John walked a few yards and picked up the cross, which he gave back to Gervaise. ‘Then walk on, as you are bidden by your oath.’
The man groaned, but turned and began to limp again down the centre of the track. One blow of the cudgel had caught him on the thigh and his heels were now rubbed raw by the clogs.
John put a foot in a stirrup and hoisted himself on to Bran’s back. He walked slowly behind de Bonneville and, after a few hundred yards, said, ‘Chudleigh is the next village. You can stop there this night and recover. I’ll give you an extra day and a night travelling time to Plymouth, in the circumstances.’
They carried on for a few more minutes until the coroner spoke again. ‘I’ll see you safe to that village. After that, you’re on your own, for better or worse.’
Later, John never understood why he was so reluctant to tell Gervaise that when he had looked into the trees back there, he had seen Martyn de Bonneville waiting, a naked sword in his hand.