Paul Doherty - Song of a Dark Angel

Master Joseph smiled up at Gurney. 'Good morrow, Sir Simon.'

'This is the king's emissary here, Sir Hugh Corbett,' Gurney said.

Master Joseph stretched out his hand to Corbett, who clasped it. It was smooth and warm. 'And may I introduce Master Philip.'

Again Corbett shook hands, but this time he felt a slight unease. Nettler's face was guarded and he refused to meet Corbett's eyes.

'The king's emissary, Sir Hugh?' Master Joseph voiced his companion's concern. 'Why are you here? You've not come to interfere or move us on?'

Corbett smiled and shook his head.

'Master Joseph, you are blunt so I'll be equally honest in return. The bishops are concerned about any new communities and have conveyed their anxieties to the king. He is' – Corbett chose his words carefully – 'interested in what you do, though at the moment more intrigued by the recent deaths in the area.'

'Aye, I thought so.' Master Joseph's voice suddenly betrayed a country burr.

'We have nothing to do with those.' Nettler spoke up, his voice high, rather waspish. 'Sir Simon knows we keep ourselves to ourselves.'

Monck suddenly urged his horse forward. 'Are we to stay here and freeze?' he asked.

'Sir Simon,' Master Joseph said flatly, 'you gave us the Hermitage and your solemn word that, as long as we lived here in peace, we had the right to say who came or left. We are an enclosed community. We cannot allow anyone, without a by-your-leave, to ride in and ride out.'

He stared at Gurney's other companions. Corbett saw the shift in attention and noticed a slight worry in the Pastoureaux leader's eyes when he caught sight of Ranulf.

Master Joseph, as though he had made up his mind, took a step back. 'Sir Simon, you are welcome, as always. So are Sir Hugh Corbett and Master Monck. Surely the others can wait outside?'

Gurney agreed, and he, Corbett and Monck rode forward, leaving Ranulf and Maltote to converse with an aggrieved Father Augustine and a rather disappointed Selditch. At the gates all three dismounted and followed Master Joseph and Nettler into the wide enclosure. Corbett stared around. It looked to him like any other small farm. There was a low one-storeyed house surrounded by a number of outhouses. Two dogs lay dozing at the entrance to a small barn near a well and some scrawny chickens pecked on the cobbles. He saw a small pig-sty and, on one side of the farmhouse, a small grassy hillock which probably served as a rabbit warren. Master Joseph followed his gaze.

'We are largely self-sufficient,' he said. 'We have plenty of water, we have fresh meat, and we grow our own herbs. Sir Simon pays us in cash or in kind for our work. And the sisters of the Holy Cross are generous to us, as are some of the more prosperous farmers.'

Corbett stared around. The place looked shabby yet well kept – the Pastoureaux had apparently worked hard to build their refuge.

'It's very quiet,' he said.

Then he heard the faint sounds of singing and Nettler pointed across to the farmhouse. 'The community is at prayer.'

'Then perhaps,' Monck said tartly, 'you should have allowed Father Augustine to enter.'

'The community rule is quite precise,' Master Joseph said. 'No more than three visitors are allowed at any one time. Father Augustine will understand.'

Corbett remembered the sour look on the priest's face and thought otherwise.

'You pray often?' he asked, tapping his feet on the ground and wondering if the Pastoureaux would take them in from the cold.

'Our rule is sweet but light,' Master Joseph replied.

Corbett looked quickly at him; he was sure he detected a note of sarcasm in the man's voice.

'What we do,' Master Joseph continued hurriedly, 'is rise, say prayers, study, do some work and return for community prayers and a meal at night.'

'And you never leave here?' Monck asked.

'Only for our journeys to Bishop's Lynn.' This time it was Philip Nettler who replied. 'Father Joseph and I go there when, now and again, we need supplies and when a period of purification is over.'

'Purification?' Monck asked innocently as if that was the first time he had heard the word.

'We are the Pastoureaux.' Master Joseph enthused. 'We are Christ's good shepherds. We accept young men and women of good standing and prepare them in our rule.' He cleared his throat. 'When they are ready we take them to as port, in our case, Bishop's Lynn. We secure passage for them abroad, to our house at Bethlehem, where Christ will come again.'

'You really believe that?' Monck asked, not bothering to hide his sneer.

'Don't you?' Master Joseph asked, blue eyes widening in surprise. 'Don't you, Master Monck, accept the Church's teaching that Christ will come again?'

Monck sensed the theological trap opening for him and drew back.

'It's just strange,' he muttered.

'I have been there,' Joseph said. 'And so has Philip. The Lord is coming.'

Monck returned to the attack. 'But in France and on the Rhine the Pastoureaux are ungodly!'

Master Joseph spread his hands. 'Are we to be held accountable for that? Surely some of your priests are not what they should be?' He lowered his voice to a mock whisper. 'They even say that not all friars, monks, bishops – even popes – are what they should be.'

Philip Nettler, who had been busy hobbling their horses, now came back, wiping his hands on his brown fustian robe. He looked squarely at Gurney.

'Sir Simon, have we ever done any wrong? We never knew Master Monck's servant, who was so barbarously murdered, or the poor baker's wife. We very rarely go down into the village. We cause no trouble.' He pursed his lips. 'But now we have troubles of our own.'

'What troubles?' Corbett asked.

'One of our sisters is missing. Marina.'

Gurney, concerned, looked at Master Joseph.

'You mean Marina the tanner's daughter?'

'Yes, she left last night wanting to visit her father, Fulke. She has not yet returned.'

Master Joseph saw Corbett rubbing his hands together against the cold.

'Come in! Come in!' he urged.

He led them across the yard into the farmhouse. The kitchen was a long, low-beamed room. A small log fire burnt in the great hearth; beside it an oven, where bread was baking, turning the air sweet and moist. The room was clean but furnished sparsely – some chests, shelves with a few pots and pans, and a long trestle table ringed by stools. Master Joseph offered some wine or ale, but Corbett refused. They gathered around the hearth, taking their gloves off and warming their fingers. A door at the far end of the room opened and the rest of the community came in. Corbett looked at them with interest. There were sixteen of them – ten men and six women – all young. They looked cheerful enough. The men had their hair cropped, the women had theirs gathered high under simple blue wimples. All wore brown robes, bound by a cord around the waist, over hose or leggings and stout leather sandals or boots. Corbett idly wondered how discipline could be maintained among people so young but dismissed his thoughts as unfair. Such mixed communities were common in France and 'double' houses of men and women were favoured in the order Gilbert of Sempringham had founded in England.

The community sat down around the table. Master Joseph went over to say grace before ale and bread were served. The Pastoureaux chatted quietly among themselves, almost oblivious of the visitors watching them.

'Are they all local?' Corbett whispered.

'It depends what you mean by local,' Nettler replied. 'There are about four from the local village, others from further afield.'

Corbett studied the young men and women. He knew the life of back-breaking work they had escaped from and wondered what they'd think of the Holy Land after the cold dampness of England. He also caught their concern and heard the name Marina whispered. Gurney walked over and began a conversation with one young man whom he recognized. Nettler moved across to hover anxiously. Suddenly Master Joseph straightened like a hunting dog, ears straining.