'Sir Hugh, not more tragic news?'

Corbett shook his head.

'Where is everyone?' he asked. 'I found the village empty.' Father Augustine waved him over to one of the benches in the transept.

'My parishioners are making up for lost time. Whatever happens the fields still need ploughing, the soil always remains.'

'You said you were born in Bishop's Lynn, so you're not a countryman yourself?' Corbett said.

'No, my father was a trader. But come, you are a busy man, you are not here to ask me about my past.'

'No, Father, I came about the disturbed graves. Perhaps you could show me?'

Father Augustine led him out into the overgrown churchyard.

'My predecessor,' he explained, 'Father Ethelred, was very old and infirm. That's why the bishop sent me here. When spring comes, I'll tidy this place up.'

Corbett looked around at the crumbling headstones and at the weather-beaten wooden crosses – all of which had been freshly coated with black pitch.

'I did that,' Father Augustine said. 'The parish council were concerned at how quickly the wood rots. But let me show you the graves that have been disturbed.'

He took Corbett across the churchyard and pointed to where the wet earth had been freshly turned.

'This is the most recent.'

'Who is buried here?' Corbett asked.

Father Augustine squatted down on the wet grass and peered at the weathered headstone.

'Yes, I remember this,' he said. 'When I checked the burial book I found that this is the grave of some unknown person. Church law is strict about this,' he explained. 'If a stranger dies, he has to be buried in the nearest parish with the word Incognitus – "Unknown" – and the date of his death on the tombstone.'