the abbot was taken yesterday. Alright?”
The monk nodded, the fear still plain on his face. Of what may have happened to the abbot, Simon wondered, or of what may happen to us? Grimly he reached down and made sure that his sword was still at his waist. The feel of the hilt comforted him a little, but he was still wary and felt nervous himself about what they might find.
They had covered more than seven miles from Copplestone when the young monk reined in his horse and slowed to a trot, falling back. Simon, noticing him out of the corner of his eye, slowed as well and let the monk ride up slowly and overtake him. He could see that the young man had a fixed frown of concentration on his face, and seemed to be glaring at the trees all round as he trotted forward. He stopped and waited for Simon to catch up.
“I remember this bit,” he said, pointing up at an ash tree that had been blasted by lightning. “I noticed that just a few minutes before it happened.”
Simon nodded and dropped lightly from his horse. The highway here was a wide track through the woods. Although the king’s order many years before had commanded that all roads should be cleared for yards on both sides to help stop outlaws from making ambushes, many like this one had not yet had the undergrowth cut down. The tall trees on either side seemed to enhance the sense of their solitude, as if reminding them how far they were from a hamlet or even a house, and the noises of their horses’ hoofs and harnesses were deadened this deep in among them, heightening their feeling of isolation.
He tossed his reins to the monk and walked forward slowly, the monk following on his horse, as he carefully examined the hard-packed earth of the road. Occasionally he paused to study the ground in more detail, but the spoor of the monks and their attackers was too mixed in with the marks of other travellers, and the rain from the previous night had been heavy enough to wash away most of the signs. He shrugged. Maybe a hunter could follow what happened here, but he knew he could not. He continued on, the monk trailing slowly after him, his eyes flitting from the bailiff to the trees in his apprehension.
Simon was concentrating so hard on the road that he was startled by the sudden cry from behind.
Spinning round, he ran back to the monk, part-drawing his sword from its sheath in his fright. “What is it?” he hissed.
Pointing in among the trees that lined the road, his eyes glittering, the monk turned to face him. “It was here,” he said simply.
Sighing in his relief, the bailiff followed his finger. He could see that the ground was heavily disturbed at the verge on the north side of the road. Reseating his sword in its scabbard, he walked up to the fringe of the trees and peered into the darkness. Warily he subjected the woods to a minute study, his eyes going from tree to tree, until, at last content that no one was watching, he dropped to a crouch and looked at the ground. It was obvious that three horses had passed through. He could see the tracks clearly in the dirt between the trees – the rains from the night before had not washed the marks away. Simon frowned and peered into the darkness again, wondering what to do. It would be sensible to wait here for the posse to arrive, but that could be a long time. Tanner would have to visit twenty farmsteads and hamlets to call up all the men in the hundred, so by the time they arrived it would be dark. He made a decision and stood up.
“David, I want you to wait here. The posse will be along soon enough, and you’ll be safe here. When they get here, tell them to follow me if I’m not back. I’m going into the woods to see if I can find where these tracks lead to.”
The monk gripped his reins tightly in his fear and looked from the bailiff to the trees all round. When he spoke it was with a voice hushed by his concern and trepidation, as if the trees nearby were hiding the abbot’s abductors. “But… but, what if they come back? I can’t face them again… And what if they see you? They might…”
“I don’t think so. We’ll be alright, whoever took the abbot has probably gone by now anyway. Don’t worry, all you have to do is wait here for the others. I should be back soon,” said Simon with more confidence than he felt. He glanced into the trees and felt his brow pucker into a scowl. He felt as nervous about going in among them as the monk was about waiting here on the road, but he had a responsibility to see whether he could track the hostage and his abductors. He patted the neck of his horse absentmindedly, smiled up at the monk, and was gone.
It seemed to him, as he stepped in among the trees, that the woods themselves were listening and watching him. There was no sound apart from his feet as they occasionally crunched small twigs and leaves. Even his breathing sounded unnaturally loud. There was a hush, a deadness, that sapped his will, and it was only after he had paused to look back and seen that he had only managed to cover forty yards that he continued. In his nervousness it seemed as if he could feel a malign presence lurking near: if he had been out of sight of the road he felt that he would have run back, but knowing that he could still see it made him impatient with himself and with his fear, so with a quick and angry gesture he forced himself to carry on.
As he went deeper into the woods, he started to hear small noises. There was a scratching nearby, then a rasping, and all around him the tick and creak of the trees, which all together made him even more tense, the muscles of his scalp tingling with the strain as he stretched his ears to pick up any human sounds. At one point a bird high above clattered off from its roost, making him jump behind a large trunk in his alarm, only to grimace to himself in disgust. He heard a sudden yapping, then a sharp screech from far away that made him stand stockstill for a moment, hand on sword-hilt, but there was nothing more. Slowly he untensed his muscles and forced his feet forwards again, but now he kept his hand on the sword. He heard a quiet scraping and whirled, but it appeared to be one branch rubbing against another. He looked all around, considering whether to get back to the road, but then, glowering, he straightened his shoulders and went on. His fear was beginning to leave him now, he was moving less from a need to force himself to do his duty and more from a desire to help the abbot if he could. He could not forget the terror on the man’s face as he had asked for Simon’s help and company, as if – Simon suddenly stopped. As if he had known this was going to happen? He shook his head and continued. There would be time for speculation later.
Maybe if he had agreed to join the abbot this would not have happened, though? Perhaps the sight of the bailiff and his servant would have put the two robbers off? And, if that was so, he had let the man down, and let him down badly. That thought, having taken root, built a small flame of anger deep inside him. It was not just the fact that the abbot was a frightened man who obviously wanted his protection and aid, it was that he was a man of God. He should not have been attacked, his cloth alone should have been sufficient defence on the road. The thought that someone here, in his own shire, could rob an abbot and take him hostage made Simon’s anger smoulder.
He froze again as another bird crashed off from its perch, upset by his sudden presence, but then his eyes dropped to the tracks, which led forward still, and he cautiously followed them, thinking to himself that with all these noises there was not likely to be any other humans about. If men were present, the other creatures would have fled.
As he walked deeper in among the trees, the dark came crowding in, forcing him to concentrate harder as he followed the tracks farther into the woods. He soon found that they became a blur, a smudge on the ground in front of him, and he had to pause more often, not to listen for any sounds from ambushers, but simply to make sure that he had not lost the trail. The undergrowth was thick, with shrubs and young ferns struggling to grow in the permanent semi-darkness under the tall trees, and several times he found that he had missed the spoor completely and had to go back over his own footsteps to pick it up. After he had done this for the fourth time, he began to follow the gaps in the trees instead, where it looked as though a horse with its rider could pass, occasionally checking down by his feet to make sure that the horse tracks were going the same way. Every now and again he looked all round, making sure that he was not being watched, his nerves feeling as though they were ready to snap, and when at last he heard the noise it was almost a relief, as if now his fears of being surprised could depart. The tenseness left him, to be replaced by the watchful expectancy of the hunter, mixed with his growing caution.
It was the sharp yap of a dog fox. Simon stiffened, taut as he listened, then let out a long, low sigh and glanced up at the cover of the leaves far overhead. A few last rays from the setting sun were fighting their way through the dense foliage – he must have been walking for over an hour, slowly and carefully edging his way deeper. He ducked behind a tree and leaned against the trunk. Breathing deeply, he considered what to do. Go back or carry on? Had he come far enough? Should he try to go back and get the others? But what if Tanner wasn’t back yet, what if the posse hadn’t arrived? If the men and the abbot were ahead, surely he should continue? After all, he might be able to overpower the robbers, whoever they may be, surprise them in the dusk and rescue the abbot. At the least he should try to get closer and see whether he could attempt it; it wasn’t completely dark yet, and it should be easy to retrace his steps.
