‘Robin didn’t think so.’
‘He doesn’t know the Earl of Bothwell, he’s a wicked Godless man and cruel with it. Thomas, Thomas, wake up.’
‘I’m awake,’ came Scrope’s tetchy voice from behind the curtains. ‘What’s that mad brother of yours done?’
Elizabeth fidgeted about the room while Philadelphia explained. The two voices rose and fell, one irritable, one pleading. At last Scrope poked his head out of the curtains, causing his nightcap to fall off.
‘I said they could have bail and I’m not going back on it,’ he snarled. ‘Lowther can let them out but they’re not to have horses.’
‘But Robin...’ wailed Philly.
‘Your precious Robin can look after himself. He should have thought of it before. Man’s mad, going into Netherby dressed as a servant...’
‘A pedlar...’
‘I don’t care if he went dressed as the bloody Queen of France, I’m not getting him out of some schoolboy scrape.’
There was a thump as Scrope flounced back onto the pillows.
‘Anyway,’ came the reedy voice, ‘I’m unwell. I think I have an ague.’
Philadelphia scrambled out of bed again, leaving the curtains drawn, and fluttered about the chamber, trying to get dressed while she crumpled up her little face and bewailed her husband. Elizabeth waited for a moment, then decided there was no help to be got there, made an impatient ‘Tchah!’ noise, and went down the stairs again.
Out in the courtyard she found Dodd having a shouting match with Lowther by the gate, watched by a group of highly amused Grahams.
‘Ye canna let them out and have him taken, he’s the Deputy Warden,’ he was shouting.
‘I can and I will,’ growled Lowther, ‘And what’s more, I’m rightfully the Deputy Warden, not that upstart Londoner, or I will be by the end of today, I think.’
‘That’s telling him,’ laughed Young Jock. ‘Do ye want the man roasted a bit for impudence before we hang him?’
‘No,’ said Lowther, ‘hang him up first, then roast him, don’t take any chances with the young pup.’
‘Jesus Christ, at least ransom him, we need to know where the raid’s going...’
‘Shut your mouth, Sergeant Dodd,’ said Lowther, ‘I know where the raid’s headed and so does Captain Musgrave.’
‘Bothwell could be lying to ye...’
Lowther smiled slowly. ‘He’s not lying, not with what it is he’s hoping to steal.’
‘And what’s that?’ put in Elizabeth. ‘If you really do know, which I doubt.’
Lowther laughed at her rudely. ‘I’m not telling ye, all women are blabbermouths and ladies nae different. If ye were my wife I’d tan your hide for asking what’s men’s business and none of yours.’
Lady Widdrington paled and her lips tightened. She looked as if she was swallowing a great many large words with great effort.
Young Jock, Ekie and all the Grahams were helpless with laughter. Dodd stepped towards them with his fist raised, but Lowther got in his way, still grinning.
‘These are out on bail now, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘and as Deputy Warden I forbid you to leave the castle today. Do you understand me?’
FRIDAY 23RD JUNE, BEFORE DAWN
Carey awoke out of too little sleep, knowing someone was stealing his pillow. He knew before he was properly awake that he couldn’t allow that: gripped it tighter, rolled and pushed himself onto his feet with his back to the wall and his dagger ready.
‘Ah well,’ said Jemmie’s voice, ‘it was worth a try. Don’t stick me, pedlar, I was only wondering.’
Carey showed his teeth and waited until Jemmie had backed off. One-Lug lifted himself up on an elbow and cursed both of them, then lay down and went back to sleep. Old Wat’s Clemmie hadn’t even stirred.
With the inside of his mouth as full of muck as a badly run stables and his head pounding, Carey thought of trying for another hour’s sleep, but decided against it. Instead he picked his way across the crammed bodies, scratching his face where the newly shaved beard was coming back and his body where the fleas had savaged him. Once outside there was blessed fresh clean air, only a little tainted with the staggering quantities of manure produced by the men and horses packed into Netherby, and the stars rioting across the sky, with just a little paleness at the eastern edge.
Carey wished he could wash his face, but couldn’t find water, so wandered towards the cow byres set against the barnekin wall where there were lights and movement.
Sleepy women were trudging about there with pails and stools. Alison Graham was standing by the big milk churns and she nodded curtly at him as he slouched towards her.
‘Ye’re up early,’ she said to him. ‘Any of the other men up and doing, eh cadger?’
‘One of them tried to steal my pack, but no,’ said Carey ruefully. ‘Any water about fit to drink?’
She gestured at some buckets standing by for the cows and he went and dunked his head, drank enough to clear out his mouth.
‘Is Mary with you?’ he asked, ‘Mary Graham?’
‘In with Bluebell at the moment, why?’
‘I wanted to ask her about Sweetmilk.’
‘Why?’
