"Take them and get lost!" Rod caught his son by the shoulder and pushed him toward the track that led into the forest, then shooed the others after him. "Go on! Move as fast as you can, and cover your tracks as well as you can! Wade a stream! Swing from the branches!" He knew Magnus would take that hint. "Just get gone!"

Roble hung back. "But thou. . ."

"I'll stay here and feed the bishop's men a tall tale! Don't worry about me-I can escape very quickly, if I have to." Roble should only have known just how quickly. "Just go!" He gave the man another push, watched him step into the shadows and disappear, amazingly deft and graceful, then turned and strolled toward the oncoming watch.

He met them just as the first rays of moonlight touched the meadow grass about him. They looked up, startled, as though he had appeared out of the night-which he must have seemed to do. "Halt!" They were three burly men, with cudgels at their belts and a dog on a leash. He saw Rod and started barking. One of the men cuffed him into silence as another demanded, "Who moves?"

"I do-and I breathe, too." Rod raised a hand. "I'm the stranger who's travelling through, remember?"

"Aye, and hath left discontent and troubled hearts in thy wake! What dost thou here?"

"Couldn't get to sleep, so I went for a walk." Rod waved behind him and toward the village. "We're camped out a mile or so away."

"We took note of it. Is not a mile a longish stroll?"

"Not for me. This is a very peaceful setting you have here."

"And we wish it to remain so," said the biggest fellow. "What of thy son?"

"Back at the campsite, presumably." Rod frowned. "What's the matter?"

"Naught yet, and we shall be sure it doth so endure. What of Roble?"

"Roble?" Rod frowned. "Oh, you mean the father whose son was buried two days ago. I give up-what about him?" The watchman bit down on anger and snapped, "Hast thou seen him?"

"Yes, several times during the day. We even had a chat with him over a tankard of ale."

"So we had heard," the left-hand bully boy growled. "Kind of thought you would. Why? Is he missing?"

"He hath not been seen since sunset."

"Did you check his house?"

"Aye."

Rod shrugged. "Probably out walking, like me." They should only know how far. "I'd expect that he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, at all."

"The guilty conscience doth ever make for the wakeful night," the third guard pontificated.

"Grief has that effect, too." Rod gave an elaborate yawn. "Well, I think maybe I'll be able to sleep by the time I get back to the campsite. Was there anything else?"

The biggest watchman glowered at him, but growled, "Nay."

"Then I'll be toddling along, if you don't mind. Good night."

They snarled surly replies as he stepped past them. Twenty paces further on, he was just congratulating himself on having allayed their suspicions when a shout sounded from back toward the village. Rod looked up and saw half a dozen peasants running toward the watch with a black-robed priest close behind them, like an embodiment of the night. Every alarm bell in his head started ringing, and he decided to stroll back toward the watch.

He came up in time to hear one of the peasants panting, "Aye, gone! Both of them, and their beds not slept in!"

"Pray Heaven they do not seek to share one!"

"Raoul!" barked the priest-no, the bishop himself, Rod saw. "Shame on thee, to think such!"

"Thy pardon, bishop," Raoul muttered. "What's the matter?" Rod asked.

They jumped and whirled about, not having heard him come up. "What dost thou from thy bed?" the bishop demanded sharply.

"Just taking a walk, to get sleepy-but all this commotion makes me feel wakeful again. Something wrong?"

The bishop eyed him narrowly. "Hester and Neil are missing, as though thou didst not know."

"If they're missing, it doesn't make any difference whether I know it or not, does it?"

"Speak more respectfully to the bishop!" a watchman barked.

Rod turned to give him a level stare. "I speak to each man with the respect he deserves."

The watchman reached for his cudgel, but the bishop laid a hand on his arm. "Hold fast, Raoul. Let him not provoke thee." To Rod, he said, "What dost thou know of their disappearance, stranger?"

Rod shrugged. "What would I know? I gather, since you're talking about a boy and a girl, that the two think they're in love."

"Lamentably, aye," the bishop growled, "for so sweet a lass is far too good for an heretic like him."

"A heretic?" Rod looked up sharply. "I thought you didn't allow them."

"We will beat the Devil out of him ere long, I assure thee. What dost thou know?"

"Well, if they're in love, wouldn't they have found a hiding place where they can be alone for a while?"

The peasants' eyes kindled, but the bishop shuddered. "Perish the thought! And 'tis mistaken, in any case-our good sisters have searched every such nook and cranny."

Rod didn't doubt that the nuns knew every single trysting place, and had posted "NO POACHING" signs on every one. "Even for Rob ... What did you say the name of the other missing person is?"

"Roble," the biggest watchman snarled.

"Yeah, him. Wouldn't he have found a hiding place, too?"

"We have spoken of it," the watchman reminded him. "Yeah, but!" Rod said brightly. "Maybe he found the two kids!"

"Heaven forfend!" the bishop snapped. "He would mislead them as surely as he did his own son!"

"Okay, so maybe he's hiding out alone. After all, since you've told everybody not to talk to him, wouldn't that make sense?"

"Wherefore would he not lie in his own house?"

"Memories," Rod said promptly. "It'd make his loneliness worse."

The bishop peered closely at Rod. "I think thou dost know more of this matter than thou dost tell."

"How can I? I've answered every question you've asked."

"I say that thou dost lie!"

The watchmen tensed, hands on their cudgels; the dog began growling.

"I can't have been lying," Rod said reasonably, "because I've scarcely made a single statement. I've only asked questions."

"Then I ask thee straight," the bishop barked. "Hast thou sent this benighted Roble, and these two straying lambsnay, this lad and lass!-into hiding?"

"Not hiding, no."

"Thou hast aided them to escape!" the bishop howled. "Don't you mean `to flee the village'?"

"Call it what thou wilt." The bishop's eyes narrowed. "Hast thou done it?"

"Well, now that you ask-yes."

The watchmen leaped for him, and the dog, excited by their movement, set up a furious barking.

Rod twisted, ducked, and wasn't there. The watchmen looked about, astonished, and saw Rod right beside the bishop, chatting. "Of course, it really would be a bad idea to set your bully boys on me. I'm tougher than I look."

"Have at him," the bishop snapped. The three toughs fell on him.

Rod twisted aside, staff whirling, and clipped one on the crown. The man fell to his knees, grasping his head-and dropping the dog's leash. The beast pounced, snarling. Rod dodged, just enough for the biggest watchman's lunge to carry him between Rod and the hound. Then Rod whirled to block a swing from the third man's cudgel. The fellow was stronger than he looked; the blow jolted Rod's whole arm, and the pain reminded him that he wasn't as young as he thought any more. But he managed to riposte and jam the butt of his staff into the watchman's stomach, and the man fell to his knees, the wind knocked out of him.

The dog leaped over him and went for Rod's throat, eyes blazing.

Rod dodged aside; the dog convulsed in midair, trying to follow him. It landed off balance, and while it was scrambling to get its hind legs under it for another pounce, Rod swung the staff and cracked the mutt's head. Then he had to whirl to slap the cudgel out of another watchman's hand. The man howled, and nursed bruised knuckles-as something cracked on Rod's shoulder from behind. Pain shot through his left arm, and he whirled about, dancing back, twirling his staff like a drum major's baton. The watchman hesitated at the sight of the windmilling wood, and the bishop shouted, "Pierre! Hugo! Montmorency! Do not stand and gawk! Have at him!"