Song of a Dark Angel hc-8 Read online

  'This is Marina, isn't it?'

  Master Joseph nodded.

  'Then God help her!' Corbett whispered. He forced the girl's eyes shut and pulled down the long robe to cover her nakedness.

  Ranulf, standing behind him, said sadly, 'She must have been beautiful.'

  'Aye,' Corbett replied. 'A terrible death for a lovely girl. Sir Simon, she has to be moved.'

  Gurney nodded. Telling Thomas the huntsman to control the horses, which were becoming nervous at the smell of death, he walked over and knelt beside the girl. He turned her face towards him.

  'About sixteen summers old,' he murmured. 'I remember her baptism. Her father, Fulke, will be beside himself with grief.'

  Father Augustine, whose sorry nag had found it difficult to keep up with the rest, finally arrived. He dismounted, studied the corpse and swallowed hard. He pushed the cowl of his robe back, knelt down and whispered absolution into the girl's ear, sketching a blessing above her. He got to his feet, wiping the wetness off his robe.

  'We have to take her home,' he said. 'Master Joseph, do you have a cart?'

  The Pastoureaux leader nodded and hurried back towards the Hermitage. Corbett went over to where Selditch was taking a generous swig from Gurney's wineskin before passing it to Ranulf.

  'Master physician,' he asked Selditch formally, 'the girl was raped and then garrotted?'

  Selditch lowered the wineskin. 'Aye, that's bloody obvious.' His face softened. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered. 'But the girl was an angel.' He looked at Gurney. 'I'm not sure whether she was raped and then killed or whether she was first strangled and then brutally abused.' He turned and looked towards the mist-shrouded woods and back at Corbett. 'Whatever you are here for,' he said dully, 'find out the truth about this. For the devil's come to Hunstanton!'

  Corbett looked up at Monck. The black-garbed clerk had neither dismounted nor made any attempt to approach the girl's body. His face was more pallid than usual and Corbett saw a muscle twitching high in his cheek. He went over and touched Monck's ungloved hand. It was cold as a block of ice.

  'Lavinius?'

  Monck just stared at the corpse.

  'Lavinius!' Corbett hissed. He grasped the man's arm and squeezed it. 'Master Monck!'

  Monck broke from his reverie and stared down at Corbett, as if seeing him for the first time. His lips curled.

  'Piss off, you bastard!' he hissed.

  Corbett's hand fell away. He stepped back, appalled at the fury blazing in Monck's eyes, and spread his hands in a I gesture of peace.

  'She's dead!' Monck whispered hoarsely. 'She's dead! And there's nothing that bloody priest or the bloody Pastoureaux can do to bring her back!' And, tugging violently at the reins of his horse and digging his spurs in, he turned and rode off in the direction of the manor.

  'Master!' Ranulf hurried over. 'Master, what's wrong?'

  Corbett merely shook his head. 'It's nothing.' Corbett declared. 'Nothing at all.'

  And then he recalled the stories he had heard about Monck tittle-tattle from the clerks in the chancery, fragments of gossip around the court.

  'The man's mad!' Ranulf muttered.

  'Perhaps.' Corbett replied.

  Master Joseph came back, leading a donkey pulling a flat two-wheeled cart. Maltote and Ranulf placed the girl's body gently on the cart. Gurney sent the huntsman on into the village.

  'Tell them what has happened,' he ordered. 'Father Augustine will take the body to the church.'

  The sad little procession made its way back, the cart bumping and jolting along the trackway that led down to Hunstanton. They skirted the manor and, a short while later, entered the village. The main thoroughfare was broad and rutted. The cart jolted, giving a strange life to the corpse which lay sprawled under the blanket. As they entered Hunstanton, Corbett saw a small crowd gathering. The women and children were first, then men came running from the fields, their tunics and breeches stained and heavy with dark clay. Small boys, carrying the slings they used to drive away marauding crows, trotted behind. Corbett looked at their red, raw faces, bruised by the cold, salty wind. He felt a pang of compassion at the fear in their faces. They wordlessly gathered around the cart and looked askance at their lord. Gurney pulled his hood back, shook his head and dismounted. He raised his hand, stilling the low moans and muttered curses.

  'Marina, God rest her,' he announced, 'has been foully murdered out on the moors. I swear, by God and the king, her murderer shall be found and hanged!'

  'What was she doing there?' someone shouted.

  The question went unanswered as a heavy, thickset man, an anxious-faced woman in tow, hurried up and pushed his way through to the cart. He took one look at the body and turned away, clutching his chest, his fingers pressing deeply into the leather apron he wore. He tried to stop his wife from seeing what he had seen, but the woman struggled free and stood for a long moment looking down at the body. Then she slumped on to the cobbles beside the cart, mouth open, and gave the most wretched cry Corbett had ever heard. 'My baby!' she moaned. 'Oh no, not my Marina!' The cry was all the more pathetic in its thick rustic burr. She began to bang her head against the wheel of the cart. Her husband tried to raise her to her feet but again she fought free of him, the hood slipping back from her wispy, grey hair. She flung herself at Gurney, grasping his robe.

  'Who would do it?' she cried. 'Who would do that?'

  Her terrible sobbing stilled all clamour. Gurney looked at her husband.

  'It is Marina?'

  The man nodded, tears streaming down his face. 'I want justice, my lord,' he whispered. 'You shall have it.'

  He looked up at the priest. 'You'll bury her, Father?' 'Aye, Fulke, I will, in God's acre.'

  Fulke pushed his way forward to where Master Joseph stood silently watching.

  'You said you'd look after her,' he said bitterly.

  Master Joseph stood his ground, ignoring the dark mutterings that had broken out around him.

  'Fulke, I did. But Marina insisted on returning to the village last night. She had to see you, or so she told me. Perhaps she wanted to visit someone else? '

  'Where's Gilbert, the witch's son?' someone shouted.

  'He's not here,' someone else replied.

  Corbett leaned over. 'Father Augustine, who is this Gilbert?'

  'The girl's sweetheart. Or at least he was sweet on her. A simple lad, a woodcutter's son. He and his mother live on the edge of the village beyond the church, as you go out towards the headland. She's a wise woman. She knows simples and cures, remedies and potions.' Father Augustine lowered his voice. 'But you know how it is Sir Hugh – there's gossip that she dabbles in the black arts and, at night, rides the wind with other demons.'

  The crowd's mood had suddenly turned ugly. Gurney remounted and shouted for silence. Then: 'There is no proof against any man!'

  'Well, who else could it be?' a voice asked.

  A tight inner group of villagers had gathered around Fulke and his wife; A small, pot-bellied man stepped forward from amongst them. His wart-covered face was sour, the anger spots high on his cheek bones. He walked with a swagger, running thick fingers through wispy blond hair. He took up position before Gurney's horse.

  'You know the custom, Sir Simon, and the ancient usage? I, Robert Fitzosborne, reeve of this village, demand that a jury be assembled and the murderer named!'

  So this was the reeve. Corbett studied the man carefully, remembering the gossip of the night before. He noticed how Fitzosborne's boots and jerkin were of a better quality than those of the other villagers. The reeve now extended his arms and half-turned towards the villagers. 'We demand it,' he shouted. 'It is the custom and the law.'

  The crowd of villagers shouted their approval. Corbett felt beneath his cloak for the hilt of his sword and glanced warningly at Ranulf and Maltote. The villagers moved forward. Corbett turned at the sound of hoof beats on the track and saw Catchpole and other liveried servants galloping towards them. Gurney's henchman had been astute enoug
h to guess what might happen for, beneath his cloak, he wore chain mail and the five servants who accompanied him were also well armed.

  At their arrival, Robert Fitzosborne lost some of his arrogance, though he refused to be cowed.

  'Sir Simon, the manor's custom is well known,' he shouted defiantly. 'One of your tenants has been murdered, brutally. You have the power.'

  Gurney turned to Corbett and smiled weakly at him.

  'Fitzosborne is right,' he said. 'I have the power of sword and gallows. But you are the king's representative here, what do you advise?'

  Corbett looked at the throng of peasants milling by the cart with its pathetic burden. He felt the justice of Fitzosborne's demand. A young girl had been brutally murdered. Moreover, if a jury was empanelled and he was present, he might discover more about this mysterious place with its strange murders. More than one type of mist hid the place, not only from the eyes of men but from the eyes of God as well. He looked at Gurney.

  'A jury,' he declared firmly, 'must be summoned!'

  Chapter 4

  Within the hour Marina's corpse had been removed to the death house on the edge of the village. At the same time the nave of the long, solidly built church had, according to custom, been turned into a court. Corbett stood outside, staring up at the squat tower, at the base of which yawned the main door to the church. He admired the sculptures over the door and round the windows. These were carefully carved with animals, flowers and strange beasts. He looked over his shoulder at the priest's house, a large cottage with plastered walls and a thatched roof. Corbett shivered; a place of secrets, he thought, why had this village now become a place of shadows and sudden death? Ranulf, Maltote and he walked around the church and stared at the gorse, weeds and creeping brambles.

  'A sad place,' Ranulf remarked.

  Corbett studied the battered wooden crosses and crumbling headstones. He wondered what any grave robber would find so interesting there and walked back into the entrance of the church. Father Augustine came bustling from the death house, wiping his hands on his robe, his thin face creased in concern. Corbett and his companions followed him in to the church. Staring up, they admired the wooden ceiling, painted in bright lozenge patterns. The walls and pillars of the nave had also been painted, with bizarre, gaudy zig-zag or dogtooth designs and the flickering cresset torches revealed vivid scenes from the life of Christ painted on the transept walls.

  The church was quiet now. A long trestle table had been placed in the nave. Six men sat on either side of it. At the far end Gurney sat enthroned in the heavily ornate sanctuary chair, which had been moved from beneath the rood screen. At the near end Father Augustine, who also served as parish clerk, had laid out parchment, inkhorn and pumice stone ready to record the proceedings. Behind Gurney stood a forbidding-looking Catchpole, Giles Selditch and Master Joseph. Villagers squatted on the ground around the table. Gurney waved Corbett forward, indicating a stool on his right.

  'Sir Hugh, you will be my witness to the proceedings.'

  Gurney got to his feet and formally pronounced the court to be in session.

  Corbett watched fascinated. He had often acted as a royal justice or commissioner, but he had never seen a serious matter dealt with in a manor court.

  'The death we are here to enquire into,' Gurney began, 'is that of Marina, daughter of Fulke the tanner, who was barbarously murdered out in the moorlands. She had been raped and strangled' – he raised his hands to still the clamour – 'by a person or persons unknown. Now,' he continued hurriedly, 'you know the ancient customs and usages. First, the death may be recorded. Secondly, if enough information is brought, a person or persons may be indicted.' His voice rose. 'If the latter is the case, then such a person or persons must be arrested and given fair trial before their peers at the next assize.'

  A low chorus of protests greeted his words. Gurney wiped his hands nervously on the edge of his gown. He looked down the line of jurors on either side of the table, staring hard at Robert the reeve.

  'You have all sworn the oath on the book of the gospels.' He pointed to the heavy tome on the table. 'Anyone who wishes to give evidence must swear on the gospels. I need not remind you that perjury can be a capital offence.'

  Gurney's last words rang like a death knell through the church, a harsh reminder to his tenants of the danger of lying on such an important occasion.

  After that the questioning began. Gurney's huntsman took the oath and described how he had found the girl. Next came Giles Selditch, who graphically described the girl's wounds. Corbett glimpsed the ugliness in the faces of the jurors and the rest of the villagers.

  'When do you think the girl was killed?' Gurney asked.

  The doctor, standing at the far corner of the table, shrugged.

  'Her flesh was cold, covered in frost, she must have been slain last night.'

  'What was she doing out on the moorland?' one of the jurors asked.

  Gurney told the man to shut up.

  Master Joseph was called next. 'Marina was a member of our community,' he began. 'No one forced her to join us.' He stared around, nodding at the murmur of assent that greeted his words. 'No one forced her to stay.' He held one hand up. 'Indeed, the very fact that she was out on the moorland proves she had the freedom to move as she wished.'

  'Why did she leave?' Gurney asked harshly.

  Master Joseph stared back, waiting as Father Augustine's squeaky quill recorded the question.

  'She said,' he finally answered, 'that she wished to see her father. I was reluctant to let her go but had no right or cause to prevent her. However, I got then the impression that she was lying to me – that it was really someone else she was meeting.' He looked over his shoulder at Fulke the tanner, who was squatting at the base of one of the pillars, his arm around his sobbing wife. 'I don't know who. Marina was due to leave us soon. Her purification was complete and, at the end of the month, we hoped to secure her passage to Outremer. She could have been in Bethlehem for Christmas.'

  Corbett whispered to Gurney, who said quickly, 'Sir Hugh Corbett would like to ask a few questions.'

  Corbett got to his feet. 'Master Joseph, while Marina was at the Hermitage, did anyone from outside attempt to speak to her?'

  'Yes, Gilbert, the old witch's son.'

  'And did Marina go to the gates to speak to him?'

  'She did on two occasions. But the last time she refused to see him.'

  'And how did Gilbert receive that?'

  'Angrily, a little hurt, but he left peacefully enough.'

  'Master Joseph,' Corbett smiled faintly. He was aware that the villagers were looking at him intently, nudging each other to draw attention to this important man, the king's representative, whom they regarded with a mixture of admiration and awe tinged with a deep suspicion of any outsider.

  'Master Joseph,' Corbett repeated. 'I must ask you this. Last night, did anyone else leave the Hermitage?'

  'No. Master Nettler can swear to my presence there as I can to his, and all the other members of the community can vouch for each other.' Master Joseph looked directly at Gurney. 'Sir Simon, we have been on your lands for over a year and, as you know, when spring comes we may move on.' His words provoked a deep sigh of disappointment from the watching villagers. 'Never once have we abused either your hospitality or that of this village; never once told a lie or been involved in any fraudulent trickery. I make this assertion now so it can be challenged.' He paused and stared around the now quiet church. 'Good!' he said, and added quietly, 'And I tell no lie now, on my oath!'

  Corbett nodded and sat down. Master Joseph was dismissed and quietly slipped out of the church. Fulke the tanner was called next. He identified his daughter's corpse. He said that Marina had been happy at the Hermitage. Then he told the court that a small amber-bead necklace, a gift from him and his wife, was missing from the girl's body.

  'She always wore it,' he said flatly. 'And now, like her soul, they have gone.'

  The villagers clapped when
he returned to his place. Others were called to give evidence. They named Gilbert time and again, telling how, in the village tavern, he had bitterly attacked the Pastoureaux for taking Marina from him, how he had missed her and how, on one memorable occasion, he had boldly asserted that she would never leave Hunstanton.

  Corbett could see Gurney's unease deepen as other witnesses began to hint that Gunhilda, Gilbert's mother, now described as a well-known witch, had tried to help her son. Perhaps she was also the perpetrator, the blasphemer who had been pillaging graves in the village churchyard?

  'The use of dead men's skulls and bones,' one reedy-voiced villager intoned, 'is well known to the Masters of the Gibbet and to the night hags!'

  Father Augustine was then called. 'I cannot say,' he replied to a question from Gurney, 'whether Gunhilda or her son were responsible for robbing the 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.'