‘Why do you want them?’ Peter said, aware of Edith behind him. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder.
‘There’s been a murder over towards Oakhampton, and Sir Peregrine has asked for them to go to him,’ the man said.
‘You must send for him at Furnshill, then,’ Peter said. ‘They left here early this morning. They will be there by now, I’d imagine.’
‘Then God speed, master,’ the man said. He motioned with his hands, and the others began to filter back up the alley towards St Pancras. ‘Was the bailiff with them too?’
‘Who, my father?’ Edith asked. ‘Simon Puttock? Yes.’
The fellow nodded and set off after the other men. The last Edith saw of them was their backs as they made their way to the top of the alley and took the path left, wandering southwards. She caught a fleeting glimpse, so she thought, of another face, one that made her blood run cold for an instant, but then it was gone, and she knew that it must be her imagination. William atte Wattere, the man whom she had encountered at her father’s house on the day she had gone to ask his permission to marry, was surely nowhere near here now.
Peter shut the door and rested his hand on it for a few moments, frowning. ‘I do not like that fellow.’
‘Why, my love? He was only a watchman, wasn’t he?’
‘He didn’t look like any man from around here. He was one of the guard with the new sheriff at Rougemont Castle, I’d swear.’
Edith shrugged and led him back to their hall. ‘What of it?’
‘He didn’t strike me as the kind of man who’d be sent for a simple message delivery. It was almost as though someone wanted to make sure that the coroner and your father had actually left the city.’
Road near Bow
Roger had made good time walking back down to the south coast. Embittered, chilly, sore footed and hungry, he was glad to have met a farmer just outside Winkleigh, who, after studying him a while, invited him in to sit before a fire, and fed him warmed milk sweetened with almonds, and some good thick maslin bread. Even better, he had allowed his guest to stay the night on the floor near the fire.
It was astonishing how well a man could feel when he had been rested and fed. Roger had known times in Guyenne, and in other parts of France, when he had been fighting, terrified for his life, and he and the others had found a little farmstead to take and sleep in, where the bliss of the peace was almost unbearable.
Walking here from that little farm had been much faster, and he had reached the outskirts of North Tawton the previous day. Somehow he had missed his path back to Jacobstowe. And although he knew he should have simply hurried on, down to Oakhampton, which was apparently not too many miles away, and thence to the coast and the busy port there, he had idled the day away. This morning, waking, he had been determined to get away from the area, but somehow he found himself still here. It was not until late afternoon that he decided to leave, but now, rather than seek out and walk through the woods at Abbeyford, he turned eastwards on a whim. There was no reason to go that way, other than the fact that he would have to take an easterly route at some point to get to Dartmouth, but he had an urge to take a slower path. He was enjoying the feeling of being on land too much to hazard the dangers of the sea followed by the hardship of fighting.
As he was strolling along, looking at the view from the roadway, he suddenly heard a force of men-at-arms approaching.
Most men, on hearing such a sound, would simply continue on their way. There were men on horseback all over the realm, and many of them warriors. It was a normal sight, natural in its way. So many magnates wanted to take their loyal men with them when they travelled so that any daring felons would be dissuaded from attempting a robbery. But Roger had a different attitude to such noises. In his mind there was an appreciation of the danger such men could represent. In Guyenne, the flat, treeless landscapes sometimes meant it was harder to conceal yourself, but here there were so many opportunities, it was difficult to pick the best.
The riders were approaching quickly. Gazing about him, he caught sight of a convenient tree branch at the side of the road, and used it to clamber up and over the hedge. He was just in time — as he landed, gently, on his feet and allowed his legs to fold beneath him so that he was almost flat beside the tree, he saw through the twigs and stems of the hedge the first flash of mottled armour, and heard the sound of hoofs suddenly grow louder. He saw a one-eyed warrior, and a fearful-looking man hemmed in by all the others, and reckoned that he was not a willing companion.
The damp was soaking into his tunic and his hose felt sticky and uncomfortable, but as they rode past, he allowed only his eyes to follow them. Any sudden movement could attract attention. He wasn’t worried about making a noise; it was enough to let a man catch a glimpse from the corner of his eye, and if he was an experienced warrior, as these appeared to be, he would investigate.
He watched and listened until the men were fully out of sight. Only then did he realise he had been holding his breath. As he clambered back over the hedge into the grassy roadway, he felt strangely light headed — and oddly exhilarated as well. It could have been the usual delight at escaping danger, but there was also the undoubted thrill of near action again. He was a fighter, when all was said and done.
And although in this case he had neither master nor money, he hesitated only a moment before darting off after the horses.
He would learn where they had come from.
Sandford
Simon walked up and down, while his wife watched with her blue eyes wide and anxious.
‘Well, I suppose we’ll continue together, then,’ Sir Richard said after a while. He was looking from one to the other of them with some concern, but mainly with a scowl of incomprehension.
‘Are you going to go?’ Margaret asked.
Simon threw a look at her. ‘Meg, I have to. I don’t want to any more than you do, but I have to obey a direct command like this!’ he said, and slapped the note in his hand.
They had been talking about the message all the afternoon, and Meg was no more keen to think that he was about to have to leave again than she had been before. Their son Perkin had already left to run and play in the yard after listening to the wrangling back and forth, and Sir Richard was only there because he thought it would be rude to leave the two to their discussion. Simon was glad that he had remained. The presence of the coroner forced Simon and Margaret to maintain a moderately calm demeanour.
‘Isn’t it enough that they have our house?’ Margaret asked quietly.
‘This isn’t from the man Despenser sent to steal it from us,’ Simon said wearily. They had been over this already. ‘It’s from the Cardinal de Fargis. He is living there, but not with the approval of Despenser. When we were thrown from our house, Bishop Walter had already offered it to the cardinal, and he will maintain it whether or not Despenser wants him there.’
‘Simon, I don’t want you to go.’
‘I don’t want to. But look at it sensibly, Meg. The sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back. The worst that can happen is that I’m asked to help with some matter for a few days, and then I’ll be back. I will not accept another post abroad, no matter what they offer or threaten.’
‘You said that in the summer. And then they sent you to France.’
‘That was the king,’ Simon reminded her. ‘And after the way the king reacted to Baldwin, Sir Richard and me last time he saw us, there’s not the remotest chance he’ll want me around again. I think I’m unlikely to be sent anywhere other than Tavistock now.’
‘He’s right there, lady,’ Sir Richard said.
‘We will leave in the morning,’ Simon said, more firmly.