Corbett took a wineskin from one of Gurney's retainers and forced it between the young man's lips.

'He is a murderer!' Robert the reeve shouted. With a throng of villagers behind him he had rediscovered his defiance.

Corbett glared at the reeve's fat, pompous face.

'You and your friends are murderers!' he shouted. 'Gunhilda is dead and her blood is on your hands!'

Gilbert's strangled moan echoed Corbett's words.

'This man,' Corbett shouted hoarsely, 'must be tried by the due process of law before the king's justices. He is now my prisoner.'

Father Augustine pushed his way through to the front of the crowd. Gurney, standing now beside Corbett, beckoned him forward.

'Father, couldn't you have stopped this?'

The priest's eyes flickered from Gurney to Corbett. He licked his thin, dry lips and stared shamefacedly down at the old woman's corpse.

'I tried to,' he muttered, 'but their blood lust was up. You can't blame them, Sir Hugh. Marina's corpse lies cold in my church. Who will answer for her death, eh?'

Gurney snapped his fingers at his retainers. 'Take the woman's corpse to the church. Father, I'll pay the burial dues.'

'And the young man?' Corbett nodded towards Gilbert, who was straining at his captor's arms and staring slack-mouthed at his mother's bedraggled body.

'Take him to the manor!' Gurney told his men. 'Get Master Selditch to tend his wounds!'

Corbett stared round at the villagers.

'The king and his court lie nearby at Walsingham. He will not be pleased to hear of this violence and disorder. And any person who lifts his hand against Gilbert puts himself beyond the king's peace.'