‘I have been a little busy, Sir Richard.’

‘Yes, yes, quite,’ said Scrope. ‘Are you saying that you want me to postpone the funeral?’

‘Yes, my lord. For a few days only. Hold it on Sunday rather than tomorrow. If you made a proclamation at the Market Cross this noon and sent fast messengers to the gentlemen expected for the service warning them to be ready for a long-range raid...’

‘On the evidence of the theft of a few nags?’ protested Lowther. ‘It’s hardly conclusive that they’d be trying any such thing. And this is the wrong time of year.’

‘It looks bad to me,’ grunted Carleton.

‘What about the body?’ continued Lowther. ‘Won’t it start to stink?’

Scrope was offended. ‘My revered father’s corpse has been embalmed of course, a few days should do no harm.’

‘And I’d rather postpone the funeral unnecessarily than have to explain to the Queen why we allowed the broken men of the Debateable Land to foray deep into England,’ said Carey sincerely.

Lowther, who had never met her, rolled his eyes but Scrope, who had, was nodding anxiously.

‘I think you’re right, Sir Robert, we’ll postpone the funeral until Sunday. I’ll see to the proclamations and messages. Will you make any other arrangements necessary, and deal with the complaints from this raid.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

The meeting broke up and Carleton caught up with Carey as he hurried to the door.

‘Here’s your ring back, Sir Robert. Now, I’m sending a message to my cousin that keeps a stud in Northumberland—he has some draft horses with good dark coats he’d be willing to lend us for a fee. They’ll be here by Saturday.’

‘Oh ay? What about this long-range raid?’

Carey shrugged. ‘There’s little I can do about that save be ready for them if they come. Though I’d give a lot to know where they’re gathering.’

‘If it’s Bothwell planning it, they’ll be riding from Lochmaben.’

Carleton nodded. ‘I heard that the Grahams were blaming Dodd for the murder, poor man.’

‘You don’t think he did it either?’

‘God, no,’ Carleton laughed. ‘Any man of any sense that had a Graham corpse on his hands like that would take him down to the Rockcliffe marshes and throw him in the deepest bog he could find, not take him up to the old battlefield and try and hide him in a gorse bush.’ Carleton shook his head, his broad face full of mirth. ‘Me, I’d leave him on Elliot or Armstrong land and let them take the heat. Dodd’s no jewel, but he’s not mad.’

As they went down the stair, Carey put his hand to his head as he remembered something.

‘By the way, Captain, you’ve a right to a part of our fee for helping the trod, haven’t you?’

Carleton clapped a massive paw on Carey’s shoulder.

‘Lad,’ he said, ‘watching you and Dodd and the garrison mixing it with those Grahams was almost worth the fee to me. Pay me a quarter of whatever you make on the heifer and the younger cow. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for months, and you won me a pound off my brother.’

‘Oh?’ smiled Carey. ‘What did you bet on?’

‘Whether you’d dare attack, what else?’

Carey laughed. ‘At least it wasn’t on whether I’d fall off my horse.’

Carleton’s face was full of pleasure. ‘Nay, Sir Robert, I won that bet the day before yesterday.’

WEDNESDAY, 21ST JUNE, 10 A.M.

Philadelphia Scrope was waiting impatiently for the men to stop blathering and come out of the council room at the back of the keep. She stopped Robert, who was looking very fine, if a bit baggy under the eyes, and took him mysteriously by the arm.

‘All right, Philly,’ said her brother resignedly, ‘what’s the surprise?’

‘Come with me.’

‘Philly, I’ve about a hundred things to do and at least fifty letters to write and Richard Bell promised me he could only be my clerk this morning, so...’

‘It’ll take no more than ten minutes.’

Carey sighed and suffered himself to be led. They went out through the Captain’s gate and down the covered way a little to Bessie’s handsome inn and through the arch to the courtyard.

Behind them three of Dodd’s men came tumbling out of the inn’s common room, teasing a fourth for missing out on his share of the trod fee. The men headed for the drawbridge gate shouting crude jokes about the origins of Bangtail’s nickname and how they would improve it, looking very pleased with themselves. Carey watched them go approvingly and when Philly pulled impatiently on his arm, he turned the way she was pointing him.

A tall woman in a fine woollen riding habit of dark moss green and a lace-edged ruff was standing with her back to him, talking to a sandy-haired young man with broad shoulders and a terrible collection of spots, pockmarks and freckles. Carey stopped dead when he saw them.

‘Philadelphia...’ he growled.

She grinned naughtily at him and went over to the woman. ‘Lady Widdrington,’ she said, ‘how splendid to see you.’

They embraced, and Lady Elizabeth Widdrington saw Carey over Philly’s shoulder. Philly could feel the indrawn breath and had a good view of the blush creeping up from under Lady Widdrington’s ruff to colour her rather long face to a surprising semblance of beauty.

Lady Elizabeth curtseyed to Robert, who automatically swept her an elegant court bow. He paused, took breath to speak, then paused again. Philadelphia decided to take a hand.

‘There, Robin,’ she said blandly, ‘you can go back to your dull old papers now.’

Lady Widdrington was the first to recover her senses.

‘Sir Robert,’ she said formally, ‘I believe I should congratulate you on your Deputyship. I hope you don’t miss London and the Court.’

He made a little bow and laughed with delight.

‘Only you,’ he said, instincts reasserting themselves, ‘could have brought me here so quickly to the land of cattle-thieves. I’d hoped I could find an excuse to chase a few raiders into Northumberland and catch them dramatically on your doorstep...’

‘And if necessary you would have paid them to go that way,’ said Lady Widdrington drily. Carey laughed again.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Of course, I’m only here for my Lord Scrope’s funeral. Your sister invited me.’

Philly managed to look both smug and shocked. ‘It was Sir Henry I invited.’

‘In the certainty that his gout would prevent him coming,’ said Robert. ‘Honestly, Philadelphia, your plots are transparent.’