Hoyland Priory.'
'Master Fulstowe said you might be coming,' the man answered. 'As you see, we are working hard. I am Peter Drury, the foreman.' He had watchful little button eyes.
'You seem to be cutting a great swathe here. What trees are you felling?'
'Everything, sir. Some oak, but the cleared part was mostly ash and elm. The oak goes to Portsmouth, the branches to the charcoal burners.'
'It will be years before there are trees worth cutting here again.'
'It may be long before prices rise so high again, sir. So Master Hobbey says.'
'You are contracted to him, then?'
'Ay. He has the lad's wardship, has he not?' A touch of truculence entered his voice.
'So he does. Are your men local, from Hoyland perhaps?'
Drury laughed. 'Those hogs wouldn't work here. When some of my men went on to their village woods they made great complaint. No, my lads are from up beyond Horndean.' Beyond the reach of local loyalties, I thought. I thanked him, and we rode back to the road.
We continued south, to an area the felling had not yet reached. I saw a narrow path leading into the forest. 'Come,' I said, 'let's see what types of trees these are. There seems to be more oak than that fellow suggested.'
Barak looked up dubiously at the darkening sky. 'It looks like rain.'
'Then we'll get wet.'
We began riding into the forest, picking our way in single file along the narrow path. The air seemed even heavier among the trees.
'Do you still wear that old Jewish symbol round your neck?' I asked over my shoulder.
'The old mezuzah my father left me? Yes, why do you ask?'
'I have Emma Curteys' little cross around mine. I will give it to Hugh, but not in front of the Hobbeys. Did you know he wears some piece of bone from the heart of a deer round his neck?'
'The heartstone? Yes, I talked to Master Avery last night, the huntmaster. He seemed a decent fellow.'
I glanced round. 'Did he say anything about the family?'
'He closed up when I asked. Under orders from Fulstowe, I would guess.' He halted suddenly, raising a hand.
'What is it?'
'I thought I heard hoofbeats, back on the road. Then they stopped.'
'I can't hear anything.' There was nothing but the buzz of insects, little rustlings in the undergrowth as small animals fled from us. 'Maybe you imagined it.'
'I don't imagine things.' Barak frowned. 'Let's get this over with before we get soaked.'
The path narrowed to little more than a track winding through the trees. This was true ancient forest, some of the trees gigantic, hundreds of years old. They grew in profusion and great variety, but oaks with wide spreading branches dominated. The undergrowth was heavy, nettles and brambles and small bushes. The earth, where it could be seen, was dark, soft-looking, a pretty contrast to the bright summer green.
'How far does the Curteys land extend?' Barak asked.
'Three miles here according to the plan. We'll follow the path another half mile or so, then come back. This is mainly oak, and that fetches twice what the other trees will. That foreman was lying, and I think Hobbey's accounts have been doctored.'
'Different types of trees can grow in different places.'
'That is what makes anything difficult to prove.'
We rode on. I was bewitched by the silence among the great trees. According to the Romans, all England looked like this once. I remembered a boyhood visit to the Forest of Arden, riding with my father along a similar path, the one time he took me hunting.
Then I saw a brown shape move ahead, and raised a hand. I saw we were by a little clearing where a deer, a fallow doe, stood cropping the grass, two little fauns at her side. She looked up as we appeared, then turned and in a moment all three had fled into the trees in a rapid, fluid movement. A crashing of undergrowth, then silence.
'So that's a wild deer,' Barak said.
'You've never seen one?'
'I'm a London boy. But even I can see this track is fading out.' He was right, the pathway was becoming mossy and hard to follow.
'A little further.'
Barak sighed. We rode past the trunk of an enormous old oak. Then a sudden ruffle of wind set the leaves waving, and a large raindrop landed on my hand. A moment later the heavens opened and a sheet of rain fell down, soaking us in an instant.
'Shit!' Barak exclaimed. 'I said this would happen!'
We turned back to the enormous old oak, making the horses push through the undergrowth so we could gain shelter by the trunk. We sat there as the rain pelted down, the wind that had come with it making the whole forest seem to shiver.
'That path'll be just mud when we ride back,' Barak said.
'Hard rain soon passes. And these are good horses.'
'If I get congestion of the lungs, can I charge that up to Master costs—'
He broke off at a sudden, reverberating thud. We both turned. An arrow projected from the trunk above our heads, the white-feathered tip still trembling.
'Ride!' Barak yelled.
He gave his horse a prick of the spurs. We crashed out onto the path, which was slippery now. Every second I expected to feel an arrow in my back or see Barak fall, for on the path we were hardly less easy targets than under the tree. But nothing happened. After ten minutes' desperate and difficult riding we stopped in a clearing.
'We've outrun him now,' Barak said. Even so we both stared wide-eyed through the pelting rain at the trees, aware of just how helpless we were against a concealed archer.
'Come on,' Barak said.
It was with relief that we reached the highway again. The rain was easing now. We stopped, staring back the way we had come.
'Who was it?' Barak asked, almost shouting.
'Someone scaring us off? That was a warning; under that tree a bowman with any skill could have killed us both easily.'
'Another warning? Like the corner boys? Remember I heard those hoofbeats on the road? Someone rode after us, someone who knows these woods.'
'We'll have to tell Hobbey, report it to the magistrate.'
'What's he going to do? I tell you, the sooner we're out of here the better. God damn it!'
We rode back to Hoyland Priory. Once Barak would have dashed recklessly in pursuit of that archer, I thought. But now he has Tamasin and the coming child to consider.
WE ARRIVED back at the house. The rain had stopped, though there was still a breeze freshening the air. Old Ursula was in the great hall, polishing the table, and I asked her to fetch Hobbey.
'He's out, sir. Gone to the village with Master Dyrick. Mistress Hobbey is unwell again. She's in bed with that dog,' she added with a disgusted grimace.
'Then please fetch the steward.'
Moments later Fulstowe strode into the hall. He looked at us curiously as I told him what had happened in the wood. 'A poacher, without doubt,' he said when I had finished. 'Perhaps a deserter from the army, they say some are living wild in the forests. We have a forester to patrol Master Hugh's woods but he is a lazy fellow. He will be sorry for this.'
'Why should a poacher draw attention to himself?' Barak asked sharply.
'You said you disturbed some deer. Maybe he was stalking them. They would be a great prize for a deserter,
