John winced as the thick pad was placed on his wound, and then Brother Michael began to wind a length of muslin about his chest and shoulder to hold it in place. He tied it up and stood back to survey his work. ‘That should hold for you,’ he said. ‘You must avoid any excessive strains with that arm.’
‘Is that intended to be a joke?’ John demanded, swinging his sword arm to see how painful it was.
Michael gave him a nervous smile. ‘No. I am sorry.’
John gave him thanks, and then began to dress once more. William helped, and then stood back as John bound his sword-belt about his waist.
‘You will be able to ride tomorrow when they leave?’ William enquired.
‘Yes, I will. What of you?’
‘I shall join you, I think. I have heard that there is a need for builders at the castle at Berkeley. I can carry a hod well enough.’
John nodded, then glanced at Brother Michael.
‘I, my son, will remain here,’ the elderly monk said. ‘It would be difficult for me to leave my priory without a lot of tedious explanation.’
‘And the less there is of that, the better,’ William said briskly. ‘This whole business is too important to leave to you and a few others, Master John.’
Edgar was walking back from the stables, in search of Sir Baldwin, when he saw John stalk out from the small chamber. He knew that the man had been injured, after all – his stiffness and occasional winces had been noted, and John had explained that he had pulled a muscle – but he felt that John had a curiously shifty look about him now, and he moved off in a hurry as though eager to be away from the door.
Shortly afterwards, a friar appeared in the doorway too, glancing furtively about the court as he stepped aside to let another man out. Then he locked the door behind him, giving Edgar a challenging stare as he did so, as if daring him to comment.
Edgar was not the sort to be easily intimidated, so he simply smiled back and was about to walk onto the field in which the tents were being erected when on a whim he dawdled, and made his way slowly in the same direction as John.
‘Ride all this way, and then they expect us to set up camp for ’em too,’ Hugh grumbled. He was shuffling his way along the outer perimeter of the cloister, and had caught up with Edgar.
‘That man,’ Edgar said, pointing with a jerk of his chin at John. ‘Do you know anything about him?’
‘He came to Kenilworth with you, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but I begin to wonder about him. He does not look like an ordinary man-at-arms.’
‘He’s just a guard who’s been with us from the castle,’ Hugh grunted.
‘He’s no knight,’ Edgar said. ‘He’s been injured though, hasn’t he?’
‘He said he’d pulled his muscle. What of it?’
‘Nothing, I daresay,’ Edgar said, and bestowed a beatific smile upon the glowering Hugh. ‘But it was curious to me that he arrived here with us and instantly appeared to know where he was, where to go, and what to do here. He knew a friar, and has already been treated for a wound, when the larger portion of our group are still erecting the tents.’
Hugh frowned. ‘He went to the infirmarer, did he? So what?’
‘Probably nothing,’ Edgar said easily. ‘But we are transporting a highly important man, friend Hugh. I would not wish for something unpleasant to happen.’
‘Nor me,’ Hugh said with certainty. ‘I’m going to sleep like a newborn pup when I get to my bedroll. Nothing’ll wake me.’
‘I am glad to hear it. For myself, I think I shall sleep more lightly tonight,’ Edgar said. He watched as John glanced about him, and then walked off towards the stables once more.
Hugh might not find anything suspect about the man, but Edgar did – and Edgar was too experienced a warrior to ignore his instincts.
John was in the saddle as early as possible the next morning, keen to avoid Sir Jevan. The man scared him.
He had not passed a comfortable night. The lump of sticky material placed next to his skin felt odd, but he had to admit that this morning, the pain was somewhat abated. He had much more freedom of movement with his left arm than before, too. It was almost as easy as it had been before that bastard had shoved his lance at him . . .
‘Ready to ride, master?’
John stared at Edgar, who had spoken. John had no reason to be concerned about his master: Sir Baldwin, to him, was just an elderly, scruffy-looking knight from some obscure manor far to the south-west – a spent force. Edgar, however, had the look of a competent warrior. There were many folks to keep an eye on, from carters and sumptermen, to the two women who tagged along with the baggage, but this knight’s servant kept his attention fixed a little too firmly on John for his comfort.
‘Aye, I am ready. What of your knight?’
‘He is always ready for any little journey,’ Edgar said with a cool gaze.
