‘So he told me.’ And then, because I knew I was in the wrong, and because I hated myself for having hurt her, I added unkindly, ‘I’m sure he’d be only too pleased to advance you any money you might need while I’m gone. And, incidentally, I’d rather you didn’t say anything to him about my going to Croxcombe Manor. If he doesn’t see me for a week or two, he’ll just think I’ve gone on my travels.’
‘I’m not in the habit of discussing our affairs with Sergeant Manifold,’ my wife replied coldly, turning away to ladle water from the water-barrel into a pan, which she set to boil on the fire. ‘And I certainly shouldn’t dream of borrowing money from him. If necessary, I’d go to Margaret.’ She watched me pull on my boots again. ‘Where are you going now?’
‘To the bridewell to tell Master Wedmore … to tell my brother,’ I corrected myself self-consciously, ‘not to worry if he doesn’t hear from me for a while.’
Adela reached up and took a bunch of dried sage from its nail on the wall before turning to regard me curiously, insult and injury both forgotten in that open-handed, generous way of hers.
‘You like having a half-brother,’ she said. ‘I can tell.’
I grinned sheepishly. ‘I’m getting used to the idea,’ I admitted. ‘If it turned out now that he was lying, and his likeness to my father was nothing more than coincidence, I think I’d feel …’
‘Bereft?’ Adela suggested.
I nodded.
I set out early the following morning, one of the first to pass through the Redcliffe Gate, taking with me my pack, my cudgel (my trusty ‘Plymouth cloak’) and my dog.
The latter was full of energy, which was more than I was, Adela and I having made up our differences overnight in the time-honoured manner, not once, but twice; with the result that although I was a happy man, I was also a tired one. My children had waved me goodbye with their usual indifference, Adam punching me in the belly — admittedly the only part of my anatomy he was able to reach — as a parting reminder that he was growing up and not to be trifled with. (As if I’d dare!) Elizabeth and Nicholas were too used to my departures to regard them as anything other than a normal part of life and therefore wasted no time on unnecessary hugs and kisses. They just reminded me, by the simple expedient of patting my scrip, that they would expect a present or two in it when I returned. That I might, one day, not return never crossed their minds, but Adela, as she always did, clung to me and begged me to take care.
As Hercules and I left the walled seclusion of the city behind us, the sun rising steadily to reveal an almost perfect August morning, my spirits revived, and I began to stride out in a manner better suited to the dog’s restless energy as he chased imaginary rabbits and rolled in the grass. The sky was almost colourless; inlets, rivers and creeks of palest blue flowed between sandbanks of cloud, while low on the horizon, the light was a dazzling transparency, shimmering with the first, faint warnings of noonday heat. I was where I liked most in the world to be; on the open road, on my own.
Well, when I say on my own I don’t mean it literally, of course. At that time of year, high summer, the main tracks were crowded; parties of jugglers and mummers travelling from house to house, offering entertainment; itinerant friars, preaching hell and damnation; pilgrims heading for Glastonbury; civic messengers; now and again a royal messenger full of his own importance; family parties going on visits of either duty or pleasure to other members of their kinfolk; and plenty of fellow pedlars taking advantage of the fine weather to be out and about, selling their wares. In fact, if I wanted to be by myself, I was forced into the byways and lesser known tracks, many of which would only be familiar to a native of the area, such as myself.
I may have lost a little custom this way, but not very much. There were plenty of small settlements — mostly charcoal burners and their families — where the womenfolk were glad of needles and thread, a new spoon, either horn or wooden, to replace a broken one, or a good plain buckle for a belt that had seen better days. As for Hercules, he was happy to make friends with every mangy cur who invited him to cock a leg on a favourite tree, or enter into hostilities with any dog sufficiently foolhardy to offer him offence. Altogether, our first day’s travel passed in a most satisfactory fashion, keeping us out of the blazing heat and putting enough money in my purse to justify the excursion even in Adela’s eyes.
By dusk of that first day, thanks to a ride of some miles in a friendly turf carrier’s cart, we had reached the banks of the meandering River Chew, and were directed by a local shepherd to an isolated, but by no means deserted hostelry some few hundred yards south of the main track. The landlord, a jolly, red-faced man by the name of Josiah Litton, welcomed me in, patted Hercules on the head, and, for an eminently reasonable charge, offered me the use for the night of a straw mattress on the stone floor, near the central fire. His only bedchamber, apart from his and his wife’s, was at present occupied by a certain Sir Damien Chauntermerle, an important local landowner on his way home after several weeks in London. I was assured that the knight’s squire and page would be joining me around the fire to sleep, so I need not be afraid of lacking company. (I groaned inwardly and prayed to the Virgin that neither of my companions snored. It would be bad enough with Hercules wheezing in my ear all night.)
The landlord then bustled about, bringing me a beaker of ale, bread, cheese and some of those small wild scallions, also known as buckrams or bear’s garlic. (They are best eaten in spring, when juicy and tender, but even late in the year as this was, they can make a decent meal with cheese if freshly picked.) Sir Damien, it transpired, had supped earlier in his chamber, and the page and squire had gone out to join the groom in the stables for a game or two of hazard.
‘Don’t suppose they’d object to a fourth,’ my host suggested, when I had finished my meal.
Tired as I was, the evening was still far too light to think of sleeping, and I should only be roused when my two companions came to bed. Hercules was happily gnawing on a mutton bone, with which the landlord had thoughtfully provided him, so I decided to take Master Litton’s hint, and went out to the stables.
These were a couple of stalls at one side of the inn, the first containing a bony nag, plainly belonging to the premises; which meant that the thoroughbred next door had to be the property of Sir Damien Chauntermerle, even had the fact not been made self-evident by the three men seated amongst the straw, playing at dice.
I introduced myself and was immediately welcomed into the circle with the blunt hope that I had sufficient money to cover my losses. I answered cheerfully that I didn’t expect to lose, at which they all laughed so heartily that I insisted on inspecting the dice, suspecting them to be loaded. They had not been tampered with, however, and after several games of raffle and two of hazard, I realized that, in the groom, I was up against a master thrower, whose spin on the dice could produce an almost endless run of sixes. When I had lost more than I could afford, I at last called a halt, a move heartily endorsed by the squire and the, by now, nearly penniless page. The groom just grinned good-naturedly and gathered up his winnings. The rest of us leaned back against the bales of straw and reckoned up our losses, commiserating with each other as we did so.
I nodded towards the horse and the saddle of tooled leather, hung on a nail at the back of the stall. There was also a richly embroidered saddle blanket and some of the harness fittings looked to be of gold.
‘A wealthy man, your master,’ I commented.
The squire laughed and the other two gave knowing grins.
‘He is now,’ the former agreed. ‘But ten years ago, it was a different story. Poor as a church mouse, was our Sir Damien. Kewstoke Hall was falling into disrepair; the roof was leaking, the rats were gnawing away at the foundations, and those of us who stayed with him did so because our fathers had worked for his all their lives and it was our home as much as his. Still, he’s been a good master and not stinted those of us who remained since he became rich.’ The other two nodded their approval of his words.