“Where? Where did you meet him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Down near Oakhampton. He said he was going to Cornwall.”
Even Black seemed interested now, and was watching Weaver with keen intensity.
“So did he say where he had come from?”
“Hungerford, like I say. I think it’s… he said somewhere over east…”
“Was he on a war horse?”
“War horse? No.” Weaver gave a short laugh. “No, he was on a mare, a small mare.”
“A mare?”
“Yes. A grey. He said he’d found it on the way, he said he’d found it saddled and bridled, like its rider had been knocked off.”
“Did he say when?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Some days ago, maybe two before we found him. He said it had some money in its bags but he wouldn’t share it with us.”
“Did he say where he found the horse?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“Think!”
“He might’ve. I think he said some way east of Oakhampton, but I…”
“And you’re sure he said the money was on the horse?”
“Yes.” His voice was becoming bored, as if he found the questions tedious now.
“So…” Simon began, but he was cut off by a shrug from the young man, a tiny gesture of indifference.
“I don’t care, and I don’t see why I need to help you. Whatever he may have done it’s nothing to do with me.” Simon opened his mouth to speak, but Weaver took a step back, seeming to dare them to question him further. “I don’t care. I’ve told you all I know.”
Simon shrugged. Did it really matter? How much could he trust this man anyway? Weaver stared at them both for a moment, then turned and walked back towards his companions, making the hunter’s face redden with anger at his impertinence. He seemed about to shout, and would have gone after the outlaw for his rudeness, but Simon said, “No. Don’t bother. He’s told us enough.”
Black stared at him, but then his face calmed and he gazed after the man as he rejoined his group and sat down, glaring defiantly at them. “Yes. Yes, he has, hasn’t he? So the knight came from east. He must have come through Exeter, out on the Crediton road, and met the monks on the way.”
“But the monks said there were two of them.”
“Maybe there were. Maybe they argued and split up. Who knows? Anyway, it’s easier now. At least we have the abbot’s killer, thanks to God! I suppose he must’ve killed Brewer on his way through.”
“What?” Simon spun to face him.
“Well, he said he was coming from the east, didn’t he? He must have killed Brewer, taken his money, then carried on. After he killed the abbot he met up with this rabble and joined them.” He tucked his hands in his belt with satisfaction. “Yes, I think today’s work has put an end to the killing.”
He turned and ambled slowly out of the clearing, and Simon followed, but as they went, Simon heard a quiet whinny and his head snapped round at the sound. “Where are their horses, John?”
“Horses? Oh, over there.”
“Let’s have a quick look.”
They walked over to where the robbers’ horses stood hobbled from the previous night. They were a mixture, from small, hardy ponies to some huge draught animals, and Simon stood for a minute looking at them. “Black?”
“Hunh?”
“When you tracked the abbot’s killer, you said that one of the horses was a big horse and was missing a nail on a shoe.”
“That’s right.”
“And the abbot’s horse was a grey mare with a scar on the withers.”
“Yes.”
“Have a look at these, will you? See if one of them is missing a nail. And see if there’s a grey mare with a scar on the withers as well.” He turned and wandered out again, to lie on the grass looking out over the hills; over the green, grassed and tree-dotted hills towards the sea, and soon he was asleep, dozing in the warm sunlight.
Chapter Nineteen
They set off from the camp in the middle of the morning. The prisoners, cowed and scared, were allowed to ride their own horses, less out of kindness than from a desire to get back home quickly on the part of the men in the posse. The dead from the posse were tied to horses and led back by the riders.
Simon and Hugh went a little way with the others, but they parted a couple of miles north of the scene of their battle. There seemed little point in continuing to Oakhampton with the others and their prisoners, so Simon decided to cut across the moors and go home by way of Moretonhampstead and Tedburn.
The others were all eager to get to the town and were looking forward to being welcomed as the captors of the trail bastons, but Hugh had seen enough of travelling to last him for several months, and Simon wanted to get home to see his wife and daughter again. Now that the band was captured, there seemed little to fear on the way, so there seemed no need for the bailiff and his man to have any extra protection.
They parted when they came up to the road that led back to Moretonhampstead, the huge track that led right across the moors and down to the coast. Hugh and his master sat and watched as the posse gaily rode off north, waving at their friends until they were out of sight over the next hill, and then they turned and made their way northeast, and back to home.
Simon was deep in thought for the first hour, riding slowly with his chin down on his chest as he allowed his horse to amble, letting Hugh enjoy his riding for the first time since they had left home so many days ago.
It was the first time Hugh had seen him so involved and intense, and as he rode along behind his expression was one of concerned confusion. Hugh had always tried to be a good servant to the Puttocks, who he adored as much as his own family, and although he maintained a melancholic exterior, this was more because of his days when still a youth, when he had lived the rough life of a shepherd up on the hills. A certain dourness was natural among the men that looked after the sheep on the hills around the moors. The loneliness led to introspection, and the attacks from wild and feral animals produced a degree of cynicism, but these did not change the fact that he was thoroughly loyal to his master and his family, and now he was worried by Simon’s sombre attitude.
Just when Hugh was about to try to break into his thoughts, Simon suddenly looked up, a frown on his face, then turned to his servant. “Hugh, do you remember the conversation we had with Black and Tanner by the fire a couple of nights ago?”
Relieved to be included in his previously private thoughts, Hugh gave him a quick, shy sidelong smile. “What, when we were talking about the abbot and Brewer? When I said the trail bastons hadn’t killed the farmer?”
Simon nodded, still frowning. “Yes. Do you still believe that?”
“Well,” Hugh considered for a moment, then continued quickly. “Well, no, not now.”
“Why?”
“John Black told me that that man, the knight, had joined the rest late. He said he must’ve passed through Crediton on the way to Oakhampton at about the right time. He wasn’t part of the gang then, but he was in the area at the time. He must have done it.”
“Hunh! That’s what John Black says, is it?”
“Well it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“What happened to his war horse? And his companion?”
“Maybe his companion had the other horse, I don’t know. Maybe his friend stole it. Fact is he had the mare. He must have killed the abbot and stolen it, mustn’t he, and it makes sense for him to have been Brewer’s murderer
