“Wait!” Baldwin shouted, and held a hand aloft.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. I’ll not have bloodshed. Who is it you seek – one of your men?”

“Yes. He only joined my band the night before last, and tonight he has robbed me!”

“What is his name?” Baldwin demanded.

“Philip Cole.”

“What does he look like?”

Sir Hector gave a short description. It was not easy, for he had only remarked the lad briefly on the night when he had asked to join the band, and Sir Hector had already been drinking for some time by then. Inwardly he was fuming that a mere yokel lad could take advantage of him so quickly and with such apparent ease. He slapped a fist into the palm of his hand. “He must be from around these parts; he joined my band here, while we were staying at the inn, the bastard!”

Another of his men standing a little away interrupted: “Thorverton – he said he came from Thorverton.”

“There you are, Keeper of the King’s Peace,” Sir Hector sneered. “A local man! One of your own. I’m glad you manage to keep your precious peasants under such good control.”

“The local hue will find him for you.” Baldwin ignored the jibe and kept his voice reasonable. He had no wish to antagonize Sir Hector, for the captain could create mayhem in the little town. In any case, if he had been robbed, he had every right to demand to see the culprit caught.

“My men can save you the trouble.”

“Oh yes?” Baldwin gauged the heavily armed men around him. “They will promise to bring him back alive for questioning?”

“They will bring him back, and my silver!”

“I am sure they would.”

“It will take ages for you to organize a posse, and by then Cole will have escaped. It’s better that my men ride on now.”

He was about to issue more orders, but Baldwin’s calm, firm tone made him pause. “Your men would certainly bring him back, of that I have no doubt, only I wish to see him while he is alive. Can you say you saw him steal from you? No? In that case, I’ll not have him lynched or stabbed before he has had a chance to defend himself. You!” His finger jerked out and pointed to the butcher still lounging against the wall. Adam started. “Go to Peter Clifford and ask him for some men to help us search. We’ll need as many as he can afford. Ask Bishop Stapledon whether we may use some of his entourage as well.”

“But Cole is getting away while you ask me to wait!” Sir Hector sputtered furiously while the man hurried off.

“Did anyone here see him leave?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did he take a horse?”

Sir Hector scowled, then pointed with his chin to an ostler. “Well – did he?”

“No, sir. All the horses are still there.”

“There’s your answer.”

“Yes.” Baldwin gave a quick frown. One man on foot could not carry away a chestful of silver on his own, not when three men had been required to bring it inside. He shrugged. “If he is on foot, a delay will not signify. If you want to catch him, you’ll need more men. There are two main roads leading east and west out of Crediton, and more to the north and south. We need several teams looking for him, and men to search all of the routes out of the town. He will not get much further in the ten or twenty minutes it will take to assemble my men, but with them we will be more likely to find him. I can double the hunting parties.”

His speech done, Baldwin smiled reassuringly. “Have no fear, Sir Hector. We will find him – and your silver.”

“You had better. I hold you responsible for this delay, Keeper. If he escapes, I will demand you compensate me.”

The men around Baldwin had a threatening air, as if they too blamed him for the slowness in setting off after their quarry, and the mood could soon have become ugly. He knew Edgar was still behind him, but if the two of them were attacked by so many, they would be in a futile position. He was relieved when he heard the sound of horses in Peter’s yard. Soon there was a jingling of harnesses and squeaking of leather as the group approached.

To his surprise, the men were led by Simon. He rode up, leading Baldwin’s horse, and passed him the reins, giving a dry smile at the look on his friend’s face. Baldwin took them and swung into the saddle, then gave Simon a questioning glance. “You do not have to come, old friend.”

“I need the exercise.”

Baldwin nodded gravely, and Simon knew precisely what he was thinking: the bailiff should have stayed with his wife. But Simon was not going to discuss the matter here in the street.

Surveying the men available, Baldwin began mentally pairing them off; he was about to begin ordering them to specific routes when he realized Simon was no longer beside him. Turning in his saddle, he saw the bailiff riding toward the woman and her child. Cursing under his breath, Baldwin spurred after him.

A man-at-arms on horseback was pushing at her with the butt-end of his pike. “Out of the way, bitch, before you get run down.”

She wailed even louder, clutching the child to her. “He’s hurt, I say – by one of the horses.”

“Move! Out of the way, you old sow. And take that brat with you or I’ll give him something to scream about!”

Simon forced his horse between them. “Leave her alone,” he hissed.

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” the man demanded, holding his polearm aggressively, ready to swing it like a club at the bailiff’s head.

“He’s my friend, and I’m the man who could have you put in jail for a week,” said Baldwin. He had arrived behind the mercenary, and now sat threateningly, one hand on his thigh, near his sword. “Leave us – and leave her alone.”

Muttering, the man went, his eyes going from one to the other, but Simon ignored him. As soon as he was out of the way, the bailiff dropped from his horse. “He’s not badly hurt,” he said, after examining the lad. “Just bruised. I would go now, though, before that guard returns.”

He watched her as she shyly took her son from him, ducking her head nervously in the manner of a peasant who finds herself in the presence of a lord. The little matter had enraged him, and the tension, now it was released, left him feeling tired out, and with a hollowness in his belly: she could go home now, her child by her side. Baldwin watched as he clambered aboard his horse again, picking up his reins like a man exhausted after a long race.

A little later they had finished dividing the men. Baldwin had insisted on four main groups, one to search each of the roads out of the town, and he ensured that there was a good mixture of Peter Clifford’s and the Bishop’s men in each. He did not want a preponderance of mercenaries in any company; he was sure that Sir Hector’s men would want to kill Cole on sight to satisfy their master, and Baldwin was determined to prevent that. Peter and his guest had not joined them, but there were enough men to match the mercenaries, and that was all he wanted.

Upon reflection, he decided to ride with Simon. He commanded the others to their allotted routes, and then set his face to the south and moved off.

Simon rode stiffly. His servant Hugh, at his side, seemed to exude disgust. Lean, dark-haired, and with the keen sharp features of a ferret, he had for years yielded only under protest to the need for travelling, and had never enjoyed the experience. At long last he was beginning to get used to riding, and Simon knew that his moroseness tonight was due to having to leave Margaret alone with Peter Clifford. The servant had been devoted to their son and felt the loss of Peterkin as deeply as the parents. Living with them full-time, serving them, eating with them, he was a member of the family. He would have preferred to remain with Margaret to try to ease her desolation.

The bailiff had hoped that this chase would give him some relief from his misery, but all he sensed was the disapproval of his friends and servants; their censure was a weight he could hardly bear. If only, he thought, if only they could understand. He knew he could not help his wife. No matter how long he spent with her, he could not explain his feelings, and listening to her going on and on about how they had found poor Peterkin lying in his bed, cold and blue, merely added to his anguish and frustration. If he spent too long with her, he wanted to hit her, just to make her quiet. His own despair at his loss was hard enough to carry; he did not have the strength to support her as well. Peterkin had died, and Simon could not think of a future without his son. Without an heir.