‘Sir Baldwin, her mare was a strong little beast.’
Baldwin shot his servant a look. ‘Eh?’
‘I have seen many accidents. Sometimes the mount will be scared by something, and will run away until the fear dissipates. If the rider is unfortunate and falls, she may not be easy to find, but that kind of event is rare. Then there are some accidents in which the rider is hurt, but quietly; when she has been so involved in her thoughts she has been silently knocked from the mount. In most such cases the horse will remain at the rider’s side.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Baldwin snapped, but he already knew.
‘Sir Baldwin, if she had fallen, it is more than likely that someone would already have found her. None of the roads between Furnshill and here are so quiet that on a day like today she would not have been seen. To imagine so is not sensible. So perhaps she has already been found and even now is resting on a bier in a peasant’s house.’
‘Or?’
‘Or she had no accident, but a mishap. Someone decided to capture her. If that is the case, our task of finding her will be that much more difficult.’
Baldwin nodded, staring out over the city towards the west. ‘She is there somewhere, Edgar. What if she has been captured by some felon …?’
‘If she has, then we shall have to do all in our power to rescue her,’ Edgar said imperturbably. ‘However, we can do little until we learn what could have happened.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. Now that the cold rage had left him, he found his mind was functioning more efficiently again. He continued staring westwards, but now with narrowed eyes, as though he was searching through the fog of distance to see the slim form of the girl as she lay at the side of the road, her mare standing protectively over her, or perhaps struggling with a gang of felons as they dragged her away, hands bound, their knives at her throat.
Neither was to be suffered without making an effort to rescue her.
‘Come with me,’ he said, and turned back towards the castle.
Near Abbeyford Woods
When Hoppon had finished speaking, Simon nodded. ‘Very well. You have explained your situation clearly. It’s not our place to comment on your behaviour. If the good coroner Sir Peregrine was content, so are we.’
Sir Richard was about to comment, but Simon walked over to him, and he subsided, shaking his head reluctantly.
Simon continued. ‘No, Hoppon, that is nothing to us. However, we do need to try to learn who killed all those people. Two of them were religious men, and they were carrying money for the king. Whoever killed them stole from the king, so whether you feel uncomfortable about talking or not, the fact is, the king himself wishes to see these men in gaol — and that is where they will be going, very soon. So any help you can give us will be to your advantage, because it will entail their being taken away that bit sooner.’
Hoppon shifted uncomfortably on his bad leg, still leaning on his staff. At last he nodded. ‘I’ll tell you all I know, or guess at. And I only pray that you’ll be sensible about it and catch the men. Very well then. It was Tab who heard them first, as I said, but as soon as he started barking, I heard them too. Horses, carts, men talking loudly, laughing. As they always do.’
‘Did you hear anything of note?’ Sir Richard demanded.
‘No, only that they were to go back to their base. They didn’t say who they were or where exactly they were going.’
‘Who is there who lives over east of here, then?’ Simon asked.
‘Oh, I know nothing about the lands over that way,’ Hoppon said, and Simon was quite convinced he was lying. However, the man was being forced to tell two officers of the law about the illegal affairs of men who had shown themselves willing to kill nineteen folk and rob the king. It was hardly surprising that he was reluctant.
‘Very well,’ Simon said. ‘What can you tell us about the death of this widow’s husband?’
‘Oh, poor old Bill,’ Hoppon said. ‘I found him over towards Swanstone Moor.’
‘Where is that?’ Sir Richard asked.
‘It’s that little patch of moor over yonder,’ Hoppon said, pointing.
Following the direction of his finger, Simon could see a small area of moorland over to the east, slightly south of a hillock on the other side of the river. ‘Where was he in there?’
‘There is a large beech tree at the edge of the moor,’ Hoppon said, squinting as he peered. ‘See it there? Just to the left of the line of that hedge.’
Sir Richard glanced down at Hoppon’s leg. ‘Can you ride a horse? Doubt you could walk so far as that, could you?’
‘I think I could, so long as you don’t have a great hurry. I’ve walked further than that in my time,’ Hoppon said.
‘Hoppon used to be an archer,’ Agnes said.
‘Really?’ Sir Richard said, letting his eyes pass over Hoppon’s frame. ‘A while ago, then.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Hoppon asked.
‘You’ve lost the muscles in your shoulders,’ the knight said. ‘Archers have bigger shoulders and upper arms than most men.’
‘You’re right,’ Hoppon said. ‘I was bigger when I was younger. Before this,’ he added, tapping his thigh.
‘What happened?’ Simon asked as they walked, matching their speed to Hoppon’s slow gait. ‘Was it in a battle?’
Hoppon glanced at him, then at Agnes just beyond him before anwering. ‘No. It was my own stupid fault. When I was younger, I thought I was invincible. There was a fire in a barn on the old manor, and I ran inside to rescue what I could, but a spar from the roof fell on me and burned my leg badly. I’m lucky I can walk at all. Still, I brought out a few items of value, and my lord rewarded me well enough.’
‘That’s the old manor where the knight died?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes. My lord Edward. Right, here we go!’ Hoppon said. They had reached the edge of the river, and now he plunged in, hobbling as fast as he could, before the waters soaked his boots entirely.
Simon and Sir Richard exchanged a look, and then glanced at the monk and Agnes. The monk curled his lip, but hitched up his robes, looped them over his forearms, and trotted through.
Agnes returned Simon’s look coolly enough. ‘I want to see where my husband died,’ she said, and with that, she drew up her skirts to display her knees without any outward sign of shame, and waded in.
Sir Richard shrugged. ‘If they’re all going …’ he muttered, lifting his sword’s sheath high. He stalked forward rather like a warrior marching into battle, head low on his shoulders, glowering ferociously as he went, as though daring the river to seep in through the leather of his old boots.
Simon crossed immediately after him, and soon the five were making their way up an ancient stone pathway that had become wildly overgrown. Looking about him, Simon couldn’t help but think that if Baldwin were here, he would be able to make much more of the trail than he himself could.
Suddenly he slowed a little, frowning. At the edge of the roadway brambles had encroached. Here, as he looked down, he could see, clear on the stems, the marks of crushing. ‘Sir Richard, look at this.’
‘Eh?’ The knight squatted at his side, studying the marks Simon had pointed out. ‘Aye, Bailiff. I reckon you’re right. Definitely the signs of carts passing by here.’
‘I told you,’ Hoppon said. He was leaning on his staff again, his hands clasped in that curious manner. ‘Think they came up here.’
‘And you told Bill as much?’ Simon asked.
‘He guessed as much. But he came up here, yes. And then he was found here, a few days later. Head all bashed in till his skull was broken. A terrible sight.’
‘Where was he?’ Sir Richard asked.
In answer, Hoppon merely shifted his grip on his staff and began to make his way up the hill, hobbling painfully. He could only move with care, especially now it was more stony. His staff with its unshod foot could grip quite well, and he hopped and skittered over the ground with a fluid gait that was quite surprising to Simon.