Michael JECKS - The Merchant’s Partner

In among the trees, Simon had an easier time. At the beginning of the line of trees he had called the hunter aside. “Mark Rush, I’ve heard of you, even if we haven’t met before.”

His eyes were a very pale grey, as if the rain and snow he lived in had washed the colour from them. Set in the leathery, square face, it made him look as if the eyes were a reflection of his soul, which had been so worn with his outdoor life that it was weary now of continuing. But when the eyes fixed on the bailiff, he could see the glittering intelligence that lay behind.

“Yes, Bailiff?” His tone expressed polite interest, bordering on indifference.

“I have no idea where this boy has gone, or how to seek him. You do, you’re a hunter. You’re in charge: you can read his spoor if we find it, I won’t be able to.”

The hunter nodded, then glanced ahead at the waiting men. “In that case, sir, we’ll come out of the woods again.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard going here. We’ll go another half mile down the road, then go into the trees there. If he went into the trees to lose someone following him and made a big curve, we could end up following it all the way back on ourselves. If we go in further down, we can see if he left the woods south of the village or whether he went on at all. If he didn’t leave them, we know he’s waiting for Tanner or the knight to find him.”

“So if we enter further on, we stand a better chance of finding him if he’s there.”

He nodded. Then, apparently taking Simon’s shrug to be acknowledgement of the transfer of authority, the hunter called the other two men to them and led the way down the road to the south, with Simon taking second position behind him.

When Mark Rush stopped, it was some way past the last of the houses in the village. Here Simon knew that the woods were bordered by a grassed verge before the road, but now the grass was hidden by the layer of snow. The hunter appeared to be measuring, gazing back the way they had come for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, he took his horse to the verge and on into the trees.

Following, Simon was again taken with the sudden hush, the stillness that existed inside. It was as if the troop had entered an inn as strangers, causing a void where there had been noise. Here it was as though the trees were intelligent beings who were suddenly aware of the invaders, and who were stunned into uncomprehending dumbness. He almost wanted to apologise to the towering boughs that loomed overhead for their noisy presence.

Smothering the feeling, he carried on, over the thin bracken and ferns that lay under the snow at the edge and into the woods. He was faintly surprised how thin the snow was even after only quite a short ride. Above the trees were leafless, and he could see through the apparently lifeless branches to the sky above, but still the ground had little more than a thin crust of snow, a mere few inches.

On the floor he could see that several animals had passed by, their prints firm and clear on the white carpet: birds, animals running purposefully in a line – twice he saw the marks of deer, with the distinctive twin crescents of their hooves. All stood out distinctly on the thin surface, and when Simon saw the attentive gaze of the hunter, seeming to notice and catalogue them all in his mind, the bailiff relaxed. There was obviously no point in trying to see the tracks before Mark Rush. The man was clearly more than capable. Sighing, Simon lapsed into a private reverie.

What was Margaret doing? Probably ordering Hugh to help her with her work! He must surely be fully recovered by now, and Margaret was good at getting him to work, using the right amount of acid and sweetness in her voice to persuade him. He smiled fondly. She always did know how to get her men to do what she wanted.

That was the kind of woman Baldwin needed, he felt sure. One who could not just excite the senses, but one who would always keep him on his toes, one who could keep his interest going. Above all, one who was intelligent. Simon was sure that the knight would need a woman who could discuss matters with him, not a pretty ornament.

The thought led him down a new and different track. What about Mrs. Trevellyn? She certainly seemed to have attracted Baldwin. Simon’s lips twitched in remembered humour at the way the knight had turned in his seat to gaze back at the house as they left the day before. Yes, he had been interested!

And there was no denying her beauty, the bailiff reflected. Of course, he was more than happy with his own wife, but denying the beauty of another would be stupid and, in the light of his own devotion to Margaret, pointless. He could cheerfully confirm that he was happier with the warm and summery fair looks of his wife than he could be with the cool and wintry attraction of the brunette from France, with her calculating, green eyes, cold and deep as the sea. They were nothing like the merry, bright blue cornflower of his wife’s. But still, he could appreciate her slender and willowy figure, with the long legs and tiny waist. And her flat belly, below the rich, ripe splendour of her breast, promising warmth and comfort. Yes, there was much to admire there. But was she intelligent enough for his friend?

Then suddenly the smile froze on his face as his thoughts carried on to the inevitable question: if she was clever enough, if she was capable, and if she had taken Greencliff as her lover, could she have persuaded him to kill her husband for her?

Deep in his musings, Simon nearly rode into the stationary horse of the hunter in front. Looking up, he was surprised to see that the man wore an amused grin. Thinking his humour was at his absent-mindedness, the bailiff was about to snap a quick retort when he saw that Mark Rush was pointing down at the ground.

“There he goes!”

Staring down in complete surprise – for he had not truly expected this troop to find anything – Simon saw the footprints. As the other two riders approached, he and Rush dropped down and studied them, crouching by the side of the spoor.

The hunter reached out with a tentative hand to softly trace the nearest print, then Simon saw his eyes narrow as he glanced back to their right, the direction where the man should have come from. Seemingly satisfied, he turned and gazed the opposite way, then ruminatively down at the prints once more.

“Well?” asked Simon.

Mark Rush sniffed hard, then snorted, hawked and spat. “This is too easy. He’s not trying to hide.” His brow wrinkled. “I wonder why not.”

Shrugging, Simon gave a gesture of indifference. “What does it matter? We’ll find out when we’ve caught him.”

“Yes,” said the hunter, then grunted as he rose, a knee clicking as he moved. “Right, well I suppose we’d better get on after him. These prints’re from yesterday from the look of them, they’re worn. See that?” He pointed at a small round hole beside the trail. Glancing at it, Simon saw it repeated beside the footprints. “That’s a walking stick. See how it hits the ground in time with his left foot, although he holds it in his right hand? He’s carrying a stick, so we’d better be careful. Don’t want him braining us.”

They mounted, then sent one of the men back to the inn. Before he left, Simon looked up at the sky. “How long have we been in the woods, do you think, Rush?”

Squinting at the sky, the hunter seemed to consider. “Maybe two, maybe three hours?”

“I think so too. You!” This to the waiting messenger. “Get to the inn as quickly as you can, but then go on to Sir Baldwin – understand? Tell him too, and ask if he can send a couple more men, just in case we do have to fight to catch him.”

“No need to worry about that, sir,” said Mark Rush, indicating his bow with a jerk of his thumb.