‘Aw shut your worriting, Andrew,’ said Red Sandy. ‘Any fool knows a corpse that cold doesna bleed and, besides, that counterpane’s older than you are, or it should be, the state it’s in.’
When they clattered down the stairs and out under the rusted portcullis, they found Bangtail and Long George waiting for them in great excitement.
‘Ten new horses in the stables?’ Not even Dodd could hide his blazing curiosity which he showed by rubbing his cheek with his knuckles. They hurried to the stables by the New Barracks to look at the beasts.
As expected, Lowther’s men had made free with their rations and the ale had succumbed to the usual vinegar fly, so they went back through the Captain’s Gate to the outer ward where Bessie Storey had her strictly illegal but long-tolerated alehouse hard by the crosswall.
An hour later, Dodd’s belly was gratefully full of Bessie’s incomparable stew and ale, and he was already hoarse with argument over the likely stamina of the six new horses and how a cross with one of his hobbies might turn out.
‘See, you’d get the southern speed and a bit of extra bone...’ Red Sandy was explaining when he noticed Dodd had gone silent and was trying to become invisible in the back of the booth. Red Sandy looked at the door and saw a boy in Scrope’s livery craning his neck.
‘Sergeant Dodd, Sergeant Dodd...’ called the boy.
‘He’s here,’ said Bessie’s Andrew, waving, no doubt getting his revenge for the gorse bush.
The boy came barging over through the press, neat work with his elbows.
‘Sergeant Dodd,’ he squeaked, stopped and managed to drop his voice. ‘The Warden wants you, he wants you in the Keep, sir.’
‘Now?’ asked Dodd, wondering why he had paid good cash to be Sergeant of the Warden’s Guard and whether he could find some fool to sell the office to and recover his money.
‘He wants you to meet his new Deputy.’
‘I already know Richard Lowther.’
‘No sir.’ The boy’s face was alight with pleasure at knowing something Dodd didn’t. The conversations round about them suddenly sputtered and died. ‘It’s not him.’
‘What?’ demanded Dodd, who had been straining himself to be pleasant to Lowther in anticipation of his confirmation in the Deputyship.
‘I thought he was set to get it,’ protested Red Sandy, concerned about his own investment, ‘I thought the old Lord promised him...’
The boy shook his head. ‘It’s not him.’
‘Well who is it then?’ demanded Bangtail.
Cunning disfigured the child’s face. ‘I dinna ken,’ he said.
Dodd picked up his cap which had been steaming next to the fire. ‘Is it still raining outside?’
‘Yes sir, but he wants...’
At the door, digging his cloak out of the steaming heap, Dodd looked narrowly at the boy.
‘Are you one of Bangtail’s kin?’
‘Second cousin, once removed, sir.’
‘Graham?’
‘Yes sir, Young Hutchin Graham.’
That was an ill to-name to be saddled with, thought Dodd, he’d be called Young Hutchin when he was seventy and bent like willow.
‘Then you’ll be Hutchin the Bastard’s boy?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘You know who my Lord Scrope’s new deputy is, don’t you?’
‘I might,’ allowed Young Hutchin carefully.
They stepped away from Bessie’s door and dodged to the covered way from the drawbridge to the Captain’s Tower. The rain had slackened off to a fine mizzle and the dusk was stretching itself out above the clouds. The boy grinned.
‘It’s not one of the Warden’s relatives.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Dodd. ‘Why else would he make a mortal enemy of Richard Lowther?’
Young Hutchin shook his head and looked smug. Dodd sighed and gave him a penny. Perhaps he wouldn’t make it to seventy.
‘It’s one of his wife’s kin. He’s just ridden up from London and the Queen’s Court and the strange horses in the stable are...’
‘Good Christ!’ said Dodd disgustedly. ‘It’s a Carey. It’s not Sir John is it? Say to me Scrope hasn’t made John Carey Deputy Warden in the West March as well?’
‘Oh no, sir, that one’s still just Marshal of Berwick Castle. It’s his youngest brother Robert.’
‘Who?’
‘Robert Carey. Sir Robert, I heard. Lady Scrope’s his nearest sister in age and she thinks the world of him and he’s no money and would like to be away from Court, so I heard, so she made my Lord offer him the place... They’ve put him in the Queen Mary Tower for the night, in the main bedchamber.’
