Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

The following morning, having spent the rest of the day down at the quayside, Corbett, Ranulf and Maltote left Bishop's Lynn. They called again at the brothel, where the young woman calling herself Rohesia was waiting for them, swathed in a great cloak and hood. Corbett would not allow Ranulf or Maltote to question her, nor discuss her between themselves, as they left the city and took the road north to Hunstanton.

Their journey back was uneventful. Corbett was relieved that they didn't have to travel through the village to Mortlake Manor. Sir Simon and Alice came out to greet them. Corbett curtly acknowledged their welcome – he still had his suspicions about who had tried to drown them in the marsh. He insisted that Rohesia be shown to a chamber and given refreshment but that no one other than himself be allowed to talk to her.

'I also want Catchpole,' he said. 'And any liveried retainers you can spare. They are to be armed and mounted and they are to accompany Ranulf to the Hermitage. He has his orders. He is to bring Master Joseph and Philip Nettler here immediately.'

'What's this all about?' Gurney demanded. 'This is my manor, Hugh.'

'Aye, but the king's writ runs here. I want both men brought to Mortlake immediately. Only then will you discover the reason why.'

Gurney reluctantly agreed and, within the hour, Catchpole and Ranulf, accompanied by a dozen armed retainers, thundered out of the yard. Maltote unpacked their bags. Corbett visited Rohesia and then went down to the great hall to wait. Gurney, irritated by Corbett's taciturn demeanour, left him alone and went out in to the yard in nervous anticipation of Ranulf's return.

Ranulf arrived, just before dusk, in a clatter of hoof beats and shouted exclamations. Corbett, standing with his back to the fire, steeled himself for the coming confrontation. Gurney joined him. Ranulf and Catchpole brought the two Pastoureaux leaders in. Both men had their hands tied and Master Joseph's face was red with fury. Nettler looked pale and rather frightened. If it hadn't been for Ranulf, Master Joseph would have thrown himself at Corbett. His eyes dilated and specks of froth appeared at either side of his mouth.

'You'll pay for this, Corbett! You snivelling turd of a clerk! How dare you lay hands on me and send your servant to invade our private chambers?'

Corbett ignored him. He stared across at Ranulf, who smiled and nodded imperceptibly.

'Sir Simon!' Master Joseph turned as Gurney walked into the hall. 'This is against the law and Holy Mother Church! We put ourselves under your protection!'

'Oh, shut up!' Corbett roared.

Master Joseph looked so furious that he seemed on the verge of apoplexy.

'Shut up, Master Joseph! Or I'll use the considerable powers the king has given me and hang you from the rafters! Sir Simon, I should be grateful if you would release Gilbert and have him brought here. And I'd like my mysterious guest, the young woman from Bishop's Lynn, to be brought here also.

Master Joseph's shoulders sagged. He became quiet, narrowed his eyes and licked his lips nervously.

'What's all this about?' he muttered.

'What do you mean, Hubert?' Corbett asked.

The Pastoureaux leader gasped and paled.

'You are not Joseph,' Corbett continued. 'You are Hubert Mugwell, convicted ten years ago as a felon. So you'll shut up and listen to what I have got to say! Sir Simon, I'd be grateful if your retainers could hold both these men because I am sure they will become violent.'

Corbett walked over to the table, conscious of everyone watching him. He poured himself a cup of wine and sat on the edge of the table, sipping the wine carefully. Gilbert came into the hall. He hadn't shaved for days, but he seemed well enough, smiling vacuously around. Corbett told him to stand just within the door.

'You'll be a free man soon, Gilbert. Don't worry.'

Rohesia arrived next, still cowled and hooded. Corbett beckoned her across. He put his wine cup down, took her by the arm and stared at the pale, frightened face almost hidden in the cowl.

'Don't worry,' he said to her also. He led her across the room. Master Joseph watched anxiously, then gave a groan as she threw back her hood. Philip Nettler's terror was so great that he crouched down, arms across his chest, and began to whimper like a beaten dog.

'Lord save us!' Gurney cried. 'It's Blanche. You look beautiful. You're Blanche, the reeve's daughter.'

'Blanche,' Corbett began. 'Do you know this man who calls himself Master Joseph, the Pastoureaux leader?'

The girl's hand came out from beneath her cloak and her dagger stabbed towards 'Master Joseph's' chest. 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.'