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snoring pile of sleuthdogs and sitting on one of the benches. At his gesture Dodd sat down next to him, itching to get back to the barracks and find out what his men had done with Sweetmilk. He gulped the beer when it came, from Scrope’s brewhouse, not the garrison’s, and not half bad.
    “Scrope’s mad,” said Lowther dourly. “A bloody courtier, what does he know about the Border?”
    He knew enough to identify immediately where most of Dodd’s surname lived and that Gilsland was full of Armstrongs, Dodd thought, but said nothing and nodded.
    “Still, that might not be so ill a thing…” muttered Lowther, thinking aloud. “What do you make of him, Sergeant?”
    Dodd forebore to point out that he had exchanged perhaps three sentences with the man, and shrugged.
    “He’s got very polished manners.”
    “He might not be here long,” said Lowther pointedly. Dodd didn’t reply because in his present mood he might have said something he would regret later. And Janet would have his guts if he lost his place before he had his investment back. Which on current showing might be well into the next century, assuming he lived that long.
    “Keep an eye on him for me, will you Henry?” Lowther said, the firelight catching his pale prominent eyes and the broken veins on his cheeks and nose. To complete the effect, he made a face which might, if practised, have counted for a smile one day.
    “Ay sir,” said Dodd woodenly.
    “Good lad.” Lowther clapped him on the shoulder and headed purposefully across the room to the fire, threading between benches and trestle tables.
    Dodd hurried out the door. At the dark foot of the stairs outside, he looked about him impatiently.
    “Hey Sergeant,” came a voice from the door of the new barracks and Dodd changed direction to find four of his men sheltering there, Red Sandy fiddling with a lantern that had almost no wick left.
    “Where have you put it then?” Dodd asked, thinking longingly of his bed.
    Archie Give-it-Them coughed and the others looked sheepishly at each other. Dodd sighed again.
    “Well?” he said.
    “We tried, Sergeant,” said Bangtail Graham, “but the new Deputy had a man on the door already and he wouldna let us in, but.”
    There was a long moment of silence. Dodd thought of the thirty good English pounds he had given for the sergeant’s post, which was a loan from Janet’s father as an investment, and decided that if he lost his place he would ride to Berwick and take ship for the Low Countries.
    “Good night,” he said, turned on his heel and walked off to the stables to think.
    Sunday, 18th June, night
    Carey saw his sister up the stairs to the Warden’s bedchamber, and she leant on his arm smiling and chattering so happily that he knew how hard it had been for her. Goodwife Biltock was pulling a warming pan out of the great bed.
    “God’s sake, this weather, June, who could believe it…” she was muttering as she turned and saw him. “Oh now,” she flustered, dropping a curtsey, “well, Robin, what a sight…”
    Carey crossed the floor in three strides and picked her up to give her a smacking kiss on the cheek. She cuffed his ear.
    “Put me down, bad child, put me…”
    Carey put her down and handed her his hankerchief, while Philadelphia smiled and brought her to the stool by the fire until she could collect herself.
    “Every time I see you,” Goodwife Biltock snuffled, scrubbing at her eyes, “every time, silly old cow…”
    Carey was pouring her wine from the flagon on the plate chest, since women’s tears had always had him come out in a sweat. He brought it to her and squatted down beside her.
    “So it’s true Scrope offered you the deputyship,” she said at last. “I never thought…”
    “…I could drag myself away from London?” Carey made a wry face. “Nothing easier when I could feast my eyes on you Goodwife…”
    “Pfff, get away, Robin, your tongue’s been worn too smooth at Court. Well you’re a sight