mustn't. I mustn't hold him. I'll hurt him, I know I will. I will kill him. I will murder my own little son.'
Raffe squinted up at the cold grey sky through the newly leafed branches of the trees. Thick clouds were tumbling across the flattened land and the light was beginning to fade. From his vantage point on the small rise he could see the cog-ship rolling at its anchor in the haven of Breydon Water. Wriggling forward, he peered down into the marshes that fringed the edge of the solid land, but could see nothing moving among the tall rushes. He didn't really expect to, a dozen little boats could have been hidden in the deep marsh gullies and you'd never see them until they emerged into the' open waters of the bay.
'They'll not stir till it's good 'n' dark,' a voice growled behind him.
Raffe whipped round and was mortified to hear a deep chuckle. He hadn't heard Talbot creep up on him. The old soldier's legs were bowed as a barrel hoop, but he could still move as quietly as an assassin.
Talbot, his hood pulled low over his craggy face, shuffled his backside into the shelter of the trees next to where Raffe lay. By way of a greeting he punched Raffe on the arm with his great fist.
'I remember a time when you'd have had a knife across my throat afore I got within a lance's blow of you.'
'I knew you were there, you great ape,' Raffe lied. You make such a racket, they will have heard you coming out on the Santa Katarina.' He jerked his head towards the cog-ship out in the bay.
They'd known each other for twenty years, but the old rogue hadn't changed since they'd first met at Acre. Talbot had been a sapper, one of the worst jobs in the Crusaders' army. Sappers burrowed under the walls of the city and lit fires beneath the stones to weaken the walls to make them collapse, while the defenders in the city hurled down any weapon they could on to their heads. And the Saracens would tunnel towards them from inside the city. If they met, the two sides would fight each other in the pitch darkness of those narrow tunnels. You had to be as tough and fearless as a mountain lion to survive that, and Talbot was.
Raffe grinned affectionately at him. 'But I didn't think to see you here. Your lads impatient for their money, are they?'
Talbot bridled indignantly, 'I came to watch your back, Bullock. If the marsh-men catch you spying on them and their cargo, your miserable carcass'll be lying at the bottom of some bog pool afore you can utter a curse. Whereas I can tell them you're a just a poor simple clod who wouldn't know his own arse if I wasn't there to kick it. They've only got to look at you to see the truth of that.'
If any other man had said as much to Raffe he would have laid him out cold, but instead he merely grinned. What Talbot couldn't fight his way out of with his great fists he could talk his way out of, at least with ordinary men. He wasn't quite so skilled in talking his way out of trouble with the nobility. Back in the Holy Land, Talbot would have found himself swinging from the gallows, hanged by his own commander, If it hadn't been for Raffe. It was the kind of debt that forged an instant and eternal friendship between the most unlikely of strangers.
And Raffe had known he could rely on Talbot to get him word when the Santa Katarina was sighted off the coast. He had a network of street urchins and boatmen who knew every inch of the river from Norwich to Yarmouth. A dog couldn't fart in Yarmouth without Talbot getting wind of it in Norwich. Through this web of rogues, Talbot could obtain anything that a man could pay for, though it was wisest not to enquire as to the source, that is, if you wanted to keep your guts safely in your belly.
'Any sign of this man you're looking for?' Talbot asked.
'Not yet, but he'll be here. As soon as I discover who the traitor is, I'll swear on oath to the sheriff in Norwich about what I heard him say and he'll be in chains within the day. With luck this night's work will rid us of Osborn too. John is bound to