“No,” said the hunter absentmindedly as he continued his frowning stare at the tracks. “What if a few leave the main group?”
“Well? What if they do? So long as we get the main body of men and-”
“No,” said Black, suddenly looking up at him. “We can’t take the risk. We might get half or more, but what about the others? If we miss two they could rob a farm and kill the family. I’m not having it. We must get them all.”
Simon sighed, nodded, and let him get on with it. He wanted to be able to give chase, not follow slowly like this. He wanted to know that they were catching up with the men who had killed the merchants, to catch them, or, if they would not surrender, kill them. But he curbed his enthusiasm and slowed, allowing Hugh and Tanner to catch up with him, watching Black continue.
It was more than four hours after they had left their camp that they came across a small stream, and Black stopped. Simon quickly rode alongside, Tanner just behind him.
“What is it?”
“Look!” said the taciturn hunter, pointing.
Just in front of them the ground levelled out. There were stones lying around in a rough circle, some on top of each other like a low wall, and in the middle were a number of blackened patches. The three rode forward cautiously and paused at the first. Black leaned down and sniffed, then dropped lightly from his horse – as if he had not been riding for days, thought Simon in disgust – and knelt, sniffing and feeling the ashes while he muttered to himself.
“Well?” said Tanner, obviously as keen as Simon to get on with their hunt.
Black looked up, but now his eyes had lost the introspective look; now they glittered with an unholy glee. “This’s where they camped last night. The ashes are still warm.” He sank back on his haunches and surveyed the area, but then gave a little start. While the others followed his gaze, he leapt to his feet and ran.
Simon could see what looked like a huddle of rags lying under the wall, and looked at the others uncomprehendingly. Hugh seemed as surprised as Simon, but Tanner cursed and kicked his horse with a face gone dark with anger. The others shrugged and spurred after them.
It was only when they were a few yards away that Simon realised that the pathetic bundle was a partly naked body. With a half sob, half sigh, he saw that it was a young woman.
She could only have been fifteen years old, a slim figure with long dark hair that had been braided but now was roughly tousled and spread over the ground by her head. She was bruised, with large brown and blue discolourations to her skin, and she had weals too. Her feet were uncovered, and her soles were bloody and crusted with scabs. It seemed clear that she must have lived a privileged life, for her hands were unmarked by work when Black gently turned them over. She must have been one of the merchant’s daughters.
The group stared in frozen and angry silence at the little figure while the hunter searched for any clues to the people who had committed this crime. He carefully looked through the ripped and torn dress and checked the ground, but there seemed to be nothing to be learned. When he stood again there was a new determination on his face. Simon could see. It looked as though the calm and imperturbable hunter had made his choice: the men he was chasing would not escape him: he would catch them before they could commit any more crimes like this.
Simon watched him as he mounted his horse and organised a man to take the body back. The bailiff was becoming anxious now – how would the men react when they caught the trail bastons? He did not want them all to be slaughtered. But then his eyes were drawn to the body, as if it was calling to him, and he found himself thinking how little older than his own daughter this young girl was and suddenly he realised he did not care how the posse reacted when they found the gang.
They paused at midday near a stream, where they watered and rested the horses while they sat and ate some food. Tanner’s men had managed to buy provisions while they had been on the road after the abbot’s death, but Simon was aware that his own group’s food was being quickly depleted. At this rate they would only be able to stay on the moors for another two days at the most. The men were quiet again. Any joy they had felt from their morning’s ride had been dispersed by the sight of that small, sad shape half hidden by the wall, to be replaced by anger and the urgent desire for vengeance. Simon could feel the mood as he sat chewing on some bread and cured meat. They all wanted to find the men responsible, and he knew that they would be difficult to control when they caught up with the band.
He knew he no longer cared how they reacted. He was so disgusted, so sick of the sight of death, that he wanted to kill the men responsible himself. That men could do this in his land had made him furious when it was a matter of a dead abbot and little more, but now, after seeing that poor, destroyed body at the camp, used and then discarded, he felt a rage so deep that it burned white hot within him.
The other men were all sitting around, almost trance-like as they ate. Each seemed to be in his own world; there was little talking, only an occasional hushed murmuring of low voices. For the most part they were quiet and contemplative, as if they were all considering what they would do when they caught the men.
When Black stood, the sudden movement made several heads turn, and then, with a kind of weary calmness they all rose and began to prepare to move off again.
The trail took them slightly east of south now, heading down towards the eastern edge of the moors. The trail was distinct in the green all around. Now and then they would pass in among thick gorse or heather, and Black would ask others to ride at either side in case he missed another trail among the growths, but it still seemed that their quarry was too sure of themselves to bother to hide their traces, and each time the outriders would come back to the main group and the trail.
It was late in the day when they saw the fruits of their pursuit for the first time.
They had just crested another hill, in among a small copse that stood around some old stones like guards around a king, when Black held up his hand again, and Simon heard the breath hiss between his teeth. The bailiff moved up but the hunter ignored him, his eyes fixed intently on the far hill.
Following his gaze, Simon could make out the thin line of the trail as a black smudge against the green of the hill, almost like a crack in the greyish green, and he searched along it, letting the trail pull his eyes upwards, towards the horizon. Then his eyes widened as he saw the small group of men and horses straggling up to the top. Ahead of them there was no trail – they must be the ones!
He turned and looked at Black, who shot him the faintest of grins before whirling and cantering back to the rest of the men.
“We’ve got them! They’re just ahead now, maybe a mile or two away. They just went over the top of the next hill.”
There was a sensation of suppressed excitement, a flush to the faces of all of the men in the posse as his words sank in, then a confused muttering.
“Shut up” said Tanner, and waited for silence. “John? What do you want us to do?”
“We’ll keep tracking them for now. They don’t seem to be taking any care. I’ll go on ahead with another tracker and we’ll keep as close as we can. You all come on behind.” He looked up at the sky with a slight wrinkling of his brow, then looked at the sun over to the west. Simon saw that it was low in the sky and looked swollen and red; Damn! It would soon be dark! Black seemed to consider for a moment, then glanced at Simon and Tanner. “It’s getting late. They’ll be bound to camp soon. I think we’d better follow them until they do, then attack them when they’ve relaxed and started to eat, as soon as-”
Tanner held up his hand. “It’d be better if we held off until dawn. Have you ever tried to attack a group of armed men at night? I have. It’s too easy to have everything go wrong, it’ll be better to get our sleep and attack when we’re all fresh.”