'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.