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gradually faded until they were nothing but the echo of my dreams. Hercules snorted and wheezed; then he, too, became part of the distant chorus as I fell deeply and soundlessly asleep.
    It might have been the sun streaming in through the open alehouse door that woke me; but I rather fancy it was Master Litton, who ‘accidentally’ tripped over my long legs as I sprawled beside the cold ashes of yesterday’s fire. I sat up with a snort to find that, apart from Hercules and the landlord, I was alone, my companions of the previous evening having all disappeared.
    â€˜Where is everyone?’ I asked, still drugged with sleep.
    â€˜You
were
tired, my lad,’ the landlord marvelled. ‘There have been comings and goings through here since daybreak, what with five breakfasts to see to, Sir Damien’s saddlebags to be packed and hauled downstairs and no one bothering to lower his voice. But you slept through it all like one dead. And that ill-favoured hound of yours.’ The intelligent animal lifted his lip and farted loudly just to show his contempt. Master Litton roared with laughter and continued, ‘Yes, they’ve all gone on their way, if not exactly rejoicing, then at least anxious to reach journey’s end before nightfall. You’re the only one left.’
    I scrambled to my feet, noting that the sun was already halfway up the sky and climbing steadily, then staggered outside and held my head under the stable pump until I felt fit enough to face the new day. I combed my hair with one of the combs from my pack, cleaned my teeth with the piece of willow bark I always carried and went back indoors to a meal of oatcakes and (it being Friday) poached fish, which Master Litton assured me was no more than forty-eight hours old, having been purchased fresh from the Abbot of Glastonbury’s fishpond the day before yesterday.
    â€˜How do I get to Croxcombe Manor from here?’ I asked as he placed a beaker of small beer before me and gave Hercules another bone to gnaw on.
    â€˜Croxcombe Manor, eh? Well there! If you’d woken betimes, you could have accompanied Master Anthony. But on second thoughts, I’d give the manor a wide berth today, if I were you. Things are going to be pretty lively there, I reckon, when the prodigal turns up. I don’t suppose anyone but George Applegarth will be pleased to see him.’
    I swallowed a mouthful of oatcake and asked, ‘Why not?’
    The landlord cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make certain that Mistress Litton was nowhere about, then sat down opposite me at the table.
    â€˜The Bellknapps aren’t near neighbours of ours, you understand. On foot it’ll take you the best part of the day to get there, especially as you’re already late setting out. On horseback, now, and with an early start, I daresay Master Anthony will arrive by midday. So, as I say, we’re not near neighbours, but not so far distant that one doesn’t hear things. And the Bellknapp family has been good for gossip in and around Wells these many years, what with Cornelius’s feud with the elder boy, Anthony’s disappearance and then, of course, the robbery and murder of Jenny Applegarth. And now’ – the landlord chuckled – ‘just as matters seem to have settled down, here’s the renegade marching back to claim his inheritance and put young Simon’s nose well and truly out of joint.’ He sighed. ‘I’d give my last groat to witness
that
encounter.’
    I said, ‘I know a little of the Bellknapps’ affairs. A cousin of Dame Audrea is a neighbour of mine, in Bristol.’ I saw the landlord’s look of startled disbelief and hurried on, ‘I assure you it is so, unlikely as it may seem. And to prove I’m telling the truth, I know that Cornelius Bellknapp left everything to his wife until the younger son reaches his eighteenth birthday, when he inherits, but only if the