Elfric said: “We’ve got our own constable, what’s he doing?”

Mark Webber spoke. He was one of the constable’s deputies. “We’re ready to do whatever’s necessary,” he said. “Just give us the word.”

Caris said: “No one doubts your bravery. But your role is to deal with troublemakers within the town. John Constable doesn’t have the expertise to hunt down outlaws.”

Mark, who was close to Caris because he ran her fulling mill at Wigleigh, was mildly indignant. “Well, who does, then?”

Caris had been leading the discussion towards this question. “As a matter of fact, there is an experienced soldier who is willing to help us,” she said. “I took the liberty of asking him to come here tonight, and he’s waiting in the chapel.” She raised her voice. “Thomas, will you join us?”

Thomas Langley came out of the little chapel at the end of the hall.

Rick Silvers said sceptically: “A monk?”

“Before he was a monk, he was a soldier,” Caris explained. “That’s how he lost his arm.”

Elfric said grumpily: “Guild members’ permission should have been sought before he was invited.” No one took any notice, Caris was pleased to see: they were too interested to hear what Thomas would have to say.

“You need to form a militia,” Thomas began. “By all accounts there are twenty or thirty outlaws in the troop. That’s not many. Most townsmen can use a longbow effectively, thanks to the Sunday-morning practice sessions. A hundred of you, well prepared and intelligently led, could overcome the outlaws easily.”

“That’s all very well,” said Rick Silvers. “But we have to find them.”

“Of course,” said Thomas. “But I feel sure there is someone in Kingsbridge who knows where they are.”

Merthin had asked the timber merchant, Jake Chepstow, to bring him a piece of slate from Wales – the largest piece he could find. Jake had come back from his next logging expedition with a thin sheet of grey Welsh slate about four feet square. Merthin had encased it in a wooden frame, and he used it for sketching plans.

This evening, while Caris was at the parish guild, Merthin was at his own house on Leper Island, working on a map of the island. Renting parts of it for wharves and warehouses was the least of his ambitions. He foresaw an entire street of inns and shops crossing the island from one bridge to the other. He would construct the buildings himself and rent them to enterprising Kingsbridge traders. It excited him to look into the future of the town and imagine the buildings and streets it was going to need. This was the kind of thing the priory would have done, if it had had better leadership.

Included in the plan was a new house for him and Caris. This little place would be cosy when they were first married, but they would need more room eventually, especially if they had children. He had marked out a site on the southern shore, where they would get fresh air off the river. Most of the island was rocky, but the patch he had in mind featured a small area of cultivable soil where he might be able to grow some fruit trees. As he planned the house, he relished the vision of the two of them living side by side, day by day, always.

His dream was interrupted by a knock at the door. He was startled. Normally no one came to the island at night – except Caris, and she would not knock. “Who is it?” he called nervously.

Thomas Langley came in.

“Monks are supposed to be asleep at this time,” Merthin said.

“Godwyn doesn’t know I’m here.” Thomas looked at the slate. “You draw left-handed?”

“Left or right, it makes no difference. Would you like a cup of wine?”

“No, thanks. I’ll have to be up for Matins in a few hours, so I don’t want to get sleepy.”

Merthin liked Thomas. There had been a bond between them ever since that day, twelve years ago, when he had promised that if Thomas should die he would take a priest to the place where the letter was buried. Later, when they had worked together on cathedral repairs, Thomas had always been clear in his instructions and gracious to apprentices. He managed to be sincere about his religious calling without becoming prideful: all men of God should be like that, Merthin thought.

He waved Thomas to a chair by the fire. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about your brother. He has to be stopped.”

Merthin winced, as if at a sudden stab of pain. “If I could do anything, I would. But I haven’t seen him and, when I do, I’m not sure he will listen to me. There was a time when he looked to me for guidance, but I think those days are over.”

“I’ve just come from a meeting of the parish guild. They asked me to organize a militia.”

“Don’t expect me to be part of it.”

“No, I didn’t come for that purpose.” Thomas gave a wry smile. “Your many amazing talents don’t actually include military skills.”

Merthin nodded ruefully. “Thanks.”

“But there is something you could do to help me, if you would.”

Merthin felt uneasy. “Well, ask me.”

“The outlaws must have a hideout somewhere not far from Kingsbridge. I want you to think about where your brother might be. It’s probably a place you both know – a cave, perhaps, or an abandoned verderer’s hut in the forest.”

Merthin hesitated.

Thomas said: “I know you’d hate to betray him. But think of that first family he attacked: a decent, hard-working peasant, his pretty wife, a lad of fourteen and a little girl. Now three of them are dead and the little girl has no parents. Even though you love your brother, you have to help us catch him.”

“I know.”

“Can you think where he might be?”

Merthin was not yet ready to answer the question. “Will you take him alive?”

“If I can.”

Merthin shook his head. “Not good enough. I need a guarantee.”

Thomas was silent for a few moments. At last he said: “All right. I’ll take him alive. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Merthin paused. He knew he had to do this, but his heart rebelled. After a moment, he forced himself to speak. “When I was about thirteen we used to go hunting, often with older boys. We would stay out all day and cook whatever we shot. Sometimes we used to go as far as the chalk hills and meet the families who spend the summer up there grazing sheep. Shepherdesses tend to be quite free and easy – some would let you kiss them.” He smiled briefly. “In winter, when they weren’t there, we used their huts for shelter. That might be where Ralph is hiding out.”

“Thank you,” said Thomas. He stood up.

“Remember your promise.”

“I will.”

“You trusted me with a secret twelve years ago.”

“I know.”

“I never betrayed you.”

“I realize that.”

“Now I’m trusting you.” Merthin knew that his words could be interpreted two ways: either as a plea for reciprocity, or as a veiled threat. That was all right. Let Thomas take it how he wished.

Thomas put out his one hand, and Merthin clasped it. “I’ll keep my word,” Thomas said. Then he went out.

Ralph and Tam rode side by side up the hill, followed by Alan Fernhill on his horse and the rest of the outlaws on foot. Ralph was feeling good: it had been another successful Sunday morning’s work. Spring had arrived, and the peasants were beginning to bring the new season’s produce to market. The members of the gang were carrying half a dozen lambs, a jar of honey, a stoppered jug of cream and several leather bottles of wine. As usual, the outlaws had suffered only minor injuries, a few cuts and bruises inflicted by the more foolhardy of their victims.

Ralph’s partnership with Tam had been extraordinarily successful. A couple of hours’ easy fighting brought them all they needed for a week of living in luxury. They spent the rest of their time hunting in the day and drinking in the evenings. There were no clodhopping serfs to badger them about boundary disputes or cheat them of rent. All they lacked were women, and today they had remedied that, by kidnapping two plump girls, sisters of about thirteen and fourteen years.