“You don’t recall him? That is strange… Sir Hector lets you into his rooms, doesn’t he?”

“He permits me to see him when I want. I am his deputy, you know.”

“Yes, I know. He told me last night that you were one of very few men he allowed to enter his room: he trusts you. Would he have trusted Cole?”

“Cole?” Henry guffawed, and Smithson, recognizing a joke, drew his mouth into a wide, inane grin.

“What is so funny?”

“He wouldn’t let Cole within yards of his door. No one who’s new ever gets close to Sir Hector. Like I say, he’s suspicious. After some months, maybe he would learn to put some faith in Cole, but it would take a long time.”

“And all Sir Hector’s men are aware of that, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How many men were in the hall last afternoon, do you think?”

“Ten or so. There would always be a guard there in case…”

“In case someone might try to steal Sir Hector’s valuables,” Baldwin finished for him. “But somehow someone did get in, didn’t they? Someone went in, either through the door, past all those eyes in the hall, or through the window where everyone in the street could see him. Which do you think it was?”

“Me?” Henry looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know. We weren’t there all afternoon.”

“You were there some of the time?”

“I had to speak to the captain about some problems with one of the horses. I went to see him, but he wasn’t in his bedchamber so I came straight back out again. I tried to see him later on, but he still wasn’t there, so I left it and went out with John.”

“So it was not very important?”

“Not by then. The horse had looked lame, but by later in the afternoon when we left the inn, it seemed to have recovered.”

Hugh was beginning to give up. He had tried every way he knew to engage the men round the table in conversation, but none seemed to want to talk. When he looked at them, they shiftily glanced away, and he was ready to resort to speaking to Roger. Edgar was studiously ignoring the others at the table and staring at his master.

“So,” Hugh said brightly, “it was lucky that Henry and John were there when Cole tried to steal the silver, wasn’t it? At least they managed to catch him.” There was silence. “If he’d got away, Sir Hector would have been furious, wouldn’t he?” Opposite, the man who had been in the room to collect Sir Henry’s clothes hawked noisily and spat. Hugh felt his face fall. The man sneered at him, a grizzled old warrior with silver threads shining on both cheeks of his thick, curling beard. Hugh tried again. “I suppose we just have to hope Cole admits where he hid the silver, don’t we? A shame about the girl, though.”

“The stupid bastard. There was no need to kill her, poor lass.”

Hugh turned to the man who had spat. Bright black eyes stared back confidently. “She was unlucky to be there, but I suppose Cole wanted no witnesses.”

“Maybe.”

“At least those two caught Cole,” Hugh repeated weakly, feeling the strain of maintaining their chat.

“You reckon?”

Hugh stared. “I… What?”

“Cole’s a fool, from what I saw. He trusted them two.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Those two bastards, they always needle till they know everything about everyone, then they put the screws on. Cole had some money, but he refused to give them any, and the same afternoon, he’s discovered stealing – by those two.”

Roger stared open-mouthed. Edgar was sitting stock-still as if unconcerned, but he was listening to every word and nuance as Hugh stuttered, “But what… I mean, how could they…”

“Everybody coming to a troop like this has a story, right? A past. Some can’t stay at home because of something that happened, like a fight where someone got hurt, or they have a girlfriend who’s already married to another man – whatever. Those two bastards, they make sure they find out what a man’s secret is, and then they threaten to let everyone know. ”Why’re you here?“ they say, all friendly-like, and ”Everyone tells us why they come here,“ or, ”Nobody’ll trust you unless you tell what you’ve done.“” He spat again and gulped ale, as if to wash away a sour taste. “And then they say, ”We need some money; we don’t seem to have what we thought, and we want a drink. Why don’t you give us some?“ And if the new boys won’t cooperate, their story gets all over the troop – and later, news might just get back to their homes.”

“And they got Cole like that?”

“No, he got them. He lied when they asked why he was here, so when they tried to squeeze him, he told them what they could do with themselves.”

“Come on, Wat, you’ve talked enough,” said one of the other men at the table, squirming uncomfortably. “You’ll get yourself in trouble – they can see you talking.”

“What do I care?” The older man stared truculently at John Smithson, who was watching with hooded eyes. “They can’t do anything to me, and they know it.”

Edgar slowly turned in his seat, hitching a leg over the plank that formed the bench, and faced Wat. “Are you saying you think it was those two who robbed Sir Hector and killed Sarra?”

The older man took a tremendous gulp and finished his ale. “I don’t know who robbed Sir Hector, and I don’t know who spiked the girl.” Edgar shrugged, and with a half-smile, began to move back to watch his master. Stung by his patronizing air, Wat set the pot down hard on the table. “You ignorant puppy!” He leaned forward aggressively, his voice low and coarse. “You think I’m just some old fool who’s drunk too much on a summer’s morning, don’t you? You think because you work for an educated master you can look down on plain folk like me, because we’re just dregs and unimportant. We’re fools and can’t know what goes on, aren’t we? Well, I don’t know what happened in that room, but I know that those two went into Sir Hector’s chamber in the early afternoon, right? Then they went back later, and both times they were in there for some time.”

“You’re talking rubbish,” sneered the other soldier. “You’ve been drinking sour ale! There were men in that hall, and they’d have seen…”

“Those drunken sots wouldn’t have noticed if the King himself had passed by! I’m telling you what I saw: Henry and John went in – twice. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe they didn’t do it. Maybe they just went in and got lost in all those rooms. Maybe they didn’t steal the silver, and they might not have killed the girl – but I reckon they had as much chance as poor young Cole.”

“But why would they put the blame on Cole? They’ve hardly had time to grow to dislike him,” asked Edgar superciliously.

“You pathetic little man!” Wat sputtered contemptuously. “What about Cole’s brother? You know he was in this band, and that he died in a battle – just after he’d won a hostage? And after he died, Henry and John managed to take over his prize and keep the money. If Cole hasn’t found that out already, he soon will. Maybe he ain’t as bright as you, little man, and maybe he’ll begin to wonder whether the pair of them might have seen his brother Thomas with his hostage and decided that the profit was too much for a youngster. Maybe he’ll wonder whether his brother died from a knife in the chest or a dagger in the back; maybe he’ll wonder whether his new friends were lying when they said they liked his brother. And just maybe, the two of them thought their lives would be easier without him in the way.”

“And maybe Cole did steal the silver, and maybe Cole was interrupted halfway through by the girl, and he did the first thing that came into his head and killed her.”

“And maybe pigs will sprout wings and fly like rooks! If he did that, why did he bother to join the band?”

“To find out what had happened to his brother, like you said.”

“So why did he steal the silver before he had done anything about it?”

“What?”

“You’re so bright, little man, you tell me,” Wat sneered. “If you’d been wondering what had happened to your brother for years, just when you had a chance to find out, would you immediately rob someone else?”