Belaset's Daughter - By Feona J Hamilton Page 0,107

and made good his escape.

It was not possible for anyone, even with a helper, to get far away from this spot in such a short time. No matter how carefully this place had been cleared of any sign, there must be something to tell a careful searcher which direction two horsemen and a body had taken. Should he go back and report what he had found, get some help, and return to the BOSON BOOKS

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spot before beginning to search further? Or should he go forward alone, and return to John de Warenne only when he had the answer to this mystery and the dark man in his grasp?

It took only a moment to make his decision. He dismounted and started scouring the trampled earth and grass of the track, and the trees and bushes on either side, looking for anything that would show him which direction to go. Ten minutes of painstaking search in the opposite direction from the camp at Battle, and he had his clue; two broken twigs at his eye level, with a few threads of fine wool caught on them.

He removed the tiny threads from the twigs and placed them carefully in his scrip.

Then, still on foot and leading his horse, he continued along the path, looking for more evidence of passage. Now that he was away from the scene of the murder, the ground showed the passage of two horses, moving in the opposite direction. This would have been Sir Roger and his companion, making their way along the path a short while earlier.

In the same direction as he was walking now, there were the tracks of two horses again.

His suspicion was correct, he thought. The dark man must have been joined by someone else, and they had both taken this path. One set of hooves was more heavily indented into the ground. This horse must have carried two people one living and one dead.

The tracks went ahead for some distance and Jervis followed in them, staring intently at the ground, but now and then glancing to right and left. Twice he found more threads of the same woollen stuff; once at the same height and then down near ground level and added them to those already put away. At the latter, he stooped and looked more closely at the ground. There were other marks here. Two soft indentations, made by the heels of boots, with a slight smear as though they had dragged slightly. It was enough to set him searching off to one side.

Leaving his horse standing quietly, he pushed carefully, and as silently as possible, through the spindly bushes that blocked the way. Once on the other side, he could see that the faint track wandered across a small clearing and vanished behind a tree on the right hand side. Softly, he walked across the clearing, every muscle tensed for the attack that he expected to come.

Behind the tree a crude hut had been built at some time long since. Now it was barely standing, and the door hung slightly ajar. Jervis crept towards it. Half-hopeful, half-fearful of what he would see, he pushed at the door and it creaked open so that he could look inside. On the floor, lying on a cloak, was a body arranged as though for burial. The hands were crossed on the breast, and both eyes were closed, although one was badly damaged and the face just below the eye was marked. He had found Sir Roger de Tourney again.

A strange smell, not unpleasant, masked any other odours that might be in the hut. He looked around and saw that there was a rough bench along one side, with woven baskets under it. Stepping across, he could see that bunches of what looked like dried leaves and grasses lay on top of the bench and the baskets were also full. He could see, on the other BOSON BOOKS

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side of the hut, a pile of hay and small branches, obviously used as a mattress by whoever lived here.

"Good morrow, young sir!" said a cheerful voice behind him. He whirled, his hand going automatically to his dagger, but dropping to his side again as he saw who had greeted him.

Framed in the doorway was a woman, her uncovered hair streaked with grey above young features. She wore a faded green gown, oddly formal in these surroundings, but darned and fraying slightly at the sleeve ends. She carried herself very erect, making her look taller than her