“He can’t have come this way,” said a stocky man in a tough jerkin of leather and skins.

“Why not?” asked Simon, frowning.

“I’m a hunter. Mark Rush. I was up at the lane all last night between his house and here – there’s been a wolf or something attacking sheep in the pens over that way – and I was sheltered there all night. When it snowed, I went into my hut, but when it was clear enough I was out again. He never passed me.”

“Are you sure?” said Baldwin dubiously. He found that the man’s eyes moved and fixed on him, curiously light and unfeeling as he spoke.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure. Nothing living passed me that night I wasn’t aware of. Harry did not pass.”

Simon eyed him thoughtfully, then nodded. “In that case we should look in the woods to the north and south of the lane, especially near his house.” He thanked the woman, who passed him a platter with two eggs and a hunk of roughly torn bread. “I suggest we have three parties: one to ride to the west and look for signs, one to search for tracks in the woods north, the last to look in the southern woods. Whoever finds anything should return here with a message to be left with the innkeeper.”

They talked a little longer about the details, but agreed to this simple plan. Baldwin and Edgar would take the western road, Simon the southern woods, and Tanner the northern. Splitting the men into three groups of four, Baldwin and Simon quickly finished their breakfast, went out to their horses, and mounted.

Simon was pleased to have been able to enlist the light-eyed hunter for his search. The man looked capable and confident. Although quiet and soft-spoken, he moved with an alertness and graceful ease which spoke of his skill and strength. He was older than Simon, probably nearer Baldwin’s age of forty and odd, although whether he was older or younger than the knight was a different matter. The bailiff could not guess.

As they rode along to the lane leading to the Greencliff farm, Simon studied him. He wore a heavy-looking short sword by his side. There was a bow at his back and arrows in a quiver tied to the saddle over his blanket in front of him, where he could reach them quickly. Before the three groups divided, Baldwin, Simon and Tanner had held a quick conference to confirm the main plan. Whoever was to find what could be Greencliff’s trail was immediately to send a messenger back to Wefford so that he could guide others there. If Simon’s or Tanner’s teams found no sign of the youth, they were to carry on and join Baldwin’s, for it was in his direction that there were going to be the highest number of roads to search, and thus he had the greatest need of men.

With the details agreed, they had separated and made their way to the areas allocated to them for searching.

Baldwin knew, as he urged his horse into an easy lope, that his would almost certainly prove to be a wild goose chase, and reviewed the road ahead. This lane led to Greencliff Barton itself, then on up the hill to the Trevellyn house, and past it to the crossroads on the Tiverton road. Where would they go from there? Into Crediton itself? Or north-east to Tiverton? Or should they carry on west? Where would the boy have gone?

In among the trees, Simon had an easier time. At the beginning of the line of trees he had called the hunter aside. “Mark Rush, I’ve heard of you, even if we haven’t met before.”

His eyes were a very pale grey, as if the rain and snow he lived in had washed the colour from them. Set in the leathery, square face, it made him look as if the eyes were a reflection of his soul, which had been so worn with his outdoor life that it was weary now of continuing. But when the eyes fixed on the bailiff, he could see the glittering intelligence that lay behind.

“Yes, Bailiff?” His tone expressed polite interest, bordering on indifference.

“I have no idea where this boy has gone, or how to seek him. You do, you’re a hunter. You’re in charge: you can read his spoor if we find it, I won’t be able to.”

The hunter nodded, then glanced ahead at the waiting men. “In that case, sir, we’ll come out of the woods again.”

“Why?”

“It’s hard going here. We’ll go another half mile down the road, then go into the trees there. If he went into the trees to lose someone following him and made a big curve, we could end up following it all the way back on ourselves. If we go in further down, we can see if he left the woods south of the village or whether he went on at all. If he didn’t leave them, we know he’s waiting for Tanner or the knight to find him.”

“So if we enter further on, we stand a better chance of finding him if he’s there.”

He nodded. Then, apparently taking Simon’s shrug to be acknowledgement of the transfer of authority, the hunter called the other two men to them and led the way down the road to the south, with Simon taking second position behind him.

When Mark Rush stopped, it was some way past the last of the houses in the village. Here Simon knew that the woods were bordered by a grassed verge before the road, but now the grass was hidden by the layer of snow. The hunter appeared to be measuring, gazing back the way they had come for a moment, then, seemingly satisfied, he took his horse to the verge and on into the trees.

Following, Simon was again taken with the sudden hush, the stillness that existed inside. It was as if the troop had entered an inn as strangers, causing a void where there had been noise. Here it was as though the trees were intelligent beings who were suddenly aware of the invaders, and who were stunned into uncomprehending dumbness. He almost wanted to apologise to the towering boughs that loomed overhead for their noisy presence.

Smothering the feeling, he carried on, over the thin bracken and ferns that lay under the snow at the edge and into the woods. He was faintly surprised how thin the snow was even after only quite a short ride. Above the trees were leafless, and he could see through the apparently lifeless branches to the sky above, but still the ground had little more than a thin crust of snow, a mere few inches.

On the floor he could see that several animals had passed by, their prints firm and clear on the white carpet: birds, animals running purposefully in a line – twice he saw the marks of deer, with the distinctive twin crescents of their hooves. All stood out distinctly on the thin surface, and when Simon saw the attentive gaze of the hunter, seeming to notice and catalogue them all in his mind, the bailiff relaxed. There was obviously no point in trying to see the tracks before Mark Rush. The man was clearly more than capable. Sighing, Simon lapsed into a private reverie.

What was Margaret doing? Probably ordering Hugh to help her with her work! He must surely be fully recovered by now, and Margaret was good at getting him to work, using the right amount of acid and sweetness in her voice to persuade him. He smiled fondly. She always did know how to get her men to do what she wanted.

That was the kind of woman Baldwin needed, he felt sure. One who could not just excite the senses, but one who would always keep him on his toes, one who could keep his interest going. Above all, one who was intelligent. Simon was sure that the knight would need a woman who could discuss matters with him, not a pretty ornament.

The thought led him down a new and different track. What about Mrs. Trevellyn? She certainly seemed to have attracted Baldwin. Simon’s lips twitched in remembered humour at the way the knight had turned in his seat to gaze back at the house as they left the day before. Yes, he had been interested!

And there was no denying her beauty, the bailiff reflected. Of course, he was more than happy with his own wife, but denying the beauty of another would be stupid and, in the light of his own devotion to Margaret, pointless. He could cheerfully confirm that he was happier with the warm and summery fair looks of his wife than he could be with the cool and wintry attraction of the brunette from France, with her calculating, green eyes, cold and deep as the sea. They were nothing like the merry, bright blue cornflower of his wife’s. But still, he could appreciate her slender and willowy figure, with the long legs and tiny waist. And her flat belly, below the rich, ripe splendour of her breast, promising warmth and comfort. Yes, there was much to admire there. But was she intelligent enough for his friend?