were tired, filthy, hungry – or, at least, Josse guessed his horse was hungry – and decidedly out of sorts. Added to that, although Josse had ridden for miles, he had found no sign of any young man, or, indeed, of either of the bays.
He rode into the yard to find Will waiting. He slid down off Alfred’s back, handing over the reins, and heard Will’s quiet, reproving
tut
as he saw the state of the horse.
‘I know, Will,’ Josse said. His tone was sharper that he had intended, but his feet were frozen and his back ached.
‘I dare say it was necessary, sir,’ Will said, already running gentle hands over Alfred’s muddy, sweaty coat. ‘Nothing that a hard rub down and a bucket of feed won’t put right.’
Josse hoped the same could be said for him.
He was heading off towards the house when Will said, ‘A horse turned up. Found up on the road. Bay. Blood all over the saddle and the horse’s neck.’
Josse stopped. ‘Where is it?’
Will nodded towards a stall at the end of the line. Hurrying, Josse went to have a look.
The bay was indeed a beautiful horse. It was a gelding, and had a white star between the eyes. Glancing down, Josse saw a glimmer of light in the darkness of the stall: a white forefoot. Will, typically, had tended both the horse and its tack, and no trace of blood remained on either the animal’s neck or its saddle.
‘They found a body, too,’ Will called out.
Aye
, Josse thought,
I thought they would
.
‘Can’t say where,’ Will added, vigorously rubbing at Alfred’s coat. ‘They’ll tell you, indoors.’
Once again, Josse set out for the comforts of home.
He found his family gathered around the hearth. He allowed them to fuss round him, removing his muddy boots and cloak, escorting him into his big chair right by the fire, thrusting a mug of hot, spiced wine into his hands. He enjoyed every moment. When Tilly appeared with a pie oozing with meat, root vegetables and thick gravy, fragrant steam issuing from cracks in the pastry crust, he willingly obeyed her directive not to say a word till he’d eaten it all up.
Sometime later, warm, well-fed, and with a replenished mug in his hand, Josse looked round at the circle of faces illuminated by the firelight. Helewise, Ninian, Eloise, Geoffroi, Meggie. Meggie … Now what did the sight of her bring to mind?
‘Is Sabin no longer here?’ he asked her. He ought, he realized, to have asked her last night, only he’d been so dog-tired, and so preoccupied, that he’d forgotten all about Sabin.
Meggie looked up. He had the distinct impression that, for some reason, the question was unwelcome. ‘She went home yesterday, Father.’
It seemed rather a terse reply. ‘Were you able to help with the matter over which she sought your help?’
‘I – yes.’
Evidently his daughter did not want to discuss the matter. Perhaps it was professional discretion? He did not know. Sabin had left, presumably satisfied with whatever aid Meggie had been able to give, and, for the moment, Josse was happy to leave it at that. There were, after all, more important things to discuss.
‘Will has shown me the bay gelding,’ he began, ‘and he told me a body has been found.’
Geoffroi looked up at him. ‘I found the dead man,’ he said quietly. ‘Or, to be honest, Motley did.’
‘Ah.’
Motley
, Josse thought. Geoffroi’s hound. The brindled dog had turned up in the yard one cold night, shivering with cold, fear and hunger. Geoffroi had tended her, mending her hurts and restoring her to what seemed to be her usual self: a courageous, friendly bitch who never gave up as long as there was a trail to follow. She repaid Geoffroi’s meticulous care (he had stayed up with her all one long night, feeding her tiny amounts of warmed milk and honey at regular, brief intervals) by the sort of total devotion that only a good dog can give.
It was illegal for ordinary households to keep a hound unless its front paws had been mutilated; the high
He rode into the yard to find Will waiting. He slid down off Alfred’s back, handing over the reins, and heard Will’s quiet, reproving
tut
as he saw the state of the horse.
‘I know, Will,’ Josse said. His tone was sharper that he had intended, but his feet were frozen and his back ached.
‘I dare say it was necessary, sir,’ Will said, already running gentle hands over Alfred’s muddy, sweaty coat. ‘Nothing that a hard rub down and a bucket of feed won’t put right.’
Josse hoped the same could be said for him.
He was heading off towards the house when Will said, ‘A horse turned up. Found up on the road. Bay. Blood all over the saddle and the horse’s neck.’
Josse stopped. ‘Where is it?’
Will nodded towards a stall at the end of the line. Hurrying, Josse went to have a look.
The bay was indeed a beautiful horse. It was a gelding, and had a white star between the eyes. Glancing down, Josse saw a glimmer of light in the darkness of the stall: a white forefoot. Will, typically, had tended both the horse and its tack, and no trace of blood remained on either the animal’s neck or its saddle.
‘They found a body, too,’ Will called out.
Aye
, Josse thought,
I thought they would
.
‘Can’t say where,’ Will added, vigorously rubbing at Alfred’s coat. ‘They’ll tell you, indoors.’
Once again, Josse set out for the comforts of home.
He found his family gathered around the hearth. He allowed them to fuss round him, removing his muddy boots and cloak, escorting him into his big chair right by the fire, thrusting a mug of hot, spiced wine into his hands. He enjoyed every moment. When Tilly appeared with a pie oozing with meat, root vegetables and thick gravy, fragrant steam issuing from cracks in the pastry crust, he willingly obeyed her directive not to say a word till he’d eaten it all up.
Sometime later, warm, well-fed, and with a replenished mug in his hand, Josse looked round at the circle of faces illuminated by the firelight. Helewise, Ninian, Eloise, Geoffroi, Meggie. Meggie … Now what did the sight of her bring to mind?
‘Is Sabin no longer here?’ he asked her. He ought, he realized, to have asked her last night, only he’d been so dog-tired, and so preoccupied, that he’d forgotten all about Sabin.
Meggie looked up. He had the distinct impression that, for some reason, the question was unwelcome. ‘She went home yesterday, Father.’
It seemed rather a terse reply. ‘Were you able to help with the matter over which she sought your help?’
‘I – yes.’
Evidently his daughter did not want to discuss the matter. Perhaps it was professional discretion? He did not know. Sabin had left, presumably satisfied with whatever aid Meggie had been able to give, and, for the moment, Josse was happy to leave it at that. There were, after all, more important things to discuss.
‘Will has shown me the bay gelding,’ he began, ‘and he told me a body has been found.’
Geoffroi looked up at him. ‘I found the dead man,’ he said quietly. ‘Or, to be honest, Motley did.’
‘Ah.’
Motley
, Josse thought. Geoffroi’s hound. The brindled dog had turned up in the yard one cold night, shivering with cold, fear and hunger. Geoffroi had tended her, mending her hurts and restoring her to what seemed to be her usual self: a courageous, friendly bitch who never gave up as long as there was a trail to follow. She repaid Geoffroi’s meticulous care (he had stayed up with her all one long night, feeding her tiny amounts of warmed milk and honey at regular, brief intervals) by the sort of total devotion that only a good dog can give.
It was illegal for ordinary households to keep a hound unless its front paws had been mutilated; the high