that mad butcher again.’
‘Yeah? And how’d you know that?’
‘’Cos ghosts don’t leave muddy prints, do they? If you want to play the arse, that’s fine, but if you want to know what happened,
stop bleeding interrupting.’
‘Sorry. What else then?’
Shamefacedly, the man admitted, ‘Well, that’s about it, really. Someone had been there, and we found prints on the floor to
show where he’d been, but there was no sign of him outside. We all went round the place, grumbling a bit, ’cos, you know,
we didn’t want to be out there. Christ’s pain, it was cold last night! Still, nothing to find, I reckon. But it shows how
worried the master is. Just that, and he’s ordering us to keep a proper guard on the place. It’s like he’s got an enemy to
guard against.’ He spat and added dismissively, ‘When everyone knows about the man who watches children.’
Henry smiled to himself and rose. It was always pleasant to know the truth behind a mystery. Still, he would have to go and
speak to Est and tell him to be more careful. There was no need to risk a cut throat for no reason.
No reason! In an instant his light-hearted mood fled and he felt the grimness return. There was plenty of reason for it, even
if it were to drive him mad. Poor Est.
Sir Peregrine de Barnstaple, clad in a new green tunic, walked off to church that morning to participate in the mass for St
Giles. He felt no fondness towards the saint; he had been at the market at Tiverton, held during the vigil, feast and morrow
of St Giles’s Day, when the woman he had wanted for his own had died in the attempt to give birth to his child. The double
loss had been overwhelming for a while, and had been the cause of a great change in his own outlook on life.
It was quite strange, when he came to think about it. He hadloved twice in his life, once a well-born woman in Barnstaple, and the second time poor Emily in Tiverton, and both were dead.
It was as though any woman whom he ever grew to love would always be taken away from him … for a moment he hesitated in
his striding towards the cathedral. Perhaps God Himself had marked him out for punishment, and this loneliness was a proof
of His disapproval. God would not help a man like him.
For a man who prided himself on his integrity as a Christian first and as a knight second, this was a deeply alarming reflection,
and he stood stock still for a while, his green eyes fixed intently on the horizon.
He was a good-looking man, Sir Peregrine. Tall, he had the build of a knight who had trained with his weapons every day since
the age of five, with the powerful shoulders of a man who had used sword, lance and shield in battles. His neck was thick,
as befitted a man who wore a helm at speed on a horse, but there the appearance of a warrior ended. Although his body was
strong, he had the semblance of a man dedicated to God. His face was long, with a high brow like a cleric’s. He looked as
though he had been tonsured expertly, leaving only a fringe of golden curls like a child’s all about his head, which seemed
strangely out of place on a middle-aged man’s skull.
Many had been deceived by those bright green eyes and the mouth that smiled so easily, and many of those remained deceived,
because Sir Peregrine believed in results. If he was forced to distort facts in the service of his master, he had always thought
that such behaviour was best kept to himself. From his head to his toes, he was a very competent politician.
But the thought that he could have upset God was nonsense! There was no action he had undertaken in his life that was so heinous
as to make him the target of God’s vengeful wrath.Rather, there was plenty to boast about. He tried to be honourable and chivalrous: it was a measure of his worth that he had
been elevated to knight bannaret. For some while he had been the Keeper of Tiverton Castle for his lord – although more recently
he had