'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 her question was important to her.

The physician shrugged and sipped from his goblet.

'It is, perhaps, different from yours, my lady.'

'But there's men and women together?' The prioress widened her eyes.

'In France,' Selditch replied, 'such houses are common. A group of brothers in one building, a group of sisters in the other.' He laughed and popped a grape into his mouth. 'Sometimes they meet and sometimes they don't.'

'They seem gentle enough to me,' Father Augustine interrupted. 'I have said Mass at the Hermitage on a number of occasions. The Pastoureaux dress simply in brown robes and sandals. They beg for alms and live on the donations given to them. For the rest, they seem to pray and talk a lot.'

'How many are there?' Corbett asked.

The priest pulled a face.

'The number changes as some arrive, some leave, but at any one time no more than fourteen or sixteen.' Corbett toyed with his wine cup.

'How long have the Pastoureaux been here?' he asked Gurney.

'About sixteen months. Master Joseph and his able lieutenant Philip Nettler came here at the beginning of autumn.