“How long were you with her on the day she died?” asked Baldwin.

“How long? About an hour. Maybe a little more. I don’t know. Sarah might be able to help, she was there just as I left.”

“Do you know why she was there?”

“I think you should ask her that, don’t you?”

Baldwin studied her with a small frown, but slowly began to nod his head. “Perhaps we should,” he agreed.

“Grisel Oatway said you and Sarah were still there when she arrived?”

“Yes. I waited until Sarah had finished. She’s an old friend, and I wanted to speak to her. We started to walk up the lane towards the village…”

“How long was she with Agatha? When roughly did you leave?”

“Oh… She was there maybe a half-hour. Anyway, that’s when Grisel came rushing down towards the cottage. She was mad! Another of her chickens had been taken.”

“She was mad? Mad enough to…?”

“If you’re going to ask me whether she was mad enough to kill, I’m not saying yes or no,” Jennie Miller said tartly. “How could I say? She was furious, certainly, she could hardly talk without spitting. When she got to the cottage we could hear her voice clearly, shrieking at poor old Agatha while we walked back.”

“You didn’t go to help?”

“Help who? Would you have gone to separate two strong old women like them? I’d think even a knight could be nervous of doing that!”

“Yes,” Baldwin said, with a sudden smile. “You may well be right.”

“When you left, did you see anyone else on your way home?” asked Simon.

“Anyone else?” she paused, then spoke more quietly, “I thought I did, but Sarah didn’t.“

Leaning forward, both men kept silent as they waited.

“Back towards the road, I could swear that I saw a woman slipping off the track and into the trees as we came close.”

“Who?” Simon felt as though they were getting closer to the details now, nearer to an understanding of what had happened.

“I don’t know,” she said, glancing at him with a sympathetic smile, seeing his near despair. “It was dark there under the trees like I say. It was a woman, I think, but she was wearing dark clothes. Both cloak and tunic‘

“And Sarah didn’t see her?” he persisted.

“Ask her, but I don’t think she did. She would have said. I didn’t mention it because I wasn’t sure myself.”

“Do you know of anyone who hated her enough to want to kill her?” Baldwin asked.

She screwed her face into a cynical wince. “It’s hardly the sort of thing people are going to talk about in the lane, is it? No, I’ve never heard anyone talk about murdering her.”

“Not Grisel Oatway, for example?”

“No.”

He sighed and gazed into the fire for a moment. Looking up, he caught a thoughtful glance from her.

“There is something else.”

“No,” she said, but she looked troubled.

“It is very important, Jennie,” the knight persisted, seeing her waver. “Whoever did this could kill again. He’s like a mad wolf: once it’s tasted the blood of a man, we have to kill it because it’s not scared of people any more. It kills once, then it knows it can kill. Whoever killed Agatha Kyteler can do it again, because he knows he can do it.”

It was then, when his friend sat back, looking like a kindly father persuading his daughter to obey for her own good, that Simon saw her expression change. She stared at Baldwin with a curious resolve, as if the decision was as difficult as agreeing to take a lover, but once her choice was made, she was committed.

“Very well. But I cannot believe it was him.”

“Who?”

“Harold Greencliff. When we came to the edge of the trees, where the lane meets the road, I saw him.”

“With Stephen de la Forte?”

“Not that I saw. I didn’t see Stephen, only Harold. I thought he was alone.”

“What was he doing?”

“Nothing. Just standing there with a horse.”

“His own horse?”

She gave a quick laugh. “Harold have a horse? No, he does not need a horse. Anyway, it wasn’t a man’s horse. It was a nice little mare, brown with a white flash on her head and little white mark on her left foreleg like a short stocking. He was standing and holding her just off the road, almost in the trees. He looked like he was trying not to be seen.”

“If it was Greencliff, did Sarah Cottey see him?”

She smiled sadly, but shook her head. “No. Sarah would have commented. She couldn’t have seen him.”

“Why?”

“Sarah and Harry grew up together. They were as close as brother and sister. I think she still expects him to…”

Baldwin gently prompted her. “Expects him to what?”

Sighing, she stared at the flames. “To ask her to marry him. She’s always loved him. But he doesn’t love her.”

“Who is he in love with?”

“I don’t know, but find the owner of the little mare and I think you’ll find out.”

Outside once more, they found Hugh lurking sulkily, still holding the three horses by their reins. He was about to make a comment when he caught sight of the two men’s expressions and decided quickly not to. The look on his master’s face told him that this was not a good time to mention the weather. Handing their reins to them, he watched sullenly while they mounted their horses, then climbed on to his own and, shivering slightly, trotted off after them.

There was no conversation as they went. His master and the knight were sunk deep in thought, and Hugh found himself wondering what had been said in the mill. Both seemed morose, glowering at the trail ahead as they retraced their tracks to the road. He shrugged, putting their mood out of his mind. His priority was a warm meal and drink. Drink mainly: a pint of mulled wine or ale. It was so cold out here, with the wind whistling and howling between the branches of the trees like lost souls.

At the onslaught of a fresh, bitter blast that cut through his flesh to the bones beneath, he turned his head aside and groaned with the sheer pain of it.

“Are you all right, Hugh?”

Looking up he saw Simon swivelling in his saddle to peer back. Seeing the question in his master’s eyes, he tried to answer through his chattering teeth, but all he managed was a grimace. It was with relief that he heard Simon say, “Baldwin, we’ll have to stop to let Hugh warm up. I think he’s frozen colder than the mill leat.”

“If you’re sure,” said Baldwin giving Hugh a sour look. “But what with him not liking horses and needing to sit in comfort with a fire, I honestly cannot see why you don’t simply pension him and have done with him!”

“He’s not that bad!” Simon laughed as they carried on. Hugh carried on in silence, but kept his ears open. “And he was outside all the time we were indoors by the fire.”

There was a pause for several minutes, and then Hugh heard Baldwin mutter, “So what do you think, Simon?”

“About Greencliff? It looks suspicious, doesn’t it? He was there, after the women seem to have left the witch alive, we know he was nearby.”

“Yes,” Baldwin mused. “But why? Why was he there? And whose horse was it? Why would Greencliff want to kill Agatha Kyteler?”

“Are you going to arrest him again?”

“I don’t think so. Let’s see if we can find out more first. Maybe it was just sheer coincidence he was there. I don’t want to arrest the boy every other day! And what about the horse, and this other woman? Maybe she can help us.”

“Maybe. But who is she? How can we find out who she is?”

By the time they clattered into Wefford, Hugh felt as if he was frozen to his saddle. His hands seemed to have taken on a will of their own and refused to obey him as he tried to force them to open and release the reins. When Baldwin sprang lightly from his horse, at first he stood impatiently and watched with his face set into an irascible grimace. Then, slowly realising that Hugh was having difficulty, he stepped forward, peering at the servant with concern. Seeing the miserable set of Hugh’s face, he quickly moved up and helped the dejected man from his horse, assisting him to the door of the inn while Simon handed the horses to the hostler.