Heartstone

or one of those hogs from the village. Maybe he shot to send you out of the woods.' He frowned. 'But it is a serious matter, the magistrate should be told. A pity you did not see him. If we could get one of those Hoyland churls hanged, it would be a lesson to all of them.'

'Barak thought he heard hoofbeats on the road.'

'They stopped just where we had entered the wood.' Barak looked hard at Fulstowe. I could see he was wondering, as I had, whether the archer had come from the house.

Fulstowe shook his head. 'A poacher would not be on a horse.'

'No,' I agreed. 'He would not.'

'I will have you informed as soon as Master Hobbey returns. I regret this should happen while you are his guest.' He bowed and left us.

'I am sorry I brought you to peril after all,' I said quietly to Barak. 'After what I promised Tamasin.'

He sighed heavily. 'If I weren't here, I'd be in the army. And you're right, we weren't in danger. He shot that arrow to miss.' He looked at me. 'Are you still going to ride to Rolfswood tomorrow?'

'This may be my only opportunity.'

'I'll come if you like.'

'No,' I replied firmly. 'I want you to stay here, work on the servants. See if you can learn anything from Ursula. Maybe visit the village again.'

'All right,' he agreed reluctantly. I turned and went upstairs, feeling his concerned eyes on my back.

* * *

I LOOKED OVER my copies of the depositions in my room. Then I went over to the window, drawn by the sound of voices. Hugh and David were by the butts. Fulstowe was with them, Barak and Feaveryear too. I went downstairs to join them. The sun had come out again, making the wet grass sparkle prettily as I walked up to the group. There was still a little wind, high white clouds scudding across the sky. Hugh was instructing Feaveryear in pulling a bow, while David stood watching with Barak. Fulstowe looked on with an indulgent smile. Arrows had been stuck in the grass, their white-feathered tips reminding me of what had happened in the forest.

Feaveryear had put on a long, thick shooting glove and held a beautiful bow, a little shorter and thinner than those I had seen the soldiers use, the outer side golden and the inner creamy white, polished to bright smoothness. Decorated horn nocks were carved into teardrop shapes at each end. Feaveryear had fitted a steel-tipped arrow to the bow, and was pulling with all his strength. His thin arms trembled, but he could only pull the hempen string back a few inches. His face was red and sweating.

Beside him Hugh held up an arrow, watching as the wind ruffled the goose-feather fletches slightly. 'Swing your body a little to the left, Master Samuel,' he said quietly. 'You have to take account of the wind. Now bend your left leg back, and push forward, as though you were making a throw.' Feaveryear hesitated. 'See, I will show you.' Hugh took the bow. He stood, thrusting his weight backward as he pulled on the string. Through his shirt I saw the outline of tight, corded muscles.

'Concentrate on the target,' he told Feaveryear, 'not the arrow. Think only of that and loose. Now, try it.'

Feaveryear took the bow again, glanced round at us, then pulled the bow back a little further and loosed the arrow with a grunt. It rose a little in the air, then buried its point in the grass a short way off. David laughed and slapped his thigh. Fulstowe smiled sardonically. 'Well done, Feaveryear,' David said sarcastically. 'Last time it only dropped from the bow!'

'I am useless,' Feaveryear said with a sad laugh. 'I succeed only in pulling my arms from their sockets.'

'Ignore David,' Hugh said. 'It takes years of practice to strengthen your arms to pull a bow properly. But anyone may learn, and see, already you improve a little.'

'It is hard work.'

' 'The fostering of shooting is labour, that companion of virtue,' ' I quoted from Toxophilus.

Hugh looked at me with interest. 'You have read the book, Master Shardlake.'

'He makes some pretty phrases.'

'It is a great book,' Hugh replied earnestly.

'I would not go quite so high as that.' I noticed Hugh and David had both been shaved, David's dark stubble reduced to the merest shadow on his cheeks while Hugh had a little cut by one of the scars on his neck. 'Perhaps we may discuss the book sometime.'

'I should like that, Master Shardlake. I have little opportunity to discuss books. David can barely read,' he added jestingly, but with an edge. David scowled.

'I shoot better than you,' he said. 'Here, Feaveryear, I will show you how a truly strong archer shoots.' He picked up his own bow from the grass. Like Hugh's it was beautifully made, though not quite so highly polished.

'Such achievement for a youngling,' Barak said, straight faced. David frowned, unsure if he were jesting. Then he strung the bow, bent to it, came up and loosed the arrow. It sped through the air and hit the target, missing the centre by a few inches.

'Not quite so good as Hugh,' Fulstowe said quietly, with a little smile.

David rounded on him. 'I have the greater strength. Set the butts further off and I would beat him easily.'

'I think perhaps your argument is groundless,' I ventured to the boys. 'Toxophilus says range and accuracy are both needed. You both excel, and if one has a little more of each quality than the other, what matter?'

'David and I have been jesting and bickering these last five years, sir,' Hugh said wearily. 'It is what we do, the subject matters not. Tell me,' he added earnestly, 'what is it you find to criticize in Toxophilus?'

'His liking for war. And his praise for the King has a crawling quality.'

'Should we not foster the arts of war to protect ourselves?' Hugh asked with quiet intensity. 'Are we to allow the French to invade and have their will with us?'

'No. But we should ask how we came to this. If the King had not invaded France last year—'

'For hundreds of years Gascony and Normandy were ours.' For the first time I heard Hugh speak with real passion. 'It was our birthright from the Normans before upstart French nobles started calling themselves kings —'

'So King Henry would say.'

'He is right.'

'Do not let Father hear you talking like that,' David said. 'You know he will not let you go for a soldier.' Then, to my surprise, his voice took on a note of entreaty. 'And without you who should I have to hunt with?' David turned to me. 'We went out this morning, and our greyhounds caught half a dozen hares. Though my fast hound caught more—'

'Be quiet,' Hugh said with sudden impatience. 'Your endless who-is-better-than-who will drive me brainsick!'

David looked hurt. 'But competition is the spice of life. In Father's business—'

'Are we not supposed to be gentlemen now? Do you know what a hobby is, Master Shardlake?'

'A hunting hawk,' I answered.

'Ay, the smallest and meanest of birds.'

David's eyes widened with hurt. I thought he might burst into tears.

'That's enough, both of you,' Fulstowe snapped. To my surprise he spoke as though he had the authority of a parent. Both boys were silent at once.

'Please do not argue,' Feaveryear said with sudden emotion, his prominent Adam's apple jerking up and down. 'You are brothers, Christians—'

He was interrupted by a loud voice calling his name. Dyrick was striding across the lawn. He looked angry, his face almost as red as his hair. 'What are you doing shooting with the boys? And you, Barak! You were told to keep to the servants' quarters. Master steward, do you not know your master's instructions?'

Fulstowe did not reply, but gave Dyrick a cold look. 'The boys invited us,' Barak said, a dangerous edge to his voice.