‘Thank you Goodwife Biltock,’ said Barnabus faintly.

When Hutchin got back with the little flask of verjuice, Carey had returned from inspecting his men along with Captain Carleton. Barnabus was serving them with what remained of the good wine they had brought north with them: Carleton had parked his bulk on Carey’s chair next to the fireplace and Carey was sitting on the bed telling the full tale of his adventures at Netherby. Carleton held his sides and bellowed with laughter when he heard how Carey had been foolish enough to free Jock of the Peartree on his word not to attack and Carey looked wry.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ll know better next time, but it might have saved my life at that. Now then Young Hutchin, what have you got there?’

‘Verjuice, sir. From Goodwife Biltock.’

‘That was kind of her with all she has to do. Give her my thanks and best regards.’

Hutchin looked hesitant.

‘I’m supposed to give him a beating, sir,’ said Barnabus helpfully.

‘Good lord, why? What’s he done?’

‘Tried to steal some of the Goodwife’s lemons.’

There were volumes of the comprehension in Carey’s battered face, but all he said was, ‘Well, that was very devoted of you, Hutchin, but much more dangerous than simply lifting a few head of cattle. We’ll remit the beating for now because I want you to take part in the funeral procession tomorrow.’

Young Hutchin, who had been looking sullen, stood up straighter.

‘We need a groom to ride the lead horse pulling the funeral bier. You’ll have a mourning livery and it’ll be your job to be sure the horses are calm and go the right way. Can you do it?’

Hutchin was looking for the catch. ‘Is that all, sir?’

Carey nodded. ‘Your fee will be the livery: it’s a suit of fine black wool which I think will fit you well, and a new linen shirt. We can’t arrange for new boots but your own don’t look too bad if you give them a polish, and you’ll have a black velvet bonnet with a feather.’

Hutchin thought carefully.

‘Ay sir, I’ll do it.’

‘Excellent. Be here two hours before dawn and Barnabus will see you properly kitted out.’

Astonishingly, Hutchin smiled, took off his cap and made quite a presentable bow. He turned to go.

‘Oh, and Hutchin.’

‘Ay sir?’

‘Your Uncle Richard Graham of Brackenhill is coming, so he’ll be behind you in the procession.’

Hutchin smiled even wider before clattering off down the stairs. Carleton looked quizzically at Carey.

‘That young devil is chief of the boys in Carlisle,’ said Carey in answer to his unspoken question. ‘If they’re planning some bright trick for the funeral, he’ll either be in the thick of it or know who is and now he’ll see to it that they don’t do it.’

Carleton nodded. ‘Ay, there’s sense in that.’

‘Which is also why I got Scrope to invite the Armstrong and Graham headmen.’

Carleton smiled. ‘Well, it’s worth a try, any road.’

Dodd arrived looking harassed, and Barnabus served him with the last of their wine. He sniffed suspiciously at it, then drank.

There was further tying up of endless loose ends to be done: petty details that somehow always slipped your notice until the last minute. It had invariably been like that when Carey was taking part in an Accession Day Tilt: you thought you’d got everything sorted out and then a hundred things suddenly rose up the night before and sneered at you.

It was getting on towards sunset and Barnabus could see that Carey was tired. However, it seemed he had one further important piece of business to transact.

‘Couriers?’ asked Dodd.

‘The regular service to London from Carlisle. The weak link is the man who rides from Carlisle to Newcastle, before he hands it on to my brother’s courier to take the rest of the way.’

‘Why do you want him stopped?’ demanded Carleton suspiciously.

‘I want to know what Lowther’s saying about me, since he apparently controls the March’s correspondence.’

‘Oh ay,’ agreed Carleton, ‘I see.’

‘And I don’t want him stopped. I just want his dispatch bag... borrowed, so I can read the letters.’

‘There are ways of opening dispatch bags without breaking the seals.’

‘Are there?’ asked Carleton. ‘What are they?’

‘Well, you could unpick the stitching at the bottom and take the papers out that way.’

‘Nay sir,’ said Dodd, who had carried them on occasion and done his best to satisfy his curiosity, ‘they’re double, and the outer one’s oiled canvas.’

‘Damn,’ said Carey, ‘I suppose Walsingham will have advised him how to do it. Well, that leaves Richard Bell.’

‘The little clerk,’ grunted Carleton. ‘Ye could threaten him, I suppose.’

Bell was quite a scrawny specimen, but he was also tall and gangling rather than small. However, Barnabus had noticed that fighting men invariably referred to clerks as ‘little’.

Carey shook his head. ‘That would send him straight to Lowther or Scrope. Can he be bought?’

‘I dinna ken,’ said Dodd, ‘nobody’s tried.’

‘Are you joking?’ demanded Carey, clearly shocked. ‘Are you seriously telling me that nobody’s even tried bribing him for the dispatches?’

Dodd shook his head. ‘I suppose we wouldn’t know if they had, but if he’s been bribed he’s very canny about it, his gown’s ten years old at least.’

‘He’ll have had livery for the funeral, though?’

Carleton shook his head as well. ‘He’s not been invited into the procession.’

‘Why not? He served the old Lord Scrope for years?’

Dodd and Carleton exchanged embarrassed glances. It seemed that Richard Bell had been left out.