‘I couldna hope to keep him,’ Daniel said sadly, ‘not having a tower of my own nor a surname to back me, but oh it broke my heart...’

Much to Daniel’s surprise, Thomas the Merchant went white when he saw the animal and refused point blank to have anything to do with him. This Daniel had not expected, but when he asked if the horse belonged to some important man on the border, Thomas the Merchant simply shook his head and bade him be gone.

‘So then I thought I’d see the Reverend Turnbull who’s a book-a-bosom man that sometimes travels with me, and ask his advice, him being educated and all. And I thought it might be best to be rid of the horse, in case it belonged to old Wat of Harden or Cessford or some unchancy bastard like that.’

‘Jock of the Peartree,’ said Carey.

‘Ay, I know it now,’ agreed Daniel ruefully, ‘and Turnbull said he couldna offer what the beast was worth, but he could offer me two pounds English because it was all he had, and then he’d sell it on for me and split the profit. So I agreed and then because I was nearly sure the horse was owned by some headman of a riding surname, I decided it might be healthier to wait a while in Carlisle, here, until the fuss was over with.’

Carey looked at him gravely for a long time, so long that Daniel became nervous.

‘Well, what more do you want?’ he demanded. ‘That’s what happened, it’s God’s truth, that’s all. And I’ve admitted to horse-stealing, what more do you want?’

‘I’m not quite certain what the legal position is when you steal a horse from the thief that stole it,’ said Carey, ‘but you haven’t told me the most important thing.’

‘What’s that?’ Daniel was wary.

‘Who you saw in the gorse bush?’

Daniel threw up his hands, palms upwards. ‘If I’d known him, I’d tell you, of course I would, especially when the bastard must have done a murder for the beast. But I didnae know him, I’d never seen him before. And he didna look like a Borderer, forbye.’

‘Why not?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Too glossy, too elegant, with his pretty doublet with the gold thread in it, looking like some sodomite of a courtier, is what he looked like, saving your presence, sir.’ He grinned disrespectfully at Carey, who looked stern.

‘Could you recognise him again?’

Daniel winced a little. ‘Well, I only left Berwick a couple of weeks ago.’

‘And why did you leave?’

‘Er... well... your brother’s very hot against horse-smuggling at the moment and he’s never liked me. I’d had a couple of nasty frights so I thought I’d go where it was a mite calmer.’

‘And you came here, to the West March.’

Daniel coughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘How did you know Thomas the Merchant?’

‘I didn’t. I had a letter of introduction from Mr Fairburn in Northumberland, and this was the first job I did for him.’

‘Do you know anything of Netherby castle and what they’re doing there?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never been there.’

‘Have you ever met Jock of the Peartree, Old Wat of Harden or the Earl of Bothwell?’

‘No, never, thank God, and I hope I never do.’

Carey was stroking his neat court beard thoughtfully. ‘Do you know anything of the reason why the Earl of Bothwell might want a couple of hundred horses at the moment?’

Daniel shook his head.

Carey beckoned Barnabus over into a corner with him, while Daniel continued to play with Barnabus’s dice. He’d pocketed a couple of them, Barnabus noticed.

‘I’m very worried,’ Carey said, ‘I want to know three things: what the Earl of Bothwell is up to...’

‘I thought the Earl wanted to keep the Queen sweet at the moment, sir.’

‘Barnabus, the man’s mad. He’d probably think he could charm her round.’

‘And could he, sir?’

‘Who knows? If I understood that well how Her Majesty’s mind works, I’d be rich. He’s got good legs, he might. He surely thinks so, anyway.’

Barnabus nodded. ‘And the other things, sir?’

‘The other problem is Dodd’s horses. I gave my word on it that he’d get them back, and I’ll lay all Westminster to a Scotsman’s purse the nags are eating their heads off at Netherby right now. And I don’t like the sound of Jock of the Peartree believing Dodd was the man that killed Sweetmilk, so I want to find out who really did it.’

‘What are you planning, sir?’ asked Barnabus warily, knowing the symptoms of old.

Carey grinned at him, confirming all his fears. ‘It seems the answers to all of my riddles lie at Netherby and so...’

‘Oh no sir, we’re not going to Netherby tower?’

‘You’re not, I am.’

‘Sir...’

‘Shh. Listen. I’ll borrow Daniel’s clothes and his pack and you can shave off my beard and brown my face and hands and then...’

‘Sir, sir, ’ow do you know you can trust ’im, ’e’s a thief and he’s a northerner and...’

‘He’s a relative of mine. Also, we’ll have his clothes and we’ll give him to Madam Hetherington to keep safe for us.’

‘What do you mean, sir, relative? What sort?’

‘Ask my father.’

‘Oho, it’s like that is it?’

‘It’s like that, and if you gossip about it, I’ll skin you.’

‘But look sir,’ he said conscientiously trying again, ‘why couldn’t you send Swanders in there instead of you, if you need a spy so bad, I mean, if they topple to you, you’re done for, ain’t you? Daniel...’

‘It’d be worse for him. They’d likely hang him if they thought he was a spy, but they might not kill me. Anyway, I want to know who killed Sweetmilk Graham so I can bring him to justice and get Jock of the Peartree off Dodd’s back. There’s the makings of a very nasty feud there, when they’ve finished with their raid.’

‘What about the Earl of Bothwell, you said yourself ’e’s mad and I’ve heard tell ’e’s a witch besides, won’t ’e know who you are?’