‘Who cares so long as they work,’ said Philly. ‘Will you come to dinner, Lady Widdrington. I’m hoping my brother remembered to bring some new madrigal sheets with him, and if he didn’t I’ll make him listen to one of our border minstrels instead.’

‘No, please, save me,’ said Robert. ‘I brought the madrigals and they’re well beyond my voice so good luck to you.’

‘You’re invited too, Robin,’ said Philly inflexibly. ‘We need a tenor. Now...’

What she was about to suggest next nobody ever found out. There was a sudden shouting and commotion further down the street, near the drawbridge gate.

A woman had come riding in at a gallop, sandy red hair flying. She hauled her horse back on his haunches when she saw Dodd’s men staring at her from the gate. Then she leaped from the saddle and caught one of them by the front of his jack. She let fly with a punch and booted him in the groin for good measure. The man tried to defend himself, hurt his hand on her stays, got another boot in his kneecap, and rolled away. He ran limping up the street with the woman in full pursuit, her homespun skirts kilted up in her belt, and Carey saw it was Bangtail Graham and that his enemy was Janet Dodd.

Automatically he stepped out of the courtyard into the street.

‘What the...?’

Bangtail ran behind Carey and dodged another punch.

‘It wasna me, it wasna me...’ he was shouting, ‘I only told my brother...’

Janet Dodd sneered at him as she circled round. ‘Get out from behind that man, Bangtail, you bastard, you lily-livered git, you’ve lost me five horses, a house and half a field of grain trampled...’

‘Mrs Dodd, Mrs Dodd...’ Carey tried to remonstrate.

‘I’ve no quarrel with you Deputy but if ye protect yon treacherous blabbermouthed...’

‘What’s he done?’

Behind Janet, Carey could see Sergeant Dodd sprinting down from the Castle yard.

Bangtail unwisely made a break for it from behind Carey’s broad back, and Janet was on him. Philly, Lady Widdrington and Young Henry Widdrington watched with open-mouthed curiosity. Bangtail tried his best, even marked Janet’s cheek, but he was borne down and kicked again before Dodd came up behind his wife and grabbed her round the middle, swung her about like a dancer in the volta, dodged a fist, and roared in her ear, ‘Goddamn it wife, what’s wrong?’

‘He sold us to Jock of the Peartree,’ she shouted. ‘That filthy bastard Graham told Jock...’

‘I never...’ protested Bangtail.

‘What? What happened?’ Dodd was shaking his wife’s shoulders. ‘Are you saying Jock raided us last night?’

‘Five horses,’ shrieked Janet, ‘five horses, Clem Pringle’s house burned again, half the barley trampled into the mud, poor Margaret miscarrying her bairn with the fright, Willie’s Simon with an arrow in his arm because yon strilpit nyaff couldna keep his mouth shut...’

‘Jock of the Peartree did this?’

Carey watched with interest. Dodd perpetually looked as if he had lost a shilling and found a penny, but he was beginning to suspect that that often denoted good humour. Now the long jaw and surly face were darkening and the thin mouth whitening with rage.

‘I talked to him from the wall,’ Janet said catching her breath. ‘Courtier’s his horse, he called him Caspar. You said you’d know if he was reived from this country, you said you’d know... Stay there, Bangtail, or I’ll gut you...’

‘You never gave him Courtier,’ shouted Dodd.

‘I had nae choice, he caught Little Robert and ransomed him for all the horses except poor Shilling,’ Janet wailed. ‘He said Courtier was his and he said he was proof you’d killed Sweetmilk...’

‘Jock of the Peartree has Courtier...?’

‘Oh Christ,’ muttered Carey under his breath, having listened to Dodd boast about the beautiful stallion most of the way back to Carlisle that morning.

‘Wake up, Dodd, wake up. It’s not just the horse, it’s the Grahams thinking you were the one who murdered Sweetmilk. Ye think it’s bad now? What will ye do when they come and burn the tower and us all in our beds...?’

Looking at his Sergeant, Carey could already hear the hooves thundering and the lances clattering. Dodd’s face was now completely white.

‘Mrs Dodd, Sergeant,’ Carey appealed, stepping between them with his hands out and his most courtly appeasing smile on his face. He managed to have got between both Dodds and Bangtail who was nursing a bleeding nose and his groin and looking terrified. ‘Please. If you’ve been raided...’

‘What business is it of yours?’ demanded Dodd. ‘I’ll have my own justice. Janet, did you send to your father?’

‘I did and I also...’

By this time a small audience had formed, including Elizabeth, Philly and Henry Widdrington, plus Scrope himself, glimpsed like a nervous crane fly beyond the crowd.

‘If you will come into the castle,’ hissed Carey, ‘we’ll see what we can...’

‘Keep yer long neb out of my affairs, Courtier,’ snarled Dodd.

Carey was tired: in particular he was very weary of Dodd’s sullenness. Without any of the usual warning signs his patience suddenly snapped. He drew his borrowed sword, stepped up close to Dodd and put the point against the man’s belly.

There was a moment of shocked silence. Scrope winced and began backing away. Out of the corner of his eye, Carey saw Janet’s hand go to the hilt of her knife.

‘Now,’ he said very softly. ‘Firstly, Sergeant, you will address me as sir if you wish to speak to me. Secondly, this ugly street brawl will stop. Thirdly, you will come into my office now, with me, where we will consider what is to be done. And fourthly, Dodd, if you tell me this is not my affair once more, I’ll run you through. Mrs Dodd unless you want to be a widow, you’ll put up your weapon.’

For a moment the whole thing held in the balance, and then Janet said, ‘What is your interest, Sir Robert?’

‘If the Sergeant of the Warden’s Guard is raided by any man, Scots, English or Debateable, that makes it my affair. I will not have it.’

‘You’ll lead the trod?’

‘I will.’

Janet smiled, which was in some ways more frightening than her rage.

‘If there’s a trod,’ added Carey.

‘What does the Warden say?’

Scrope was trying to become invisible at the entrance to a wynd. Carey glared at him.

‘Oh I agree,’ said Scrope, rearranging his gown. ‘Absolutely. Can’t have the Sergeant raided. It’s an insult to the Wardenry.’

Thank you Thomas, thought Carey, watching Dodd intently. Dodd was still tense, but seemed to be thinking. He nodded. Carey put his sword away and the audience began to wander off on important appointments, since the thrilling prospect of a fight between the Warden’s Deputy, the Sergeant and his wife seemed to have faded. Philly was speaking in a low tactful voice to the Widdringtons and leading them into Bessie’s. God damn the luck, that Elizabeth should have had to see such a brawl.

‘Now please, come up to my chamber,’ he said to the Dodds. ‘No need to broadcast to Jock what trouble he’s in.’ Not very subtle flattery, but it worked well enough.

Both Dodds nodded at that and they all walked docilely towards the castle. Missing someone important, Carey fell back a little and spotted Bangtail limping down an alley. He darted after the man, grabbed his collar and twisted his arm up his back, propelled him along in front. Bangtail gibbered excuses.

‘Silence,’ hissed Carey, ‘or I’ll break your arm.’