I returned to the parlour. A three-quarter moon was rising, filtering through the glass top-half of the windows to lie in drifts of clouded silver across the dusty floor. I closed the shutters before going back to the chief bedchamber where I did the same, also ensuring that the door to the covered gallery was locked. Downstairs, I went on my rounds again, padding from parlour to counting-house, across the courtyard to the kitchens and thence to the second courtyard, making certain that all was secured. Like Oliver Cozin, I did not believe Ihe outlaws would venture into the town, but there were thieves everywhere, and an empty house is always a temptation. Master Colet, I thought, might consider himself a very fortunate man that his property had not been robbed ere this.
As I re-entered the main part of the house, I knew a moment’s temptation myself to sleep upstairs on a feather mattress instead of downstairs, with only my cloak for blanket. But I was the night’s custodian of the place, and could not afford to sleep too soundly. Too much comfort would lull my senses. I must embrace discomfort in order to discharge my promise to the lawyer. A degree of wakefulness would keep me alert for any alien noise. There was a privy in the outer courtyard which I had already used, so I placed a freshly lighted candle, in its holder, as close to the shutters as was safe, wrapped myself in my good frieze cloak and sat down on one of the armchairs, my feet resting on a stool, which I’d dragged in from the counting-house for that purpose.
I closed my eyes and, within minutes, was fast asleep.
The first deep slumber did not last, however, and as predicted I woke many times throughout the night, on one occasion rousing myself to prowl the length of the passageway and open the door into the courtyard, listening intently for any sound which might disturb the silence of the night. But all was quiet, not even a barking dog to intrude upon the general stillness. Another time, I rose and went upstairs, peering through a wide chink in the parlour shutters to stare down into the empty street. Nothing and no one stirred. If the outlaws were up and about their evil business, it was not within the walls and defences of Totnes.
I woke at least twice more, before failing into a doze which lasted until strong sunlight, piercing the shutters, told me that it was day. I started forward in my chair with a deafening snort, and the taste of last night’s garlic foul in my mouth.
The candle was almost burned down, only an inch or so of tallow still remaining. I blew out the flame, disentangled myself from my cloak, took my razor and soap, together with my tinder-box, from my pack, picked up the key and went out to the courtyard. Here, I stripped and washed as well as I could whilst working the pump with one or other of my hands, shook myself dry, like a dog, dressed again and drew up water from the well, carrying the bucket into the kitchen.
There was still some tinder in the brazier which I lit, setting a pan of water over it to heat. While I waited, I considered what it would be best for me to do.
Sometime during the day, I must visit Oliver Cozin and tell him if I were willing or not to accept his offer to remain in the house until the end of the week. But before I did that, I wished to renew my acquaintance with Grizelda Harbourne, which meant a walk of some miles to her holding near Bow Creek. And for such a walk I should need sustenance: my stomach was already rumbling with hunger, making me feel quite faint. I must therefore visit the ale-house near the castle and buy myself breakfast. My mouth began to water at the prospect.
I shaved as quickly as possible and rubbed my teeth with willow bark, as I have seen Welshmen do and for which purpose I always carry a sliver in my pocket, gathering fresh pieces as I go. At last I had finished and, returning to the front part of the house, I stowed away my pack, made sure all was safe, locked the street door behind me and slipped the key into my pocket. Then I directed my feet towards the castle inn.
Grizelda was outside the cottage when I entered the clearing, planting leeks in a patch of ground within the paling of her garden, but there was no sign of either pig or cow. Both sty and field were empty and I felt a stab of alarm. Had the outlaws indeed returned to rob her further? Or had she had the wit to leave the beasts with her friends?
I must either have made some sound or she sensed my presence for she straightened suddenly, staring in my direction and shielding her eyes with her hand against the morning sun. When she saw who it was, her wide, generous mouth split into a welcoming grin.
‘Chapman! What brings you back this way again?’
‘I need to talk to you. But first tell me, where are the animals?’
‘Safe with my friends on their holding near Ashprington. I went there last night, as you advised me to do, taking Betsy and Snouter with me to be locked in their barn – a good, stout building which would make any robber think twice before trying to break in. And there they will stay, for a day or two at least, until I get weary of trudging to and fro carrying milk pails.’
‘And nothing was disturbed when you returned this morning?’
‘Everything was exactly as I left it. And I came back very early, before sunrise, in order to avoid the hockers.’ She smiled impudently. ‘I thought you might have been out with your fellow men, getting your revenge for yesterday.’
I shook my head and reverted to the original subject.
‘I’d leave the beasts where they are for as long as your friends are willing to house them. The town’s full of rumours this morning that the outlaws were abroad again last night, across the fiver, towards Berry Pomeroy. They could return here yet. The Mayor’s sent word again to Exeter, I understand, to the Sheriff, and there should be a posse riding south by tomorrow. But these men, as well as being dangerous, are cunning. I doubt they’ll be caught without a stroke of luck, but they may well tire and move on to different ground that offers them fresh pickings. They’ve been in these parts a long time now. Be patient a while, and they may just vanish.’
Grizelda smiled and invited me into the cottage. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, as I followed her indoors.
‘Yes, and heartily,’ I answered. ‘Boiled bacon, a mess of eggs, oatcakes and honey, provided for me by my friend, the innkeeper of the ale-house near the castle.’
‘Jacinta! I know her. Well-meaning enough, but inclined to push her nose into everybody’s business.’ Grizelda looked surprised. ‘You stayed the night in Totnes, then? Somehow, I thought you would be out of there and on the open road before yesterevening.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘You aren’t carrying your pack! What’s happened?’
I sat down on one of the benches, my back resting against the wall, while she poured me a beaker of her excellent ale, brewed to a rich, dark colour, and given its sharp and tangy taste by the germander I had noticed growing in her garden.
‘I spent the night in Eudo Colet’s house,’ I said, reaching out to take the beaker from her.
She jumped, spilling some of the ale, and the brown eyes widened in horror.
‘What were you doing there?’ she demanded.
I told her of my meeting with Mistress Cozin and her daughters, of my visit to the house, of the offer made to me by Oliver Cozin to play caretaker for the night, of his subsequent suggestion that I might like to remain there longer, and of my conversation with the landlady of the ale-house near the castle. ‘Named by you as Jacinta,’ I added, ‘though she never told me how she was called.’
‘And so you have come to hear the full story,’ Grizelda said, sitting down beside me, on the bench. She was quick on the uptake: there was no need to explain the reasons for my actions.
‘If you are willing to tell it,’ I answered.
She thought for a moment, her face serious, brooding almost, and I wondered what was going through her mind.