Nesta moved on, and glanced around the yard and wall while she did. Paul was not present today, but she noticed another knight lounging on the steps to the hall. He had been there a long time, now that she thought about it. He seemed to make it a point to look everywhere except at her.

So, Marcus expected her to send out a message, probably to Carwyn. Did he plan to follow its meandering path as it was handed from one person to another, and discover the rebels’ camp? Intercept it and read it, and have all revealed?

As she finished visiting with the farmers, she kept one eye on the knight, who kept one eye on her.

“We got it.” Paul barged into the solar with his triumphant announcement.

“Got what?” Marcus looked up from some accounts that the steward had left for him.

“Her message. She was clever, I’ll give you that, but I was watching today, and I saw what she was up to.” He crooked his finger as he backed out the door. “Come see.”

Marcus followed Paul out to the yard and up to a section of wall that overlooked the gate. Down below a thick group of farmers had been hemmed in by his men. Sir Leonard had pulled a man aside and now methodically probed fingers beneath his tunic and into his sleeve despite the farmer’s howls of indignation.

“What is he doing?” Marcus asked.

“Searching for the message. Or rather, parts of it. She is incredible, Marcus. She does not send out one piece of parchment with her words, but many little bits. Look here.”

He opened his purse and plucked out a tiny scrap. Written on it was only the word “think.”

Down below, Leonard had let his victim leave, and had called the next farmer forward.

“I noticed her passing something to one of the men,” Paul said. “Then a bit later, she did it again. Very sneaky, she was, slipping the pieces into sleeves and cowls and such. One could barely tell it was happening, and even the farmers appeared unaware. When they passed through the gate, I stopped them and found these bits. So now we are looking for the rest.”

Leonard was searching slower than the market was emptying. The crowd now backed up through the gates. The mumble of complaints about the delay grew from a low rumble to a loud roar.

A woman was next in line. Stout and furious, she stepped forward, planted her hands on her hips, and glared a dare at Leonard.

He paced around her, debating how to proceed. He stopped behind her and cocked his head. Reaching out, he plucked at the folds of her veil where it bunched on her shoulder. He lifted his hand triumphantly to display a speck of parchment.

The woman’s indignation dissolved into astonishment.

“Go down and help him,” Marcus said. “Try and get those wagons out of here before nightfall.”