The mock friar grinned then. He had an unruly mop of curly hair, a thin weasel face, and teeth like a mule. It was on the tip of Hawkwood's tongue to suggest he probably didn't need the mask.
The friar threw the gravedigger an admonishing look. 'It's no good sniggerin', Asa Higgs. It works and don't you deny it. I've seen people piss their breeches when we've leapt out on 'em. There's even been a few who've passed away with the fright of it.'
'With the bleedin' smell, more like,' Higgs muttered under his breath.
'I told you,' Del's voice rose in indignant protest, 'it ain't me, it's the bloody paint.'
While Del and the gravedigger discussed the phosphorescent properties of piss and pigment, Hawkwood and Lasseur exchanged wary glances. Each knew the other was thinking back to their conversation with Jess Flynn and Tom Gadd.
A building came into view. It was hard to make out specific details in the darkness. Hawkwood assumed he was looking at the main house. The impression was of stout walls, gabled windows and high chimneys. He could see the silhouettes of other buildings behind it. Some looked to be whole, while others stood in obvious ruin; from their imposing size, he presumed they were part of the original priory. He thought about the gatehouse and the adjoining wall and how far it might extend. That in turn made him wonder how many other guards were roaming the woods, for while the place may well have started life as a retreat devoted to prayer and meditation, this was clearly no longer the case. From what he'd seen so far, the Haunt had all the hallmarks of an armed compound.
The gravedigger drove them into a gravelled stable yard, bringing the cart to a halt outside a set of large wooden doors. The doors were open. Light from within the building spilled out. The smell of compacted straw and animal dung hung in the air.
Del climbed down from the cart, nearly tripping over the hem of his habit in the process. 'The boss wanted me to bring you to 'im. We'll try in 'ere first. One of the mares is in foal. He's expectin' 'er to deliver tonight. Best wait here, Asa.' He beckoned to Hawkwood and Lasseur. 'You two, come with me.'
Del led the way into the stables. Two men were standing by the opening to the stall furthest from the entrance doors. At the sound of footsteps, they looked round. One was hunched, with thinning hair and short bandy legs. He wore a dark waistcoat and a worn leather apron and was holding a lantern. His companion was taller and leaner; his swept-back hair was silvery grey. So, too, was his beard, which was short and neatly trimmed. With his blue eyes and lined features, he could have passed for a distinguished lawyer or a benevolent uncle, had it not been for his shortened left arm, which ended in a leather cup just below his elbow.
Del's gaze shifted to the grey-bearded man. 'Mr Pepper.' His tone was immediately deferential.
'Del,' Pepper said. There was no warmth in the response.
'Asa brought them,' Del said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
A spark of interest showed in Pepper's blue eyes. He looked Hawkwood and Lasseur over. 'And the tubs?'
'They're outside on the cart,' Del responded nervously.
'Good, go and help Asa unload. You can store them in the usual place.'
Del nodded. He still looked, Hawkwood thought, a little cowed. Studying Pepper, it wasn't hard to see why. The man exuded menace, even though he'd barely moved a muscle. With a look of relief and a sideways nod towards Hawkwood and Lasseur, Del departed, robes flapping.
'Where's that damned lantern, Thaddeus?'
The question came from behind Pepper's back.
The mare was standing, legs straddled, in the centre of the stall, flanks glistening with sweat. The distended belly told its own story. A stocky, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped black hair and a dark beard, shirt rolled back to his elbows, was gently stroking the mare's neck. He made no acknowledgement of Hawkwood or Lasseur's presence.
The man with Pepper stepped back into the stall and held the lantern high. The mare looked around. Her soft brown eyes, caught by the candle flame, gleamed brightly. She shifted restlessly, pawing the straw.
'She's close,' the dark-haired man said. He stepped away quickly. 'Let's give her some room.'
Suddenly, as if on cue, the mare braced herself and whickered softly as a stream of fluid gushed from her rear opening and flowed down her hind legs, dampening the bed of straw beneath. Abdominal muscles quivering and with her waters still breaking, the mare sank heavily to her knees and rolled on to her side. The rush of fluid seemed endless. Eventually, after what must have been the release of several gallons, the flood ceased and the mare recovered her breath. Her belly continued to undulate.
'The foal's turning,' the bearded man said.
The mare laid her head on the straw, as if gathering strength. Then she raised her head and whinnied softly. Her hindquarters roiled and a small bulge of white mucus ballooned from beneath her tail. As the men watched, the balloon increased in size, becoming elongated in the process. Within the expanding membrane a pair of dark, stick- like objects could be seen. Hawkwood realized he was looking at a pair of forelegs. The mare quietened, belly heaving. She pushed again. A triangular shape appeared, resting on top of the legs. It was the foal's head. The veined birth sac continued to stretch until, without warning, it ruptured and a small hoof poked into view. The mare paused and then gave another heavy push. Nothing happened. She tried again. There was still no movement.
'Come on, girl,' the dark-bearded man said coaxingly.
The mare strained again. The foal's head and feet remained resolutely in place. The dark-bearded man cursed under his breath.
'Looks like she's stuck, Mr Morgan,' the man holding the lantern said. 'Should we give her a hand?'
Morgan stared down at the horse. His lips moved soundlessly. Hawkwood wondered if he was praying.
The mare's hind legs thrust weakly against the straw as she tried again to expel the foal. She gave a small snuffle of distress and laid her head down.
Morgan stepped into the stall. 'Hold the light up.'
As the lantern was raised, Morgan squatted down and positioned himself behind the mare's hindquarters. Moving the tail out of the way, he took hold of the foal's forelegs, just above the fetlock joints. 'All right, girl, let's give it another try.' Bracing himself, he pulled gently on the foal's legs.
As if sensing that assistance was at hand, the mare, head still lowered, pushed again. Morgan increased his grip and angled the foal's legs towards the mare's hocks. The mare strained once more. Morgan's arm muscles tightened.
Suddenly, the mare's flanks rippled. Morgan continued his steady pull. A pair of narrow shoulders eased into view. The mare heaved again and Morgan let go. Seconds later, the foal lay in a glistening wet heap.
Tenderly, Morgan cleared the membrane away from the foal's mouth and nostrils. The foal's head lifted and Morgan grunted with satisfaction. Taking care not to sever the umbilical cord, Morgan eased the foal around to where the mare could see it. He stood up and, by the time he'd moved out of the way, the foal had rolled upright. The mare got to her knees and then to her feet and nuzzled her newborn, licking away the rest of the birth sac.
Morgan wiped his hands with some dry straw and looked round. 'Captains Hooper and Lasseur, I presume? Welcome, gentlemen; good to meet you. I'm Ezekiel Morgan.'
Hawkwood guessed that Morgan and Pepper were of similar age. From Pepper's grey hair and the light dusting down the laughter lines either side of Morgan's jaw, he doubted either of them would see fifty again, though they did not have the deportment of old men. When they stood side by side, the difference in height was even more apparent. Morgan's head was level with Pepper's shoulders. In the lantern light, Morgan's eyes - dark, deep set, intelligent and watchful - were the brightest.
Morgan tossed the used straw aside. 'My apologies for not giving your arrival my full attention. As you see, I'd a rather pressing matter to attend to.' Morgan held out his hand. His grip was firm and still slightly damp. Hawkwood could feel the calluses. 'You've met my associate, Cephus Pepper?' Morgan indicated the grey-haired man.
Pepper did not extend his hand but instead held Hawkwood's gaze for several seconds before giving a curt nod.
Morgan cocked his head. 'You've had quite a journey. The Warden incident gave us some concern. We
