“Sorry it took so long, but some of the men were in the fields.”
“That’s fine.” Simon looked up at the sky. “It’s getting late, though. We’d better be moving if we want to get to Oakhampton.”
Black nodded and shouted to the men. Slowly they handed back their mugs and jostled into position, and soon they were all moving off, not in an organised unit like a wolf pack, but a strung-out line of men and horses, a group of individuals bound together by their common need for defence against the threat of the trail bastons. Simon and Black rode in front, not from any need to lead, but simply so that they could set the pace.
They rode along briskly, and had passed the track to Clanton Barton before Simon realised they were there. He turned and looked back at the farm when he became aware, staring hard at the buildings as if he could penetrate the walls and see the monks inside, but there was no sign of them. Had they left already?
“I was thinking,” said Black from beside him. “Do you think that this lot could be the ones that killed the abbot? I mean, could the men who killed the abbot have been part of this band? A vanguard out looking for food, and when they saw the abbot they took him for his money?”
Simon turned and stared at the road ahead, his face blank as he thought. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
They rode on, keeping to a smart pace. They would not be able to reach Oakhampton before night, and Simon was content merely to get as far as possible and find somewhere to camp and finish their journey the following morning. The road led them between thick woods as it curved around the moors, swinging lazily as it took them farther southwards. When they had left Bow some three miles behind them the light began to fade and Black started to look for a camp.
At last, as the light was sinking towards darkness, they came to a small stream and Black called the halt. In little time the horses were hobbled and watered, then the men lighted fires and settled down, wrapping themselves in their cloaks or blankets as they sat down to drink and eat before sleeping.
Simon sat a little apart from the rest. He was exhausted after the day. His hangover was gone, thankfully, but his whole body was tense and stiff from his hours in the saddle, and he felt. as though he had aged ten years since leaving Furnshill manor that morning. He wrapped himself in his cloak and was soon dozing, propped up against a tree not far from the stream.
Next morning they were all up before dawn and ready to continue before it was light. Grimly, in the chill grey of the early morning, they carried on, making their way along the gentle slopes of the road between the trees.
They had only travelled another two miles from their camp when Simon saw Black frown and stare at the road ahead. He held up his hand for the posse to halt, and as he did, Simon thought he could just hear hoofs up ahead. He felt Black’s quick glance at him, then the hunter kicked his horse to amble forward a little. Simon followed, his face frowning as he stared ahead at the next bend in the road, quickly checking his sword hilt as he went, while the men behind went silent and tense, wondering who could be riding so quickly at this time of the morning.
Soon they saw a horse gallop around the bend in the road, a small piebald horse with a young man on its back. As soon as he saw the posse he reined in and slowed, his expression one of suspicion as his eyes roved over the men standing grimly in front of him.
“Morning,” said Black. “You’re in a hurry.”
“I’m carrying a message,” the youth said shortly.
“Who for? Where are you going?”
The youth’s eyes held Black’s for a moment, then glanced behind him again at the others. “To Crediton.”
Simon edged his horse closer. “You need have no fear of us, friend. We’re a posse, on our way to Oakhampton to help follow the trail bastons and catch them.”
The youth’s face radiated relief, the suspicion falling away as if it was dirt wiped away by a cloth. “Thank God! I’ve been sent to ask you to come, only I hadn’t realised you would be this far already – I thought you were outlaws! Quick, you must come back with me, there’s been an attack!”
“We heard, that’s why we’re on our way, we had a messenger last night.”
“Last night? But that’s when the attack was!”
There was a mumble of anxious voices from the men, but it died when Black turned and glared. Simon leaned forward in his saddle.
“Where? What happened?” he said urgently.
“Late last night, sir. A group from Cornwall, on their way to Taunton. They were only six miles from Oakhampton when they were set upon and robbed, and many were killed. Two of them managed to get to our farm, a boy and a woman. Our house wasn’t far from the attack. They are there still. They said that the robbers were being hunted over to the west of the town, so my father thought I should ride for Crediton and get more help, so I was on my way…”
“Yes, yes, I see,” said Simon meditatively, then looked over at Black. “This must be another attack.”
“Yes,” said the hunter. “So Tanner may not have heard about it yet. We may be the first, the nearest to hand.”
“We have to go there and see what we can do!”
Black shrugged and turned back to the boy, who waited with a nervous keenness. “Your farm – is it on the way to Oakhampton from here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take us there, then.”
They rode at a canter, all of them eager now that they seemed to be so close to the criminals, and it was only another hour before they were riding down the muddy track that led to the farm.
At the door, the youth dropped from his horse and ran for the house. Black and Simon told the others to stay outside before following him inside.
The house was an old dwelling, with rough thatch that needed replacing, but inside they found it to be a cheery home, lighted with a warm orange glow from the fire roaring on the hearth. Sitting in front of it were a boy and a young woman.
As they walked in their messenger stood uncertainly by the door, as if nervous of entering, and when Simon looked in he realised why and winced. The young woman could not yet be twenty years old, he could see. She was obviously tall, a strong and slim figure with a firm and elegant body under her robe, but it was her face that caught his attention. She was obviously terrified; it showed in the way that she sat huddled, as though to comfort herself, it showed in the paleness of the face under the thick and long black hair as she turned to stare fearfully at them, in the wide and tear-filled dark eyes, in the trembling of her chin under her tightly pursed lips, and it was so palpable, so clear, that Simon felt the pain himself, and longed to go to her and comfort her.
The boy sat quiet and still, hardly acknowledging them as they entered, but sitting silent in front of the flames, with his straw-coloured hair reflecting the glow, and staring at the men with unseeing eyes, as if they were of such little importance that they merited no response. He was beyond fear; he seemed to have lost all sense.
As Simon and Black walked closer, an older couple came in behind them and, while the man caught them by their arms, the woman barged past and went to the two figures.
“Sorry, sorry, but they’re…” the man said haltingly. Simon gazed at him uncomprehendingly, then glanced back into the room. The older woman was cradling and gently rocking the younger, who clung to her like a frightened child to its mother. “Come outside, please,” the man said. “Come outside, we can talk there,” Simon and Black exchanged a glance and followed him out.
In the open, the man seemed surprised at the sight of the men on their horses, and appeared to be concerned until Simon’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “Don’t worry, friend. We’re the posse from Crediton. We’re here to help with the trail bastons.”