There were tiny figures on the beasts. It was hard to see while pounding along so steadily, but he was sure that there were three mounts-so Avice was with them, he noted. The sight gave him added enthusiasm for the chase. He glanced to left and right, and saw that the others too had seen their prey.
“Once they’re in among the rocks it’ll take ages to fetch them out,” Simon called, and Baldwin nodded grimly. If Antonio and his son were of a mood to fight, it would be the devil’s own job to dislodge them. Their only hope was that the three riders were more tired than the posse. But although the horses they pursued showed signs of exhaustion, it was clear that the Venetians would gain the security of the rocks before they could be headed off, and Baldwin swore under his breath.
But he had reckoned without the Abbot’s harriers. The berner called to them, whistling and singing to them in a curious, high-pitched voice, and the pack suddenly streaked away. The men had to whip their horses to try to keep up, but it was in vain. There was no way to catch the racing hounds. Baldwin saw the Venetians glaring over their shoulders, their faces showing both rage and fear as they assessed the distance between them and their pursuers, while beside them the girl lurched along on a mare. “No,” Baldwin said between gritted teeth, “it’s not like Bayonne, where you escaped because you had gone with time to rest your mounts before your pursuit could catch up with you. This time your horses are as tired as our own, and ours are the better bred. This time you won’t get away.”
They did have one last, desperate throw to make. Just as in Bayonne they had distracted the posse by releasing a packhorse, now, as Baldwin watched, he saw the girl’s horse sheer away and turn off to the north. The knight refused to be tempted to hare off after her, and bellowed over his shoulder to the two nearest men to follow her and bring her back. The others carried on.
The Venetians reached the rocks, and now found another obstacle to their escape. All around the tor was a clitter of small stones, on any one of which their horses might break a leg and fall. They could not keep up their mad, break-neck pace.
But the harriers could. With thickly padded paws they feared no stones or rocks, and they scrambled up and over the boulders with the eager enthusiasm of hounds who see their prey at last.
“Come on!” Simon roared, and the posse set itself at the hill.
Baldwin heard the tone of the baying change. While running with their quarry in sight, each dog had given urgent yelps calling the attention of the humans to the scent. Now they gave loud voice continually, and Baldwin, as a hunter, knew what that meant: the quarry was held at bay. He slowed his speed and gave his Arab time to pick her way. If the harriers had the men, there was no point in risking her life.
The bank of the hill was quite steep, and all the horses were forced to tread carefully. Still in front the berner egged his mount on, his face filled with anxiety for his hounds, and Baldwin knew what his thoughts would be. Would the men, now they were held by the pack, try to kill his hounds? It had happened before while trying to capture felons, when they had access to pikes or lances. It was easy enough to goad dogs into attacking, and spit them on a sword or long dagger like meat to be cooked over a fire. Like any good berner and master of harriers, the Abbot’s man was fearful only for his precious hounds. They were more to him than his own life, and Baldwin thought, Woe betide you if you have hurt this berner’s creatures!
At the top of the hill was a kind of rounded plain, and it was here they found the men in a small dead-end of rock. With high walls at each side and in front of them, the two had dismounted, and stood before their horses while the hounds circled, panting, eyeing the men with cautious expectancy.
Simon paused, resting his elbow on his mount’s withers, panting as if he had run the whole way himself. He cocked an eyebrow at Baldwin. “Looks like they’ll come along easy enough, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I think so,” Baldwin agreed as the other members of the posse joined them.
The knight wasn’t sure the two Venetians had noticed they had company. Their eyes were firmly fixed on the hounds which barked and growled and howled all round. Antonio’s horse was bucking while he cursed angrily, gripping its reins and flailing about him with his whip. Pietro’s looked close to death with its head hanging almost to the ground. As Baldwin watched, he patted its head. That simple act of solace made the knight feel some compassion. Any man who could honor his horse, even when it had failed in its race, must have some principles, although he had to admit that any thief or outlaw was likely to regard his mount as more important to him than a wife, companion, or man-at-arms-the horse would always be the method of escape and safety, and deserved the best food and water even when that meant the rider going thirsty or hungry.
The berner dropped from his horse, calling to his hounds and throwing them scraps from his satchel. Gradually the milling beasts withdrew, and Simon could study the two Venetians.
Antonio stood, panting with exertion, his whip still in his hand as he glowered at the men. Recognizing Baldwin and Simon, his features displayed shock. “Sir Baldwin, you as well?”
His son let himself fall to sit at his horse’s head. He patted its neck and refused to meet Simon’s eye.
The bailiff sprang down from his horse and motioned to the men to rest. “Who did you expect? The Abbot himself?”
“I won’t surrender!” Antonio declared, and drew his sword.
“Antonio,” Baldwin said resignedly, “what good will that do? It won’t help your son’s case.”
“What case?” Antonio asked reservedly, eyes narrowed.
“He’s under arrest. He’s been accused of murdering Torre and the monk Peter.”
“What? I thought you were with the rabble roused by that damned friar!”
“ Me? Who accuses me of this!” Pietro demanded.
Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance. His surprise seemed unfeigned. The bailiff said, “You accused yourself when you decided to depart from the town in such haste.”
Antonio shook his head. “That was because of the mob. Didn’t you hear? They were incited to attack me by the friar. We didn’t want to remain where our lives might be in danger.”
“It had nothing to do with fear of being discovered to be the murderer?” Simon asked sarcastically.
“I know nothing of any murder,” Pietro stated. “I wanted to get away so that I could be with Avice, that’s all.”
“And I joined him willingly!”
Baldwin turned to see the girl being led on her mare by a sweating, grumbling watchman muttering, “She took us halfway to bloody Oakhampton.”
Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, Avice sprang down and ran to Pietro. “I love him, and I won’t marry the man my father has chosen. This is the man I will wed.”
Baldwin scratched his cheek and threw a glance at his friend. Simon was watching the couple doubtfully.
There was no denying the fact that the lad didn’t look like a crazed murderer, the sort to kill a monk because he thought him a rival. And then another thought struck the knight. “Avice, when did you agree to elope with this lad?”
And he knew her answer before she spoke.
Jordan and Elias Lybbe sat for the most part silently. The sun was creeping toward the horizon, and the stifling heat of midday in the cell was giving way to a damp chill. During the day the temperature had built steadily. The stone walls should have kept the little jail cool, but the wide, barred window allowed the hot air to smother the interior, and in the absence of any wind the two men sweltered, sweating profusely. The little water they had been given when they entered was long since finished, and both felt its lack.