Next to it was a forge, where a sweating blacksmith hammered horseshoes at an anvil beside a glowing furnace. We turned into the inn. The parlour was almost deserted save for two men breakfasting at a table, their caps and two sets of spurs on the bench beside them. Dyrick and Feaveryear. We approached and bowed. Feaveryear half- rose, but Dyrick only nodded.
'Good, you're here,' he grunted. 'We should get started.'
'We left London at first light,' I answered pointedly.
'I travelled down last night, to meet Feaveryear and look at the horses. A man of countenance expects a reasonable horse.'
'We have four good horses, and a fifth for the panniers,' Feaveryear said smugly. Greasy hair hung over his forehead as usual. He looked tired, though Dyrick was his customary energetic self. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and stood up briskly.
'We should go. We need to reach Cobham tonight, nine miles away and I hear the Portsmouth road is full of soldiers and supply carts. Bring the panniers, Sam.' Dyrick reached for his cap and led the way to the stables. Barak smiled and shook his head, earning a look of rebuke from Feaveryear.
We entered the stable building. Dyrick nodded at the ostler. 'The others have arrived at last,' he said. 'Are the horses saddled and ready?'
'Yes, sir. We'll bring them into the yard.'
We went outside. The ostler and a boy led out five horses. They were all big, strong-looking beasts, with coats of brown and dappled grey. 'You have done well,' I said to Feaveryear.
'My master said not to spare the purse. It is five pounds for the return journey.'
'God's warts,' Barak breathed beside me.
'There's a premium on horses now,' the ostler explained.
'I suggest you pay the man, Brother Shardlake,' Dyrick said. 'You can reclaim it from your client when she loses. Or her pay-mistress.'
'I will pay half. That is what the court would expect. We can meet our own expenses till the outcome is known.'
Dyrick sighed, but fetched out his purse.
'Might we get to near Portsmouth in four days?' I asked the ostler.
He shook his head. 'You'll be lucky, sir. I'd plan on six or seven, the roads are so full.'
'There, Master Shardlake,' Dyrick said. 'I knew how it would be.'
We mounted, Dyrick and I in front and Barak and Feaveryear behind, the horse with the panniers secured to Feaveryear's horse with a line. As we rode into the street a rider sped into the inn yard, his horse's flanks sweating. I saw he wore the badge of the King's household. A harbinger, responsible for checking the King's route in advance of a royal journey.
WE RODE OUT of Kingston into the Surrey countryside. There were market gardens and cornfields on each side of the road, serving the insatiable demand of London, with the fenced-in woodland of Hampton Court behind them. Normally at this time of year people would have been garnering the hay and the cornfields would be turning yellow, but after the storms the half-flattened corn was still green. The people working in the fields must be praying for better weather. As the sun rose higher it became hot, and I was glad of my broad riding cap. The going was better than Dyrick had feared; the wide road was soft and full of deep ruts from loaded carts but the worst stretches had been repaired; the earth beaten flat, potholes filled with stones and layers of wattle fencing laid over muddy stretches. All our horses seemed strong and placid.
'We should make Cobham today,' I said to Dyrick.
'I hope so.'
'What is our route? I have never been to Hampshire.'
'Cobham tonight, Godalming tomorrow if we are lucky. Then across the Hampshire border the next day and on past Petersfield and Horndean.'
'Hoyland is seven or eight miles north of Portsmouth, I remember reading.'
'Yes. On the fringes of the old Forest of Bere.'
I looked at him. 'I gather you have visited Master Hobbey there before.'
'Yes. Though he usually consults me when he comes to London on business.'
'Is he still involved in the cloth trade?'
Dyrick looked at me sharply. 'No.'
'You spoke in court of his selling wood from Master Curteys' lands recently?'
Dyrick turned in the saddle. 'Impugning my client's integrity already, Brother Shardlake?' His voice took on its characteristic rasp.
'How Hugh Curteys' lands are managed is my concern.'
'As I said in court, some wood is being cut. It would be foolish not to take advantage of the market just now. But all is properly accounted for with the feodary.'
'Whose accounts I am not allowed to see.'
'Because that would impugn Sir Quintin Priddis's integrity as well as my unfortunate client's.' Again that undertone of anger. 'You will get the chance to talk to Sir Quintin, that should be enough for any reasonable man.'
We rode on in silence for a while. Then I said mildly, 'Brother Dyrick, we will be together for the next week or more. Might I suggest life would be easier if we could maintain some civility. That is normal practice among lawyers.'
He inclined his head, thought a moment. 'Well, Brother, 'tis true I am vexed by this journey. I was hoping to teach my son to improve his archery this summer. Nonetheless, the visit could be useful. Along with the lands he bought from the abbey, Master Hobbey obtained the manorial rights over Hoyland, the local village.'
'I know,' I said.
'We have been in correspondence about plans he has to acquire their commons, a tract of forest. The villagers will be compensated,' he added.
'Without their common lands most villages cannot survive.'
'So you have argued against me in court. But now I would ask you to give your word of honour not to involve yourself with the Hoyland villagers.' He smiled. 'What say you? For the sake of fellowship?'
I stared him down. 'You have no right to ask that.'
He shrugged. 'Well, sir, if you go hunting for clients among those villagers you cannot expect good relations with Master Hobbey.'
'I intend to hunt for nothing. But I will not be bounden to you in return for your civility. Either you will give that as a brother lawyer or you will not.'
Dyrick turned away, a sarcastic smile on his face. I looked back at Barak. I had heard him attempting conversation with Feaveryear, and overheard Feaveryear say, 'The Popish Antichrist,' in a sharp tone. Barak rolled his eyes at me and shook his head.
We continued to make good progress, halting once by a stream to water the horses. Already my thighs were becoming stiff. Dyrick and Feaveryear stepped a few paces away, talking quietly.
'This is going to be no pleasant journey,' I said to Barak.
'No. I heard your conversation with Master Dyrick.'
'I begin to think he is one who would start an argument with the birds in the trees were there no people around. What was that I heard Feaveryear say about the Antichrist?'
Barak laughed. 'Remember a while back we passed some men digging up a wayside cross?'
'Ay. There's few enough left now.'
'I said it looked like hard work for a hot day, to make conversation. Feaveryear said the crosses were papist idols, then started on about the Pope being the Antichrist.'
I groaned. 'A hotling Protestant. That's all we need.'
A FEW MILES outside Esher our rapid progress ended. We found ourselves at the end of a long line of carts, held up while repairs were carried out to the road ahead. Men and women in grey smocks, probably from the local village, were beating flat a low-lying stretch of road scored with deep muddy ruts. We had to wait over an hour
