Then he paused as a sudden thought occurred to him, and he called out to the monk, “David! The abbot’s horse, what was it like?”
“Oh, a light grey mare. Very gentle. Very good-natured.”
“Was there anything that would help us recognise her?”
The young monk thought for a moment, then, “Yes. Yes, she has a scar on the left side of her withers, about three inches long. It’s plain.”
“Fine. We’ll let you know if we find her,” said Simon, then, “Black, should we go after it, do you think?”
“No. We can look for it later, the prints’ll be easy enough to follow. No, we ought to keep the posse together as far as we can, so we’re in strength when we find the men who did this.”
When Simon nodded, Black took his horse back and led the way over the open space and back into the woods opposite. Simon followed, watching over his shoulder as the two men Tanner had asked to see to the body went up to it. They had only just got to it and begun cutting the leather thongs that held the arms round the tree when, thankfully, the trees obscured his view. With relief, he dragged his eyes away from the blackened, twisted thing that two days before had been a living man, set his jaw, and glared ahead into the trees that could even now be hiding their prey.
The trail led them up a hill, still deep in among the trees, and in the thick woods they could hardly guess at the direction they were taking. The tracks seemed to be going fairly straight, leading onwards through the trunks as if the men had known the route well, and Simon found himself wondering whether this crime could have been committed by local men. It seemed unthinkable, somehow, that someone from this shire could have done it, but it was equally unlikely that anyone who did not know the area could have forged such a straight path through the forest.
On they went, crossing innumerable little streams and rivulets, occasionally stumbling and falling as they scrambled up steep banks and hills, pulling their horses after them. There was no path; the whole way they had to follow the tracks of the killers through the thick undergrowth between the trees. It was plain that they had not bothered to hide their trail – wherever the shrubs and plants on the ground thinned out, the footsteps and the horses’ hoofprints showed clearly. Perhaps they had not expected to be followed so soon after the murder, Simon wondered. Or was it possible that they had so shocked themselves by the killing that they were past caring? Whatever the reason, they were very easy to follow.
At last, after stumbling on for over three miles, Simon could see a glimmer of light between the trees. They must have been travelling for over two hours by now; his back and thighs were feeling the strain of having to drag his horse up the hills, and his calves hurt from walking down the other sides. He threw a glance at Black. The hunter did not seem to have noticed the light, his eyes were still firmly fixed on the trail at his feet. Simon peered ahead again. It was clearing. They must be coming to the edge of the woods. With a feeling of relief, Simon realised that soon they would be able to mount their horses and at last give chase, no longer wandering slowly; now they would be able to travel fast at last. He felt a mounting excitement as they slowly covered the last few yards, and had to work to prevent a grin of anticipation from spreading over his face.
Now Black noticed the lightening too, but apparently without the same pleasure, Simon noticed. He seemed concerned as he came up to the last few trees, frowning and looking up every now and again from the tracks. Then, when they came to the edge of the wood, Simon suddenly realised why.
With a sinking feeling, he looked out from the trees and groaned as he saw the road. It was the main road up to Barnstaple; not a very busy one, but busy enough – the dirt of the track was well trodden and rutted from the number of carriages and wagons that regularly passed by, and between the wheel marks it was compacted into a solid mass. With a wince of despair, Simon realised it would be impossible to follow the trail on this. He sighed and watched silently with his feelings of despondency growing as Black slowly stretched and wandered out from the trees. His eyes swivelled, tracing the last distinguishable marks of the horse and rider on the verge as they had left the trees, but then they stopped, obliterated by the multitude of tracks in the mud of the road itself.
Close to tears in his frustration, he watched Black thoughtfully loop his horse’s reins over a nearby branch. Surely they could not lose the trail after following it so far?
He felt the first prickles of the tears starting to heat his eyes, ready to begin weeping in his frustration, the pain and despair of failure clutching at his heart as he watched the methodical and efficient hunter trying to find the trail.
Black was walking in a series of circles, going from one verge to the other, and each time moving the centre a little farther so that he was gradually moving down the road towards Crediton in a series of sweeping loops, his eyes fixed all the time on the ground and occasionally flitting over to the verges to make sure that no one had left the road. He went slowly, and when he had covered twenty yards he came back and went off in the other direction, up towards Barnstaple. At last he stopped and strode back.
“Sorry. Nothing I can do. Trail’s here, but it’s been covered by all this other lot,” he said shortly, waving a hand vaguely and looking up and down the road. “AH I can do is guess. I just don’t know.” He shrugged, looking up at Simon with dejection in his eyes.
Simon stood and stared at him, feeling the waves of dread and fear wash over him. There must be a way of finding the killers. Whoever had done this must be mad: until they were caught there could be no peace in the area. Oblivious to the others, he stood fixed to the spot and stared into the distance. He felt Tanner walk up behind, but remained staring in his misery without acknowledging him.
“Problem?” asked Tanner quietly.
“See for yourself,” said Black shortly. “There’s no way I can track someone on this lot. The only way is to guess which way they could’ve gone and hope for the best. I’ve done the best I can.” He almost seemed to be pleading with the taciturn constable, as if he needed confirmation that he had done the best he could.
“Bailiff?”
“I don’t know. We can’t just give up! We have to find the bastards or they’ll do it again,” said Simon, confused and desperately trying to see what to do. “I… leave me alone for a minute.”
The other two watched him as he walked into the middle of the road and peered up and down, Tanner standing calmly and Black scratching his head as he gazed at the ground with an expression of morose defeat.
Right, Simon thought. The murderers took the abbot, robbed him, and killed him – but why burn him to death? Why not just stab him? And if that was all they were going to do, why not kill him nearer the road? Christ Jesus, help me!
He squatted, peering at the road surface, then gazed into the distance again as he thought. “I can’t guess why they killed the abbot. All I know is they did and we have to get them. Otherwise they’ll do it again. So we have to find them, and quickly. Where did they go? To Crediton? Or Barnstaple? They could have gone either way.”
Abruptly, Simon swivelled and looked back down the road toward Crediton. But which way? Which way would I take? If I had just murdered someone, where would I go? If I was passing through I would go on to Barnstaple, but if I came from round here would I go home? Could someone local have done this? Why would they? Who could have done this?
“Bugger.” He reached a decision, stood and strode back to the small posse. Tanner, Black, come over here a minute.“ When they were with him, he spoke again quietly. ”Look, we can’t tell which way they’ve gone. If I’d done something like this I would have gone to the moors and hidden, but these men have obviously gone on. Tanner, where would you go if you were them?“