I heard the door grate as it was dragged open, then the two men talking, but apart from a word here and there, could not distinguish what they said. It seemed, from the movement of the light, that the porter (or whoever had come to the gate) had lifted the torch down from its socket. Moreover, the light was moving this way, and both men with it, leading the horse.

I heard the rider say, impatiently: “Oh, yes, it’ll be well enough here. If it comes to that, it will suit me to have a quick getaway. There’s fodder there?”

“Aye, sir. I put the young beasts out here to make room for the horses.”

“There’s a crowd, then?” The voice was young, clear, a little harsh, but that might only be cold and arrogance combined. A patrician voice, careless as the horsemanship that had all but brought the horse down on its haunches in front of the gate.

“A fair number,” said the porter. “Mind now, sir, it’s through this gap. If you’ll let me go first with the light . . .”

“I can see,” said the young man irritably, “if you don’t shove the torch right in my face. Hold up, you.” This to the horse as it pecked at a stone.

“You’d best let me go first, sir. There’s a thorn bush across the gap to keep them in. If you’ll stand clear a minute, I’ll shift it.”

I had already melted out of the shed doorway and round the corner, where the rough wall met the field embankment. There were turfs stacked here, and a pile of brushwood and dried bracken that I supposed were winter bedding. I crouched down behind the stack.

I heard the thorn tree being lifted and flung aside. “There, sir, bring him through. There’s not much room, but if you’re sure you’d as soon leave him out here—”

“I said it would do. Shift the plank and get him in. Hurry, man, I’m late.”

“If you leave him with me now, sir, I’ll unsaddle for you.”

“No need. He’ll be well enough for an hour or two. Just loosen the girth. I suppose I’d better throw my cloak over him. Gods, it’s cold . . . Get the bridle off, will you? I’m getting in out of this . . .”

I heard him stride away, spurs clinking. The plank went back into place, and then the thorn tree. As the porter hurried after him I caught something that sounded like, “And let me in at the back, where the father won’t see me.”

The big gate shut behind them. The chain rattled, but the dog stayed silent. I heard the men’s-steps crossing the yard, then the house door shut on them.

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE