The others agreed enthusiastically, and spirits were lifted. Edgar was pleased. Theodberht’s dog had done him an unexpected favor.

Dreng said: “When your dog barked, was it early in the night, or approaching dawn?”

“No idea.”

Theodberht’s wife said: “It was about the middle of the night. I woke, too.”

Theodberht said: “She could be a long way from here by now.”

“Never mind,” said Dreng. “We’ll catch the little bitch.”

“I’d join you,” said Theodberht, “but I’d only slow you down.”

Dreng grunted, and the group moved on.

Soon afterward, they came to a place Edgar had not seen in the dark. A few yards inland from the river was a fenced corral with three ponies. By the gate of the corral was the biggest mastiff Edgar had ever seen, lying under a crude shelter. He was tied up by a rope just long enough to permit him to attack anyone trying to get at the horses. Alongside the corral was a house in poor condition.

“The horse catchers,” Degbert said. “Ulf and Wyn.” There were wild ponies in the forest, shy and nimble, difficult to spot, hard to catch, and highly resistant to being tamed. It was a specialized way of life and the people who followed it were rough-and-ready types, violent to the animals and unsociable with humans.

Two people came out of the house: a small, wiry man and his somewhat larger wife, both wearing dirty clothes and stout leather boots. Ulf said: “What do you want?”

Dreng said: “Have you seen my slave? A Welsh girl about fourteen.”

“No.”

“Did anyone pass here in the night? Did your dog bark?”

“He’s not meant to bark. He’s meant to bite.”

“Would you give us a cup of ale? We’ll pay for it.”

“Haven’t got no ale.”

Edgar hid a smile. Dreng had met someone even more disagreeable than himself.

Dreng said: “You ought to join the hue and cry, and help us find her.”

“Not me.”

“It’s the law.”

“I don’t live in your hundred.”

In all probability, Edgar guessed, no one knew which hundred Ulf and Wyn lived in. That would exempt them from rents and tithes. Given how little wealth they appeared to have, it would not be worth anyone’s while to try to pin them down.

Dreng said to Wyn: “Where’s your brother? I thought he lived here with you.”

“Begstan died,” she said.

“Where’s his body, then? You didn’t bury him at the minster.”

“We took him to Combe.”

“Liar.”

“It’s the truth.”

Edgar guessed that they had buried Begstan in the woods to save the price of a priest. But it hardly mattered, and Dreng said impatiently: “Let’s move on.”

The group soon drew near the place where Edgar had beached the ferry. Edgar saw it before anyone else, but he decided he could not be the one who spotted it first: that might arouse suspicion. He waited for someone else to notice it. They were focused on the way ahead, through the forest, and he began to think no one would see it.