Nixon came trotting over, looking very wary.
‘Send a man over to Sergeant Dodd’s barn and fetch the spare pitchforks.’
Nixon’s face became mutinous. ‘We’re on patrol,’ he said. ‘We didnae come here to help wi’ Sergeant Dodd’s...’
Carey didn’t appear to have heard him.
‘I will pay an extra sixpence to each man that gives a hand with a pitchfork,’ he said. ‘You can draw straws to decide which will be the lucky ones. The others can help rake if they want sixpence too.’
‘I done my own fields yesterday...’ whined Sergeant Nixon and then seemed to forget what he was going to say when Carey glared at him.
‘Nixon, either you can do what you’re told or you can go back to Carlisle, with no sixpence for a little bit of extra sweat and no chance of what’s at Brampton.’
Dodd pricked up his ears at that and exchanged glances with Janet. Sergeant Nixon’s mouth tightened, he turned his hobby and cantered sullenly off to his men. A chorus of whines and moans rose from them and then stopped, presumably at news of the sixpence which was a full day’s pay for haymaking.
‘Right,’ Carey said to Dodd. ‘I want your professional advice and I want men, and I can see I’ll get neither if you’re worrying about your hay.’
Carey took his morion off, scratched his hair and put the helmet down carefully on the wall. His sword belt he laid down beside it, followed by his knife-belt, then he slid his shoulders out of his jack, revealing a darned but very fine linen shirt. Janet was staring at him open-mouthed as he hung his armour over a stone, turned and grinned at Dodd who was just beginning to suspect what the madman had in mind.
‘I’m afraid I’d be a danger to man and beast with a pitchfork,’ he said. ‘But I know how to pack a cart, so I’ll do that.’
He turned and jumped up onto the empty cart, took the small rake lying in it.
Dodd made a short rattle in his throat. Carey was rolling up his sleeves.
‘Barnabus will want to kill me,’ he muttered to himself. ‘What’s the problem, Sergeant?’
What Dodd wanted to say was that he had never in all his life heard of a Courtier to the Queen helping to load a haywagon like a child. In fact his mouth was open to say it but no words came out.
Janet was better with her tongue. She came over to the cart and looked up at him severely.
‘Sir,’ she said. ‘It’s not fitting. You’re the Queen’s cousin.’
Carey raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Yes,’ he said down his nose. ‘I am. That’s why I can do what I bloody well choose.’
Sergeant Nixon and the Lowther cousin, who were looking after the horses, leaned on their saddle horns and openly gawked at the insanity of the Deputy Warden. Carey was telling the truth; he coped perfectly well with the forkfuls of hay being tossed up to him and didn’t trample it down too much. Nor did he fall off when Willie’s Simon was too busy staring to warn him when the oxen moved on along the rows. In fact, the lunatic looked as if he was enjoying himself. Certainly he was whistling something irritating.
Dodd shook his head to clear it and bent to his work. After a while he began to see the funny side, and his ribs almost burst with the effort not to laugh. The last field was cleared in record time with so many helpers, and as Willie’s Simon goaded the oxen through the gate, Carey slotted his rake in behind the seat and jumped down.
‘What’s the joke, Sergeant?’ he asked as he came over, brushing bits of hay off himself.
Dodd snorted and put his pitchfork on his shoulder to follow the cart back behind the barnekin wall.
‘Only I was thinkin’ I’d be willin’ to take ye on for the harvest, sir, if ye was free,’ he said grudgingly while Carey hefted up his jack and put it back on again.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ said Carey deadpan. ‘I’ll certainly consider your offer.’
***
Janet had already gone back to their peel tower ready to welcome them in with the best beer and lead them to their suppers. The trestle tables were packed tight with friends and neighbours in the hall of the tower and Dodd presided over the lot of them at the head of the top table. He had offered the place to Carey but Carey had courteously refused and sat at his right instead. Once Dodd had swallowed enough pudding to quiet his empty stomach, he banged mugs with Carey and laughed again.
‘I’ll have to ride wi’ ye against the Grahams now,’ he said, not feeling as miserable about it as he might otherwise have done.
‘Yes,’ answered Carey equably. ‘I know.’ He finished his beer and sighed. ‘God, that’s good.’
He lifted his mug in salute to Janet who tilted her neck to him in acknowledgement. Dodd poured himself some more before the Courtier could finish the lot.
Janet always served the strongest beer for this supper, unless you included what she gave to the harvesters after the last sheaf was in, which could knock you over. She was sitting at the next table which was packed with local girls who had been helping with the raking and the stacking. Word had evidently gone round about the Courtier. Many of them were wearing ribbons in their hair and craning their necks to stare at the Deputy Warden. At least half had forgotten to tighten their bodice lacings which offered a very pleasing view. Dodd saw that Carey was human enough to be admiring it. After all, it was very distracting.
‘So what would you advise, Sergeant?’ Carey asked after a moment’s thoughtful pause.
‘I’d advise not mixing it wi’ them,’ said Dodd, wiping beer off his mouth and digging into his food again. ‘Wi’ the Grahams, I mean,’ he clarified round a lump of beef, and Carey grinned perfect understanding. ‘But what would be the use?’
‘Come on, Dodd,’ said Carey. ‘Be reasonable. I can’t let Wattie Graham lift Lady Widdrington. I couldn’t hold my head up again in this March.’
‘Ay, he’s puttin’ a bit of a brave on ye,’ agreed Dodd. ‘The cheeky bastard.’ He snorted again at the memory of the elegant Deputy sweating on his hay cart. That would be something to think of on his deathbed, he decided; it would cheer him up no end. ‘Well, sir, if it was me running the rode, and I had the start that he’s got, I’d steer well clear of Bewcastle itself and lie up by Hen Hill or Blackshaws in the forest for tonight. I’d give it till the sun was up to let the lady get well on her way, then I’d cross the Irthing above the gorge and use the rough ground and the Giant’s Wall as cover until I got to the Faery Fort at Chesterholm, and I’d nip her out there.’
‘Right,’ said Carey. ‘Now, how many men do you think we could scrape up overnight?’
‘If we ring the bell...’
‘No, I don’t want to do that; he might hear it. I want to stop Wattie quietly if I can.’
‘Quietly,’ repeated Dodd. ‘Well, it doesnae make so much odds because we’ve got the night. Have ye not tried to warn Captain Carleton what’s afoot?’
‘Of course I have,’ Carey said. ‘But I’m not betting on my messenger getting through. It would only be sensible for Wattie to send some men out to Thirlwall Castle overnight to keep an eye on what’s going on and make sure Carleton hasn’t convinced Lady Widdrington to let him send some men with her.’
‘Ay,’ nodded the Sergeant. ‘Ye’re right. I’d do it.’
