“So… What do you want, sirs?” he asked equably as he finished and wandered over to the men at his door.

“We had a few questions to ask about how you found the woman yesterday,” said Baldwin by way of explanation. As he spoke, the farmer’s daughter appeared again by the door, holding two pint mugs of ale for them. Smiling thankfully, Simon took both from her and passed one to Baldwin, but she hardly noticed his gratitude. She was staring at the knight as he spoke to her father, and looked pale, as if she was worried about something.

“First, can you tell us exactly how you found her? You can’t have seen the body from the road.”

“No, I didn’t,” said the farmer. His eyes were downcast, but then they rose to the knight’s face, and Baldwin saw the defiance in them, as if the old man knew that he should not be scared of the dead woman, but was still not afraid to admit his fear. He quickly explained how his dog had wandered and found her body. “Daft bugger never was a sheep worrier. No, but he had found the old witch…”

“She wasn’t a witch!” The hot defence came swiftly from the girl, surprising Baldwin.

“No, I don’t think she was,” he said gently, but then turned back to the farmer. “Then?”

“I…” His eyes became reflective as he thought. “I pulled her up a bit – she was so cold she couldn’t be alive – so I lifted her a little to see who it was. I couldn’t see from the way she was lying there, so I had to lift her by the shoulder. Well, when I saw who it was, I had to drop her, it was such a shock.”

“Yes, yes. What then? You saw who it was, you saw how she’d died, what did you do then?”

“I buggered off! She was a witch.” He glared at his daughter. “Everyone knows that. So I left her there and went up to the Greencliff place.”

“Greencliff was there?”

“Oh, yes. He was there all right.”

“How do you mean?”

“He was just out to see his sheep, he said. He was just getting ready to go.”

“So he was dressed and ready? What time would that have been, do you think?”

“What time?” The farmer stared at him, then gazed at the view for a moment. Talking slowly and pensively, he said, “It was still dark, but I think the light was just starting… I don’t know, really… I think it was around dawn, just before, not after…”

“But he was dressed and ready to go out?” Simon said, and the farmer turned to him and peered at his face.

“Yes, he was about to go out. He already had his cloak on, that bright red one. Why? Why does it matter?”

“The innkeeper said that he had made some comment about the woman on the day she died, something about her doing something. Greencliff said that if Kyteler wasn’t careful, someone would do something to her. We think he might have killed her.”

“That’s mad!” Sarah’s sudden interruption made them all turn in astonishment. “Harry wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s a good man, kind and gentle. He wouldn’t kill like that – especially not an old woman.”

“Be quiet, girl!” The old farmer’s voice was harsh and thick, his face stiff in his anger at being interrupted.

“No, wait!” Baldwin’s order made Sam Cottey fall back, as if the quick fury had exhausted him. “Now, Sarah,” he said more quietly: “why do you think that?”

Glancing briefly at her father, she paused, but then decided that, having come so far, she should continue. “Because I know him. He’s not cruel, he couldn’t kill someone like that.”

“The innkeeper seemed sure.”

“He’s wrong. Harold wouldn’t kill an old woman like that, cutting her throat. He’s too gentle.”

Baldwin’s eyes held hers for a moment, and then her gaze fell, and Simon was sure he could see the embarrassment there in the way that her face suddenly reddened.

“Perhaps,” said the knight softly. Looking back at the farmer, he said, “Cottey, what would you say about that? Would you expect Greencliff to be able to kill an old woman in that way?”

“Not an old woman, no.” Then his voice became bitter again. “But a witch? I should think he could have killed her and been glad! He might think it was a service – a Godly act – to kill the old bitch!”

Leading their horses from the house, Baldwin stopped for a moment and scratched at his head with a speculative grimace. “What do you think?”

Simon paused. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think she’s as convinced it couldn’t be Greencliff as her father is that Kyteler was a witch. Maybe…” He was cut off by running feet crunching on the soft snow.

“Sirs, sirs! Wait a minute!” It was Sarah again, rushing along the track with her skirts held high in her hands, giving Baldwin a glimpse of her legs.

“Yes?” he said.

She stopped in front of them, her face bright from her exertion, panting a little, then somewhat breathlessly leaned forward. “It can’t have been Harold.”

“Why?”

“He never thought Kyteler was a witch. He was sure she was clever, and she knew about plants, but he never thought she was evil or made magic. Anyway, he was a kind, gentle lad…” Her voice faltered as she caught sight of the knight’s raised eyebrow.

Baldwin smiled and said:

“So he didn’t believe Kyteler sent her dog to the Oatway’s chickens?”

“That!” She dismissed the idea with a curt movement of her hand, as if slapping away the suggestion. “How could anyone believe that! It was a fox or a weasel did that, not a dog. If her dog wanted to eat chickens, he would have eaten her own, not gone all the way to the Oatway holding to eat theirs.”

“Hmm.” Simon could see that Baldwin’s eyes were looking over her shoulder, and when he followed the knight’s gaze, he saw that the dog was lying in front of the door to the house, head between his forepaws and watching the huddle of humans, while the chickens strolled and pecked around him.

“But why then would Greencliff have said that about her? Why should he be so annoyed with her?” Baldwin asked after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

“Did he have many friends?”

“Not really, sir. Some of the other lads in the village. I suppose mainly he was friends with Stephen de la Forte.”

“I see.” He appeared to think for a moment. “All right, thank you for your help, anyway.” He mounted his horse, then glanced back at the dog, and his voice held a hopeful note as he said, “Her dog seems happy enough here… I don’t suppose you’d like to…?”

She smiled, but shook her head. “No, I don’t think father would like to have the old woman’s dog here. He’d always be afraid that she might be watching over him, ready to protect him or attack the man that strikes him. No, you’d better take him back with you.”

Baldwin sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” he said with resignation, and whistled.

Back at the road, Simon looked over at him. “Well?”

Baldwin shrugged. “It seems clear that the boy was ready to leave the house as Cottey got there, but that could mean anything! Maybe he was on his way to look after his sheep, like he said, or maybe he was going to move the body, to bury it or hide it… I don’t know.”

“What if he was going there to move the body? The girl seems sure that he could not have killed the old woman.”

“Yes… It was strange, that. She was very defensive…”

Simon gave a short laugh. “Not that strange! She’s young, so’s he. He’s good looking, so’s she. I don’t think you need look further for a reason than that.”

“Possibly.” Baldwin mused for a moment. “Let’s see this friend of his – what was his name? Oh, yes, de la Forte. Let’s see what else he can tell us.”

Quickening their pace, they rode off to the inn to ask for directions. It seemed that the de la Forte house was on the way to Exeter, some three miles outside Wefford, so they turned their horses to the south and were soon there.

As they approached the property, Simon could not help letting a small whistle of approval pass his lips. “The de la Fortes seem well enough off,” he said.