De Vaux did want to be indoors, of course he did. Couldn’t. He declined with thanks, asked for a hot drink if at all possible for his serjeants. And more torches, if she had them. Said he would pay, of course. She nodded, curtsied again, went back inside. Little warmth in there from one fire, but some warmth, he thought, and no wind. He couldn’t feel his nose. There was ice in his beard when he brushed at it with a gloved hand.

De Vaux dismounted, ordered the cloth over the duke to be pulled back again. He was a man who had been at war. Seeing death did not undo him. This death might. He ordered a torch to be brought nearer, and confirmed: right-handed blows to sever the head at the neck. Almost sever. Which was worse, in a way, but the embalmers at court would be skilled. There were things they could do before the burial rites.

Terrible, to already be thinking of that.

Looking at the leg he saw that the blow there had been wielded by a left-handed man. Small, possibly useful information. Or not.

The woman came out again carrying two unlit torches, a boy with her bearing two more. De Vaux had a man give her a silver coin (too much, but…). He had a serjeant light the four torches.

“We’ll bring ale, my lord,” she said. “It is warming over the fire.”

He nodded. Heard a sound. Aubrey, riding back.

“Horses all right?” de Vaux asked.

Aubrey nodded. “Jad’s mercy. We picked up a few more caltrops.”

“Which direction?”

“East, as reported, my lord. Along Goldsmiths Lane to where it meets South Gate Road.”

“And they went out?”

Aubrey hesitated. “No, my lord. There were caltrops on South Gate Road, but on the way back towards the river. Not to the gate and out.”

De Vaux felt fear renew itself. Refused to let it show. He knew—everyone knew—who lived in the great palace on South Gate Road, halfway back towards the river.

“Did you…did you look for fresh tracks? Cracks in the ice from horses?”

Aubrey hesitated again. “No, lord, we turned back when we saw they went that way. Came to…tell you.”

Prudent. The assassins had gone away from the gate. Not out of the city. And Aubrey would not have wanted to ride up to that palace in the night without instructions. He was a capable man.

“Well done,” said de Vaux. He thought about giving those instructions—to ride up, ask questions there—but decided to wait. It would have to be him doing that, in any case. If it happened.

He ordered the duke’s body covered again, had the severed hand brought under the canvas covering. Such an ugly death.