so easy. No questions asked, no duty to pay and nobody to object.'
    'The victims could,' Nettler whimpered. It was his only attempt to defend himself.
    'Have you ever tried to escape from a sea captain who's paid good silver for you? From a brothel in Marseilles or Salerno, or from an Ottoman harem? And, if you do escape, where can you go? If those who own you don't track you down and kill you, others will. How can a girl from Hunstanton walk from Marseilles to Dieppe? She doesn't know a word of the language, and, if she did manage to tell her story, who would believe her? Our friends here would simply say that she had jumped