So much had happened since I had opened my eyes in the lee of a hedge just before daybreak that I was growing suspicious, suspicious that God was once again taking a hand in my affairs and using me as His divine instrument against evil. For ever since I had renounced my novitiate, four and a half years earlier, just after my mother’s death and in defiance of her wishes, I had been plunged into a series of adventures which, at the risk to myself of injury and danger, had resulted in villains being brought to justice for their crimes. It had been shown to me that I had a talent for solving puzzles and unravelling mysteries that baffled other people, and I had long ago accepted that this was God’s way of exacting retribution for my abandonment of the religious life. Not that my acceptance was meek and wholehearted, far from it! I got angry with God. I told Him plainly that I thought it extremely unfair that He should constantly be interfering in my life like this. I argued that there was no reason why I should obey Him, and that I was entitled to a quiet existence, free from aggravation. He listened sympathetically. He always does.
And I always lost.
I drank my ale slowly, staring into the distance on the other side of the river, where horizons were blurred and the contours of hills soft and mellow in the hazy afternoon mist.
Perhaps, after all, I was wrong, for nothing had happened so far which could require my special talents. I did not feel that I was expected to go single-handed after a band of dangerous outlaws, that merely required dogged persistence and a great deal of luck on the part of the Sheriff and his posse. Yet neither could I throw off the nagging doubt that there was something I had missed, some intimation that God had need of me again.
I scrambled to my feet, exchanged a few pleasantries with the workmen on the quay who were busy loading a ship with bales of woollen cloth, and set off back the way I had come. I was abreast of the leper hospital – a creditably large building, with chapel and hall and accommodation for, I judged, some half-dozen lazars – and was making for the crack between it and the Leech Well when I heard the jingle of harness and the thud of hooves, heralds of an approaching horseman. Turning my head, I saw a big chestnut with pale mane and tail, who flashed me a glance from brilliant, imperious eyes as he drew within range. The light ran like liquid bronze across the shining coat and rippling, powerful muscles.
A superb beast, who must have cost his owner a fortune.
I transferred my attention to the rider, a man whose lower face was concealed by a thick, full, dark brown beard. He was fashionably and richly dressed, with riding boots of soft red leather, a short red velvet cloak lined with sable, and a black velvet cap adorned with a brooch, comprised of pearls, encircling a large, winking ruby. A man of substance, obviously, yet there was a nervousness about him, as though he were unused to riding such a mettlesome mount. He held the animal on too short a rein and sat uneasily in the saddle.
I watched his erratic progress down the hill in the direction of the bridge which crossed the Dart at the bottom of the foregate. Then I ascended the incline to the West Gate and re-entered the town.
As Mistress Cozin had predicted, I had no difficulty locating the home she shared with her husband and daughters. The first person I asked at once pointed out the house in the shadow of the Priory, and advised me that the family was within. Plainly the comings and goings of the Cozins were of interest to their neighbours, and my first impression of their importance in the town was strengthened.
The house had a frontage two rooms deep and two storeys high. As I later discovered, a side passage, from which the stairs rose steeply to the upper floor, led into a courtyard, beyond which were the kitchens, and beyond that again, lay the stables, workshops and storehouses. As there seemed to be no back entrance, I took my courage in both hands and rapped loudly on the front door.
My knock was answered by the little maid, Jenny, whom I had seen that morning, attending her mistress. She led me upstairs to the front parlour, where the lady of the house and her daughters were sitting. This room had been extended out over the street, supported on pillars, a privilege for which householders had to pay a substantial fine. Unprepared for such preferential treatment, I stood awkwardly, just inside the door, stooping a little, as I so often did, to prevent the top of my head from brushing the ceiling. The two younger girls immediately started to giggle but were frowned into silence by their mother.
Mistress Cozin indicated a stool. ‘Pray be seated, Chapman. My husband and his brother will be with us very shortly. Meanwhile, you may lay out the brocade.’ Her gaze sharpened with anxiety. ‘You still have it? You haven’t sold it in the meantime?’
‘No, no,’ I assured her, and produced it from my pack, letting it cascade in a shimmering waterfall across my arm.
She breathed a sigh of relief just as the door behind me opened, and her husband and his brother walked in. I stumbled once more to my feet, trying not to let my astonishment show.
Thomas and Oliver Cozin were twins and as alike as two ears of wheat. But what caused my surprise was not their similarity, but the fact that either should be in any way connected with the four pretty and lively females seated around me. That Thomas Cozin was much older than his wife was immediately apparent, and, as I later learned, he must then have been in his forty-fifth year, he and his brother claiming to have been born around the time that the witch, La Pucelle, was captured by the Burgundians outside Compiégne. My first impression of the pair was one of greyness, grey hair, grey eyes, grey clothes. Both stooped a little and were very lean, the shape of the skull prominent beneath the parchment-like, finely stretched skin. There was something dusty and desiccated about them, and while I could imagine a marriage of convenience between Thomas and his sprightly, attractive wife, in my youthful arrogance I was unable to picture it as a love match.
My ignorance was immediately dispelled, as all four women rose and fluttered towards father and uncle, uttering little cries of pleasure, settling them in the best chairs, even the self-absorbed Joan hastened to pour them wine. The men displayed equal warmth, kissing cheeks and embracing trim waists with their bony arms. And as subsequent conversation led me to understand that they had been parted for no more half an hour since dinner, their show of affection was all the more remarkable. I have rarely in my life met a family so devoted to one another as that one.
‘So this is the chapman,’ Thomas Cozin observed as he sipped his wine. He smiled encouragingly at me. ‘You have something to tell me, I believe, concerning the outlaws. And so you shall, once’ – and the grey eyes twinkled with laughter – ‘the important part of your business here is concluded.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Alice, my dear, this, I presume, is the brocade you are so anxious to show me.’
She nodded and caressed the silk with a reverent hand. ‘I know it’s a great deal of money, Thomas, but nothing like so much as you would have to pay here, in Totnes.’
‘Nor in Exeter,’ Oliver Cozin put in. ‘It is certainly a fine piece of material, and now that I have seen it, I should like to present it as a gift to you, my dearest sister, in gratitude for your hospitality these past three weeks.’
A good-natured argument immediately ensued between him and his brother as to who should pay for the brocade, an altercation finally resolved by my suggestion that they should each contribute half the price.
‘The wisdom of Solomon,’ smiled Thomas Cozin.
‘An old head on young shoulders,’ agreed his brother.
The matter being thus amicably settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Alice and her daughters bore the brocade away to inspect it more closely in the privacy of her bedchamber, while I was left with the men to tell the story of my morning’s adventure. When I had finished, Thomas Cozin thanked me politely, but was of the opinion that it would be pointless to trouble either the Mayor or the Sheriff with it.