Dyrick inclined his head. 'Then I say, young man, thank heaven for the Court of Wards, and Master Hobbey's authority over you. Do you not agree, Brother Shardlake?'

'I applaud your honourable nature, Master Hugh,' I said quietly. 'But war is a matter of blood and death.'

'Do you think I do not know that?' he answered scornfully.

There was silence for a moment. Then Dyrick asked, 'Are there any more questions?'

I repeated my formula. 'Not for now.' Hugh rose, bowed, and walked from the room. Dyrick looked at me triumphantly. Hugh had not accused Michael, but neither had he accused the Hobbeys of anything, anything at all.

* * *

AFTERWARDS I invited Barak to my room to talk. 'Well,' he began, 'so much for our main witness.'

I paced up and down, frowning. 'I don't understand it. Hobbey and Fulstowe were practised, but Hugh —'

'It was almost as though he did not care.'

'Yet he did not endorse what Hobbey said about Michael. Neither that Michael behaved improperly when he was a boy, nor that he said he loved him this spring.'

'He said nothing against the Hobbeys. You can see he thinks David a fool, but who could think otherwise?'

'Why does he care nothing for his estates?'

Barak looked at me seriously. 'Maybe he just never got over his parents and sister dying.'

'After all this time? And if he despises David, why spend so much time with him?'

'There is no one else his age here. We don't choose our families, nor our adopted ones.'

'There is more to it than that,' I insisted. 'He bit down hard on his feelings when I mentioned Michael.'

'Maybe he is trying to protect his memory. For Mistress Calfhill's sake.'

'He barely knew her.' I looked at him. 'I swear he is hiding something. They all are. It is just a feeling, but a powerful one.'

Barak nodded slowly. 'I feel it too. But if Hugh will make no complaint, there is nothing to be done.'

'I must think. Let us go for a walk after dinner. I'll come to your room.'

'Meantime I suppose I'll have Feaveryear arguing every dot and comma of the deposition again.'

Barak left for his quarters, and I lay down to rest. Yet my mind was too agitated for me to settle. After a while I decided to go and see if dinner was ready. A little way up the corridor a door stood open. It was dark within, the shutters must be drawn. I heard quiet voices, Nicholas and Abigail.

'He will be gone soon,' Nicholas was saying in impatient tones.

'I can't stand the sight of his bent back.' Abigail sounded utterly weary. 'And that snarling cur Dyrick is loathsome. And I still don't want to have the hunt.'

'Wife, I cannot stand this isolation any longer,' Hobbey replied angrily. 'I tell you, it is safe.'

'We are never safe.'

I started as a little face appeared at the bottom of the doorway. Lamkin came out and waddled towards me, tail wagging. I stepped quickly back into my room, quietly closing the door on the dog. I stood there, thinking hard.

* * *

ALTHOUGH the birds taken by the boys were served in more rich sauces from the Hobbey kitchen, dinner was a miserable meal. Abigail was last to arrive, pale and obviously still in pain from her headache. As she entered, Fulstowe, positioned behind Hobbey's chair again, bowed. Dyrick and I stood and Hobbey half-rose, but neither Hugh nor David troubled to rise for her. It was an insult to the mistress of the house, but Abigail seemed hardly to notice. She had taken no trouble over her appearance today, her long grey-blonde hair drooping from the back of her hood. She said nothing during the meal, picking at her food and wincing at the clatter of plates. Hobbey engaged Dyrick in talk about the conversion of the nunnery. He tried to draw David into the discussion, but the boy seemed to have no interest in the house. I saw Hobbey look at him both lovingly and sorrowfully. Hugh sat opposite me. I took the opportunity to lean forward and speak quietly. 'I am sorry if my enquiries stirred sad memories, Master Hugh. Unfortunately asking difficult questions is a lawyer's lot.'

'I understand, Master Shardlake,' he said sadly. He hesitated, then added, 'I promised to let you see my copy of Toxophilus. I will have a servant fetch it to your room. I would welcome another view on it.'

'Thank you. That is kind.'

I saw David had been listening to us, caught a strange look on his heavy features. He met my eye and said loudly, 'Where were you and your servant coming back from earlier, Master Shardlake? Was it the village?'

'Yes.'

Hobbey gave me a sharp look.

'Did you see any of those jumped-up serfs?' David asked with a laugh.

'We just went for a walk.'

Ursula, the old servant, was reaching forward just then to pick up an empty dish. David leaned back and his shoulder caught her arm, making her drop the dish on the table with a clatter. Abigail wailed at the noise and put her hands to her ears. 'Will you be careful?' she screeched. 'You foolish booby!'

'Abigail,' Nicholas said warningly. A smile of cruel amusement crossed Fulstowe's face, instantly suppressed. Abigail glared at her husband, then rose from the table and left the room.

'I am sorry,' Nicholas said quietly. 'My wife is unwell.'

I looked at the boys. Hugh's face was expressionless again. David looked crushed.

* * *

AFTERWARDS I went round to Barak's quarters. The summer evening had begun, casting long shadows over the lawns. The old stones of the priory looked warm and mellow. Barak was in his room, reading Tamasin's letter again. We walked round to the front of the house, where Lamkin lay dozing on his back under a tree. We went past the butts and into the little graveyard. It was very overgrown. I saw a flash of colour among the greenery. Flowers had been laid by a headstone. Sister Jane Samuel, 1462-1536.

'Probably one of the last nuns to die here,' I said. 'I wonder who put these flowers here.'

'Ursula perhaps,' Barak suggested. 'Hobbey would not approve.'

'No. Listen, I overheard something earlier.' I told him about the Hobbeys' conversation. 'Abigail is frightened, she said she and Hobbey would never be safe. And why is she afraid of having the hunt?'

'You sure you heard right?'

'Yes. I have a duty to find out what is happening,' I said firmly. 'It is what the Queen would wish.'

He shook his head. 'You and the Queen. I just want to go home.'

* * *

I RETURNED to my room. A book had been laid on my bed. Toxophilus, by Roger Ascham. I lay down on the bed and opened it. It began with a flowery dedication to the King, and his 'most honourable and victorious journey into France'. Victorious, I thought. Then why are we poised against a French invasion? And honourable—I recalled what Leacon had said about the waging of war on women and children in Scotland. I leafed through the text. The first part was a dialogue in which Toxophilus—clearly Ascham—described the virtues of archery to an appreciative student. Archery, as an exercise that trained all parts of the body, was contrasted to the risks and dangers of gambling. Ascham praised war: 'Strong weapons be the instruments with which God doth overcome that part which he will have overthrown.'

I thought back to my childhood. I had tried pulling a bow at our village butts just once, my father had taken me when I was ten with a little bow he had bought for me. My deformity had meant I could not take a proper stance with the bow; my arrow, released, had dropped to the ground. The village boys laughed, and I ran home in tears. Later my father had said, in the disappointed tones I had already come to know, that I was not formed for the art and need not go again.

I took up the book once more, persisting. I passed to the second part, where the dialogue changed to a discussion of the skills and techniques of archery: what to wear, how to stand, the types of bows and arrows— thorough and detailed knowledge.

I laid down the book and went to stand by the open window, looking out on the lawn. What was happening

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