`Someone's been sharpening his spear,' Horace observed to his friends. Before they could reply, the spearman called out to them.
`On your way!' he yelled roughly. 'You're not welcome here!'
To reinforce the statement, he brandished the spear. Several of the other occupants growled in agreement and the three travellers saw other weapons waving above the barricade. Several swords, an axe and a selection of farm implements like scythes and sickles.
`We mean you no harm, friend,' Halt called back. He leaned his elbows on the saddle pommel and smiled encouragingly at the man. They were too far away for the farmer to see the expression, but he knew the body language was non-threatening and he hoped the smile would soften his tone of voice.
`Well, we'll mean you plenty if you come any further!'
While Halt parleyed, Will was studying the barricade intently, particularly the weapons that appeared sporadically to be waved threateningly above the top. After a few seonds, he saw a small figure pass a behind a narrow gap in the defences, followed by another, heading for the left-hand end. A few seconds later, weapons were being brandished at that position. He noticed that none were now visible at the right-hand end, where a few minutes ago they had been waving energetically.
`Halt,' he said out of the corner of his mouth, 'there aren't as many of them as they'd like us to think. And some of them are either women or children.'
`I thought as much,' the Ranger replied. 'That's why they don't want us any closer, of course.' He spoke again to the spearman. 'We're simple travellers, friend. We'll pay well for a hot meal and a tankard of ale.'
`We don't want your money and you're not getting our food. Now be on your way!'
There was a note of desperation in his voice, Halt thought, as if any moment the man expected the three armed riders to call his bluff. Halt knew then that Will was right and the majority of 'defenders' behind the barricade were women and children. There was no reason, the Ranger concluded, to cause them any further concern. Things seemed bad enough in this part of the country anyway.
`Very well. If you say so. But can you tell us if there's an inn anywhere close by? We've been on the road for some time.'
There was a slight pause, then the man answered.
`There's the Green Harper, at Craikennis. It's west of here, less than a league. Mayhap you'll find a place there. Follow the road you're on to the crossroads and you'll find a sign.'
The farmer was obviously glad to be able to direct them somewhere else, and an inn would tend to denote a larger settlement – a village or even a small town. Such a place might be less likely to turn strangers away. Halt waved in farewell.
`Thanks for the advice, friend. We'll bother you no further.'
There was no reply. The man remained standing on the cart, his spear in hand, as they turned their horses and began to trot away. After a hundred metres or so, Will twisted round in his saddle.
`Still watching us,' he said.
Halt grunted. 'I'm sure he'll keep doing so till we're out of sight. And then worry half the night that we might turn back after dark and try to surprise him.' He shook his head sadly. Horace noticed the action.
I tied man,' he said.
`That's one frightene looked at him. 'Very frightened. And fear is the Outsiders' most potent ally. I think we're starting to get an idea of what we're up against.'
They rode on and came to the road sign directing them to Craikennis. The fact that there was a road sign, and that the place actually had a name, all pointed to the possibility that it was a larger settlement. Still, Halt wanted to avoid the sort of non-welcome they had just received.
`I think we might split up,' he said. 'The sight of three armed men might be a bit daunting for people in this area, and I don't want to be unceremoniously thrown out before we get in. Will, you've got that lute of yours, haven't you?'
Will had long ago given up trying to tell Halt that his instrument was a mandola. And in any case, Halt's question was a rhetorical one. Will always carried the instrument with him and he'd played it around their camp fire the night before.
'Yes. Do you want me to become a travelling minstrel?' He'd foreseen where Halt's thinking was heading. There was something un-threatening about a travelling musician.
Halt nodded. 'Yes. For some reason, people tend to trust a minstrel.'
`And of course, this one has such a trustworthy face,' Horace put in with a grin. Halt looked at him for a few seconds in silence.
`Quite so,' he said at length. 'We'll find a place to camp, then you go in ahead of us and start up some singing. Horace and I will slip in while everyone's watching you. Book a room at the inn. That's what you'd usually do, isn't it?'
Will nodded. `It's the normal thing for an entertainer to ask for a room – or a bed in the barn if the inn's full.'
`You do that, then. We'll have a meal and listen around to see what we can find out. Then we'll go back to the camp. See if you can get any information from the innkeeper but don't look too nosy. We'll compare notes tomorrow morning.'
Will nodded. 'Sounds simple enough.' A grin stole over his face. He knew Halt had a total lack of interest in music. `Any requests for tonight?'
His old teacher looked at him for a long moment. `Anything but Greybeard Halt,' he said.
Horace clicked his tongue in disappointment. 'That's one of my favourites.'
Halt regarded the two grinning young faces.
`Why do I have the feeling that I'm going to regret agreeing to this Task Group?' he said.
Chapter 16
Halt and Horace reined in at the outskirts of Craikennis. There was a makeshift palisade here as well, obviously a recent construction. Outside the barrier, in front of the entrance, a canvas shelter was set by the roadside, with three armed men inside, sheltering from the chill of the night. There was a large iron triangle hanging from a pole, with a hammer hanging beside it. In the event of an attack, one of the men would sound the alarm by clanging the triangle with the hammer, Horace thought.
One of the sentries emerged from the shelter now, took a burning torch from a bracket and advanced on them, holding the light high to see their faces. Halt obligingly shrugged the cowl back from his head so the light could play upon his features.
`Who are you and what do you want?' the man demanded roughly. Horace grimaced. Clonmel wasn't the friendliest country he'd ever been to, he thought. Then again, there was little wonder, in the light of what they'd seen as they travelled through the countryside.
`We're travellers,' Halt told him. 'On the way to Dun Kilty to buy sheep at the markets there.'
`Do shepherds usually go armed?' the man asked, taking in Halt's longbow and the sword that hung at Horace's waist. Halt gave him a thin smile.
`They do if they plan to get their sheep home in one piece,' he said. 'Or are you not aware how things are these days?'
The man nodded morosely. 'I am that,' he replied. The stranger was right. There was little of law and order in Clonmel these past weeks. The smaller man might well be a shepherd, he thought. He was a nondescript-looking character. The taller of the two had a different feel to him. He was doubtless an armed guard, hired by the shepherd to help safeguard his flock on the return journey.