Tom, serving more slices of hot veal to Dame Margaret on the end of his long knife, said, ‘Yes, sir, the horses are all ready, I’ve got all the harness mended, and there are pannier baskets, with straps, for all the horses.’

The conversation had then been taken up by Dame Margaret and Sir Hugh in lower tones, with Rollo only occasionally raising his voice with advice and encouragement. Everyone knew that Sir Hugh was a ditherer, a procrastinator of decisions whenever possible, and that it usually needed the combined voices of Rollo and Dame Margaret, with Tom making judicious additions at intervals, to bring Sir Hugh’s mind to a firm decision. Their deliberations were interrupted by the wild barking of Jix as he scrabbled with his forepaws at the earth just below the dais.

‘He must have seen a rat there. Go on, Jix – get him.’

This was Magda’s contribution. She was bored with the discussion of a journey to Rutherford which she knew she would never be allowed to make.

‘That dais,’ muttered Tom to Peter, ‘just perfect for rats, all those planks put down across logs – too low for a dog or cat to get in. Rats can play Old Harry with us all. Stupid dais. Better live on the true earth, like we all do.’

‘Magda!’ shouted Sir Hugh suddenly. ‘Keep that dog quiet. He can’t dig up the whole Hall just to get at a rat. Tom, send someone to Rockwell tomorrow and get them to bring down a couple of ferrets. They’ll do for the rats for a bit.’

Then Sir Hugh raised his eyebrows and jerked his head, and Rollo and Father John, the priest bemused and silent from too much ale, moved close at the table and literally put their heads together. The villagers eyed them between mouthfuls. Dame Margaret moved to the table end and made someone take Jix outside, and then supervised more bread and ale distribution. Rollo straightened his back and beckoned to Tom and Peter to join them, and they all muttered together. Seeing Peter summoned to this conference caused a sudden tightening of Marion’s breathing and made her realize how anxious she was. The anxiety was two-fold: first that salt must be procured, and second that Peter was to be selected as one of the fetchers.

Before the supper was considered to be over, Sir Hugh stood up and with his melancholy voice suiting his melancholy expression, announced that he had decided that in two days’ time, unless it rained very heavily, he himself, with the four horses, their panniers filled with spun wool, with Peter Carpenter and Ed-me-boy, would journey down the valley to Rutherford and with God’s grace (here Father John nodded emphatically), they would be back in a few days with as much salt as they could carry. He went on to instruct the women who still had spools of spun wool at home to bring them to the weaving shed tomorrow and hand them over to Joan. Ed-me-boy looked round-eyed at his father, and as Tom nodded to him, smiled a wide smile of amazement. Tom and Peter rejoined Marion at her place at the table. Peter seemed rather sheepish in his pleasure at having been selected.