Song of a Dark Angel

by a heavily starched white wimple and a grey-blue, gold-edged veil. A merry soul, Corbett considered, with her dimpled cheeks, small chin and retrousse nose. But her dark eyes were small and shrewd and her mouth firm and Corbett quietly concluded that she could be as commanding as any lord in the convent she ruled. Finally there was Adam Catchpole, Gurney's principal henchman, a veteran of the old king's wars – a hard-bitten, taciturn man with eyes like flint and a face hewn out of granite. Catchpole kept scratching his close-cropped, greying hair and played with the silver plate and knife as if he felt uneasy in such opulent surroundings.
    Once the introductions were over, Gurney rapped the table and invited Father Augustine to say grace. The priest delivered it in a high nasal voice. Corbett noticed Father Augustine's command of Latin – he said the prayer smoothly without a second thought. The servants came in and served beef and mutton cooked with olives; broiled venison, the flesh sweetened with brown sugar and flavoured with lemon juice, cinnamon and ginger; and chickens spit-roasted and stuffed with grapes. All the time the servants kept filling the goblet beside each guest. Corbett sipped his wine carefully, though Ranulf and Maltote ate and drank as if there was no tomorrow.
    At first the conversation was general. Monck, sitting restlessly beside Corbett, drummed his fingers on the table top. After a few minutes he raised his goblet and looked at Gurney sitting in his high-backed chair.
    'Sir Simon, your hospitality is magnificent but tomorrow Sir Hugh and I have business on your estates!'
    Gurney put down his own goblet, biting back his annoyance.
    'You mean the Pastoureaux? '
    His words stilled all conversation.
    'Yes, the Pastoureaux.'
    'But why now? You have seen them before,' Gurney said.
    'I have studied them from afar,' Monck replied. 'And spoken to their leader, Master Joseph. I have never been into the Hermitage.' He smirked and glanced sideways at Corbett. 'Perhaps tomorrow Sir Hugh could change all this?'
    'Why are you interested in them?'
    Father Augustine leaned forward, chewing carefully on a small morsel of chicken. He had eaten and drunk sparely and so far contributed little to the conversation.
    'Why shouldn't I be?' Monck snapped. 'Who else would kill my man Cerdic? I also wager they had a hand in the death of the baker's wife.'
    'What proof do you have?' Father Augustine asked.
    'Well, someone killed them!' The voice came from the doorway, where a bald-headed, red-faced man of middle years stood, pulling back the cowl of his gown.
    Gurney's face broke into a smile as he got to his feet.
    'Giles, welcome!'
    He beckoned to his steward to pull up another chair and lay a place for the new arrival, who sat down and immediately grabbed a small loaf of bread, hungrily tearing off chunks and popping them into his mouth. He swallowed hard and bowed towards Gurney.
    'My apologies,' he spluttered between mouthfuls, 'but babies have the habit of being born at the most ungodly hours.'
    'You have been to the village?'
    'Yes and I thought I would never make my way back through the mist.'
    Gurney clapped his hands softly. 'My apologies, Hugh. May I introduce Master Giles Selditch, family friend and physician. He resides here at the manor, more for my health than his.'
    'Tush, man.' The doctor teased back. 'Who else would look after an old physician like myself? Sir Hugh, you come from London?'
    'Aye, sir.'
    'What news do you bring?' Alice smiled down the table at Selditch. 'Whose child has been born?'
    'The Reeve's. A lusty baby boy. I think they'll have it baptized Simon as a mark of respect to your husband.'
    'And the mother?'
    'Riccalda. A little weak but her husband's newly found wealth will make sure she is given the best food.'
    The physician's words created a stillness as if he had touched upon a sensitive point.
    'We were talking about the Pastoureaux,' Monck said abruptly. 'Master Giles, do you have anything to do with them?'
    Selditch rested back in his chair and spread his hands.
    'A little and, as I've told you before, I can only judge by what I see. I have taken medicines to them – pots of herbs, ointments, a number of poultices.'
    'And?' Monck glanced slyly at Corbett. 'Come, educate our new arrivals!'
    'They seem God-fearing, quiet people. Their leader is Master Joseph, but the real organizer is Philip Nettler.'
    'So, you agree with their creed?' Dame Cecily's tone made it clear that