Chapter 7

It was well into the afternoon by the time they found Percy Butcher's camp. According to his brother Tom, they'd agreed to meet here at midday, fearing they would be caught if they stayed at home. Tom had stopped at the village to get food when Aldrich's men caught him.

"Well, where is he now?" Aldrich asked when they came upon the campsite. It looked like an old fishing spot. A pile of wicker traps lay in the undergrowth next to a dilapidated bivouac shelter made from branches and dry grass. Birch trees hid the spot from afar, but up close it was plain to see that someone had been here recently. The ground, still soft from last night's rain, carried the imprints of boot soles clearly, and the ashes of a small fire had been scattered near the stream bank. Wolfram knelt down and held a hand over them. They were just barely warm.

"I don't know where they went," Tom Butcher said in a miserable voice. His wrists had been chafed badly by the rope, and he looked exhausted. "We just agreed to meet here."

Aldrich walked up to him and brought his face uncomfortably close. "Have a guess."

Wolfram ignored the confrontation and went to look around the edges of the camp. One of his favourite pastimes as a boy had been hunting with his father. He'd been too young to use a bow or a big spear, but he'd listened carefully to everything he was told on those trips. It had been like a game at first. His father would take him to a seemingly nondescript spot in the woods, sit down, and ask him to look around until he found something. Sometimes it was animal dung, other times tracks in the mud. It could be a rabbit warren, a bird's nest, a recently gnawed carcass, or bark stripped from a tree trunk. His father always made sure there was something to find. He would wait patiently, offering hints when Wolfram got stuck until he completed his little hunt. Once he was older, they had started learning how to track properly. When you didn't have a dog's nose to trust, Father said, you had to rely on your intuition. Tracking was less about searching and more about anticipation. An inexperienced hunter might spend an hour combing the same patch of ground for a trail to follow, while an expert would quickly assess the most likely path an animal would take and check that first.

Wolfram had never tracked people before, but it made sense that the same principles would apply. Percy and his other accomplice wouldn't have gone back in the direction of the village, nor would they have tried to pick their way through the densely packed birch trees. They might have crossed the stream, but that would have been awkward, for it was deep and wide here. As Wolfram looked around the camp, he saw only two obvious paths. One led along the stream bank heading east, while the other went off towards a grassy meadow behind the shelter. He checked the bank first, and his intuition was rewarded. The tracks weren't obvious, for the earth here was pebbly and firm, but every few feet he could see an angled imprint where the corner of a wooden boot sole had scraped the soil into a flat line.

He checked the other parts of the camp to make sure there weren't multiple trails. The only other tracks he could find were intermingled with those left by the horses, and it seemed unlikely that Percy Butcher could have doubled back the way he'd come without being spotted.

Aldrich was still trying to get Tom to talk when Wolfram interrupted them.

"They headed that way," he said, pointing down the stream bank.

"How do you know? Can you sniff out a trail?"

"I'm not bad at it."

Aldrich looked at Tom. "What's out that way?"

"A couple more farms, then the old forest."

The old forest marked the eastern edge of Elkinshire. People said there was nothing out there, not even woodsmen. You could lose yourself for a week beneath those branches without seeing open land.

"Well then," said Aldrich. "He's probably gone to one of the farms. Come on, baron's boy, get sniffing that trail."

Wolfram didn't expect the trail to lead them to a farm. If Percy had camped out in a hidden spot like this, he obviously knew to stay away from other people. That was why outlaws lived in the woods. As long as you stayed away from civilisation, you could evade the law for a long time.

They set off down the stream bank with Wolfram in the lead. It was slow going, for he didn't have his father's years of experience following trails, but Aldrich and his men seemed not to notice. None of them were hunters, that much was clear. Wolfram couldn't make sense of what kind of men they were. Their manner of speaking was rough and loud, as he might have expected from a band of mercenaries, but the way they dressed and held themselves reminded him more of a gang of rich friends roaming the countryside. He had to hold his tongue several times when he saw them draw their swords to carelessly lop at tree branches and swipe thick grass out of the way. Dunstan would have skinned him alive if he'd caught him handling his weapon so recklessly. They might have looked the part of men-at-arms, but they had none of the training. There was no discipline among them.

Wolfram became painfully aware of the sun's passage across the sky as the afternoon wore on. He was still following Percy's trail, of that he was fairly sure. He never strayed far from the stream, only making small detours when the footing became untenable. At these points, tracking became harder. Wolfram had to rely on spotting trampled earth and broken grass, and he completely lost the trail several times. But Percy had been following the stream all day, and it didn't seem like he wanted to venture far from it. Perhaps he feared getting lost or losing his supply of fresh water if he planned on hiding out here. So whenever Wolfram lost the trail, he didn't panic. He kept going forward by the easiest path until he found the stream again. Then, after a few moments of searching, the tracks in the mud would inevitably reappear.

They couldn't have been more than a couple of hours' walk from Kilwick, but the slow pace made it feel like they'd trudged halfway across Elkinshire. There were no villages out here, only farmsteads occupied by a handful of families and labourers. Every so often they would spy a farmhouse in the distance and the men would ask to stop. They were obviously getting bored and weary, but Wolfram was used to mind-numbing exercise. Compared to his usual routines at the castle, this trek across the countryside was almost relaxing. But Aldrich insisted they keep going, so Wolfram maintained his pace. He'd show this gang of shiny sellswords what a real soldier looked like.

When they were eventually forced to stop for the day, there was still no sign of Percy Butcher. They'd reached the edge of the old forest, and the light would be gone within the next hour. Ahead of them, the stream snaked away into a thicket of trees. Percy and his accomplice must have pressed on till they reached the safety of the forest.

"We can't search the woods in the dark," Aldrich said.

Wolfram was forced to agree. His stomach was gnawing at him. Had he eaten anything today? Not since he left the castle, he didn't think.

"Will we go back to Kilwick?"

Aldrich scoffed. "And let them get away? I don't think so. Let's head back to that last farmhouse we saw and stay the night there. We'll get out first thing in the morning and catch Percy while he's still napping."

The idea was met with wholesale approval from the others. Even Tom Butcher looked relieved. His wrists were bleeding and he looked like he was about to keel over. Wolfram hadn't realised how bad the poor man had gotten. Murderer or not, it seemed distasteful how he was being treated. Punishment was the duty of the courts, Dunstan would have said, not soldiers.

They mounted their horses and followed the stream back the way they'd come till they reached a long farmhouse on a hill. It looked similar to the one where the murder had happened, but smaller and more dilapidated. Inside they found a family of four along with a couple of labourers who cleared out as soon as the gang of armed men pushed their way inside.

"You know who I am?" Aldrich asked, planting his boots squarely on the earthen floor.

The father of the family, an older man with a head of greying hair, moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue before answering.

"You're those ones who protect the village."

"Good man." Aldrich smiled. "We protect all the villages around here, and there's a brace of murderers abroad. We've already caught one of them." He shot a glance in Tom's direction. "We need food, drink, and a good fire. We'll be staying here till morning."

The farmer nodded, plainly afraid. His wife stood behind him next to a younger woman who must have been their daughter. She had a small infant cradled in her arms. If the baby had a father, he was nowhere to be seen, unless it was one of the labourers who'd fled.

"You needn't worry," Wolfram said, trying to ease their concern. "I'm from the castle. Lord Erik's men are here looking for the culprits, too."

Some of the tension left the farmer's expression, but his family still cowered behind him.

"I'll set out some food. You can sleep here in the hall."

"And drink," one of Aldrich's men said. "I want the best cider you farmers can brew."

"We've got some cider."

"Bring all of it."

Wolfram sat down at the end of a long table in the middle of the room, trying to smile and look confident so the family would feel reassured. He didn't trust the men whose company he'd found himself in. Now that night was falling, he'd become uncomfortably aware of how alone he was. Where were Dunstan and the others? Had they found out from Gavin where he'd gone? Surely they would have caught up already if they'd come looking. Maybe Dunstan was still combing the farms around the village for news of Percy.

Wolfram ran his hands through his fair hair. Whatever happened, he was sure to be in deep trouble when he returned. Dunstan would probably have him whipped in the courtyard. It wouldn't be as bad as a proper flogging–the squires were too important to suffer the same punishments as common folk–but when one of the boys pushed Dunstan's patience too far, he always had the others drag a pillory out into the courtyard. Once the offender was locked in place, the squires would take turns lashing his back with a piece of leather on the end of a stick. Wolfram had been whipped twice; once when he'd spilt Lord Erik's wine three times in one night, and once when he, Robin, and Cat had been caught drunk in the pantry cellar when they were supposed to be helping with a spring fair.

The farmers had no meat to share, but there was bread, cheese, pottage, some hard apples, and a sizeable barrel of cider. Wolfram ate and drank sparingly despite his hunger, knowing that the farmers were unlikely to be reimbursed for their hospitality.

The house was one long room split into three areas. One end served as a barn for the livestock, the middle part was the hall, and the other end had blankets hanging from the beams to cordon off a living area for the farmer and his family. They stayed behind the blankets most of the time, only coming out when Aldrich's men called for more food and fuel for the hearth. Tom Butcher, who had been tethered to a post near the livestock pen, lay on the floor with his back to them, his bloody hands resting limply on the straw. Wolfram brought him some cheese and cider when it became clear that no one else was going to. The young man ate hungrily, but spared no words of thanks for Wolfram's kindness.

As the cider barrel emptied, the atmosphere grew rowdy. Aldrich's men shared raucous tales about public houses they'd been to, minstrels they'd heard perform, cockfights they'd gambled on, women they'd slept with, and noblemen they didn't like. Wolfram only joined in if he was prompted. The banter made him uncomfortable. It wasn't all that different from the things the squires talked about at the castle, but the tone was off. Aldrich's men kept pushing jokes too far, ridiculing each other to the point of cruelty like Gavin had done the night he got drunk and Wolfram punched him. The conversation took a particularly nasty turn when the farmer's daughter, whose baby had started crying, came out to warm water over the hearth so she could change the infant's swaddling.

"Can't you shut it up?" one of Aldrich's men asked.

"I'm trying," the woman replied in a quiet voice, avoiding eye contact.

"Try harder, or I'll give you a spanking."

A scattering of laughter followed. One of the younger men, a chubby-faced lad not much older than Wolfram, leaned over to mutter to one of his companions: "Do you think she'd going to feed the baby?"

The other man smirked. "Go and pull down those blankets so we can see."

"I bet she's got nice tits."

"What about her mother? Think we could get both of them to show us?"

Wolfram couldn't hold his tongue any longer. He banged his cup loudly on the table, making the pair flinch. "Don't talk about these people like that. They've given us food and hospitality. The least you could do is show them some respect."

The plump young man gave him a sour look. Under different circumstances, Wolfram might have been cowed into silence by the thuggish group, but there were other people in the house more vulnerable than him that night, and that got his temper up. Some things cut Wolfram more deeply than fear.

" Baron's boy ," Aldrich crooned in a mocking sing-song tone. "There's no Dunstan around. You don't have to mind your manners with us." He gestured at the farmer's daughter as she shuffled back behind the blankets. "These people are sheep. Look at them. We can do whatever we want. They're not going to tell."

"That's no excuse."

"Don't tell me you've never had a little fun."

"This isn't fun."

More jeering laughter answered him. Despite being half drunk, Aldrich's expression still held the same cold, clever look from earlier, as though he was weighing up how best to deal with the situation. Wolfram gripped the hilt of his sword beneath the table. It made him uncomfortable when people looked at him like that. He wasn't a quick thinker, and the longer Aldrich stared, the more he felt like he was slipping into the clutches of some unseen scheme. For the first time that day, he regretted leaving Dunstan and the others. Without his help, Aldrich would probably have turned back at the fishing camp and left these people alone.

Aldrich stood up and went to the hanging blankets. He yanked on one of them, ripping it from its fastenings. The farmer and his family sat huddled around the edge of a bed in the far corner.

"Give that baby here," Aldrich called in. When the farmer's daughter didn't move, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out. She remained sullen and silent, only voicing a cry of protest when Aldrich carelessly yanked the infant from her arms.

"Dom, come here," Aldrich called to one of his older men. "You've got a daughter. Show us how you keep a baby quiet."

Wolfram rose to his feet, his fingers tight on the handle of his sword.

"Give him here," the man called Dom said. He took the crying baby into the crook of his arm and rocked him. He was drunker than the others, and he stumbled, shooting out a hand to catch himself on the table as he almost fell over.

"Stop this!" Wolfram said. "You'll drop him!"

"Now, now," Dom said in a reproachful tone. "Give me time, give me time. Lad just needs to get merry like the rest of us. A bit of drink does them more good than mother's milk." He picked up a cup of cider and pressed it to the baby's lips. Aldrich slapped him on the back, and he stumbled again, pouring the entire cup over the infant's head as the others roared in laughter. The baby screamed.

Wolfram strode around the table, but Aldrich got in his way and shoved him in the chest.

"Please, give him back!" the farmer's daughter begged, on the verge of tears. "I'll settle him down, I promise!"

"Take your dress off," the chubby young man said, "then you can have him back." The others cheered their agreement, banging their hands on the table until it rattled.

Wolfram drew his sword. The rasp of steel on leather changed the mood in an instant. Aldrich's mocking expression turned serious.

"Alright, baron's boy. No need to piss yourself. Dom, give her the baby."

To Wolfram's relief, the older man passed the boy back to his mother. She shot Wolfram a look of gratitude and hurried back to her parents.

"Lord Erik's man has spoken," Aldrich continued, a hint of his previous mirth returning. "There's to be no fun tonight. Come on, put your sword away. No one wants to get killed over a joke."

"I don't care for jokes like that."

"Don't you? I'd never have guessed." Aldrich grinned, and the others started laughing again.

Keeping one eye on Aldrich, Wolfram slid his sword back into the sheath and went to help the farmer refasten the fallen blanket.

He barely slept that night. Over the next couple of hours, Aldrich's men drank the last of the cider and fell asleep in the straw one by one, their banter trailing off until the farmhouse grew quiet. Wolfram sat with his back to a post, his sword resting across his lap. He was too unnerved by what had happened to close his eyes. He heard movement behind him, and the sound of the farmer's voice whispered close to his ear.

"Thank you for earlier. You're a brave lad."

Such compliments usually flattered Wolfram, but not tonight. He couldn't feel proud about standing up for what felt like the barest minimum of human decency.

"Call for me if they bother you again," he whispered back.

"We'll be alright. They'll be gone in the morning once they realise there's no more food. Thank you. It's good to see the baron's men doing right by us."

Wolfram nodded and the farmer went back to bed.

The snores of the other men grew loud in the early hours of the morning. The pile of mail they'd left on the table glinted in the dying hearthlight. Wolfram watched the points of fire reflecting in the shiny armour as they danced and flickered, wondering what he was going to do tomorrow. He wanted to see his task through to the end, but he no longer felt safe with Aldrich. The sensible thing would be to return to Kilwick and find Dunstan. That would mean running back with his tail between his legs.

Wolfram's eyelids eventually grew heavy, and he dozed for a while before dawn. The sound of feet shuffling through the straw snapped him awake a few times, but it was only Aldrich's men getting up to piss. Only one of them bothered finding his way to the door so he could go outside.

There was no more rowdiness the following morning. The men were subdued, some of them weary and hungover. They took what was left of last night's food and went down to the stream to splash cold water in their faces. It was bright and mild for now, but the wind was picking up and Wolfram could see dark clouds on the horizon.

"I'm going back to the village," he told Aldrich after he'd drunk a cup of water. They were standing apart from the others at the base of the farmhouse hill where the stream snaked toward the old forest.

"You're not, are you?" Aldrich sounded genuinely surprised. "Not because of what happened last night?"

"You'll have to find Percy Butcher on your own."

Aldrich's attitude had changed from the night before. There was no more mockery in his tone. Like the others, he seemed subdued and serious, perhaps even a little remorseful about what had happened.

"We can't find him without you. You're the only huntsman we have. If we don't catch that outlaw soon, he'll be away into the forest. Do you want him to get away with murder?"

The back of Wolfram's neck prickled uncomfortably. "I don't trust your men."

"I'm sorry. They were just having a bit of fun. You know what it's like after a few drinks. They wouldn't have taken it any further, I promise. I'd have stopped them if they tried." He reached out and clapped Wolfram on the shoulder. "We've got to stick together. You don't want to go back to those noble snobs empty-handed. Let's get this thing done, then we can drag Percy Butcher back on a rope for everyone to see; Aldrich and the baron's men together. Even Dunstan won't be able to fault you for that."

The sincerity of the man's tone gave Wolfram pause. He wasn't sure he believed him. The Aldrich he'd seen last night hadn't seemed like he was ready to step in if things went too far. He'd spoken about the farmers as if they were toys for him and his men to play with.

But that had been last night, when the sun was down and the drink was running freely. Now that it was daylight again, Wolfram wondered whether he might have overreacted. He no longer felt threatened by Aldrich. Sleazy and thuggish though his men might be, they weren't going to turn their swords on him over a disagreement. Like Aldrich said, they had a better chance of catching Percy Butcher if they stuck together.

"I want your promise that nothing like this will happen again."

Aldrich placed a palm on his chest and bowed. "You have my word. The next man who steps out of line gets put on a rope like Tom."

Wolfram took a deep breath. "Dunstan says rough work sometimes means working with rough men."

Aldrich laughed. "That it does. But we're all on the same side here. Now let's get going and catch our killer."

Focusing on the task at hand, Wolfram tried to ignore the uncomfortable prickling at the back of his neck as he set out to find Percy Butcher's trail once more.