We rode on a further mile or two. To the left the cleared area gave way again to dense forest. There was woodland to the right, too, which from the plan was the village woodland Hobbey wanted. The road sloped gently upwards, and now we could see the line of a high hill in the distance; Portsdown Hill, with the sea on the other side. Then we came on an area where men were felling trees. Almost all had been cut, back to a distance of a hundred yards. One group of men was sawing up a felled oak, another stripping leaves from branches piled on the ground. Long sections of trunk were being loaded onto an ox cart.
'Let's talk to them,' I said. We rode carefully past the stumps, most still gleaming raw and yellow, and halted a little distance from the work. A man came across to us, a tall stringy fellow. He removed his cap and bowed.
'Good afternoon, gentlemen.'
'I am Master Shardlake, lawyer to Hugh Curteys that owns this land. I am staying with Master Hobbey at Hoyland Priory.'
'Master Fulstowe said you might be coming,' the man answered. 'As you see, we are working hard. I am Peter Drury, the foreman.' He had watchful little button eyes.
'You seem to be cutting a great swathe here. What trees are you felling?'
'Everything, sir. Some oak, but the cleared part was mostly ash and elm. The oak goes to Portsmouth, the branches to the charcoal burners.'
'It will be years before there are trees worth cutting here again.'
'It may be long before prices rise so high again, sir. So Master Hobbey says.'
'You are contracted to him, then?'
'Ay. He has the lad's wardship, has he not?' A touch of truculence entered his voice.
'So he does. Are your men local, from Hoyland perhaps?'
Drury laughed. 'Those hogs wouldn't work here. When some of my men went on to their village woods they made great complaint. No, my lads are from up beyond Horndean.' Beyond the reach of local loyalties, I thought. I thanked him, and we rode back to the road.
We continued south, to an area the felling had not yet reached. I saw a narrow path leading into the forest. 'Come,' I said, 'let's see what types of trees these are. There seems to be more oak than that fellow suggested.'
Barak looked up dubiously at the darkening sky. 'It looks like rain.'
'Then we'll get wet.'
We began riding into the forest, picking our way in single file along the narrow path. The air seemed even heavier among the trees.
'Do you still wear that old Jewish symbol round your neck?' I asked over my shoulder.
'The old mezuzah my father left me? Yes, why do you ask?'
'I have Emma Curteys' little cross around mine. I will give it to Hugh, but not in front of the Hobbeys. Did you know he wears some piece of bone from the heart of a deer round his neck?'
'The heartstone? Yes, I talked to Master Avery last night, the huntmaster. He seemed a decent fellow.'
I glanced round. 'Did he say anything about the family?'
'He closed up when I asked. Under orders from Fulstowe, I would guess.' He halted suddenly, raising a hand.
'What is it?'
'I thought I heard hoofbeats, back on the road. Then they stopped.'
'I can't hear anything.' There was nothing but the buzz of insects, little rustlings in the undergrowth as small animals fled from us. 'Maybe you imagined it.'
'I don't imagine things.' Barak frowned. 'Let's get this over with before we get soaked.'
The path narrowed to little more than a track winding through the trees. This was true ancient forest, some of the trees gigantic, hundreds of years old. They grew in profusion and great variety, but oaks with wide spreading branches dominated. The undergrowth was heavy, nettles and brambles and small bushes. The earth, where it could be seen, was dark, soft-looking, a pretty contrast to the bright summer green.
'How far does the Curteys land extend?' Barak asked.
'Three miles here according to the plan. We'll follow the path another half mile or so, then come back. This is mainly oak, and that fetches twice what the other trees will. That foreman was lying, and I think Hobbey's accounts have been doctored.'
'Different types of trees can grow in different places.'
'That is what makes anything difficult to prove.'
We rode on. I was bewitched by the silence among the great trees. According to the Romans, all England looked like this once. I remembered a boyhood visit to the Forest of Arden, riding with my father along a similar path, the one time he took me hunting.
Then I saw a brown shape move ahead, and raised a hand. I saw we were by a little clearing where a deer, a fallow doe, stood cropping the grass, two little fauns at her side. She looked up as we appeared, then turned and in a moment all three had fled into the trees in a rapid, fluid movement. A crashing of undergrowth, then silence.
'So that's a wild deer,' Barak said.
'You've never seen one?'
'I'm a London boy. But even I can see this track is fading out.' He was right, the pathway was becoming mossy and hard to follow.
'A little further.'
