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left the castle in late afternoon, Bascot riding an easy-gaited grey gelding from the stables with Gianni on the pillion behind and the forester astride his own mount.
    Tostig took a path that led slightly southwest, towards the stretch of forest where Gerard Camville’s chase was located. As they rode, he told Bascot the hunting ground that had been granted to the sheriff began some two miles from Lincoln town and was bordered on the west by the Trent river and on the south by the slant of the old Roman road called the Fosse Way.
    “The royal chase, within which the sheriff’s own lies, is much larger, of course,” Tostig explained. “It extends a good way farther to the north and, in the south, down to the greenwood at Kesteven. There is a lot of good marshland for hawking and hunting smaller game within both, though, as well as a fair bit of timberland.”
    “Are there any villages in the sheriff’s chase?” Bascot asked.
    “Yes,” replied Tostig. “At the northern tip is a small one, just before the beginning of an open stretch of heath land. And there’s another, larger, hamlet adjacent to the southern boundary.”
    “Are either of these villages near where Hubert’s body was found?” Bascot asked.
    “The one in the north is,” Tostig replied. “It’s on the edge of Sir Gerard’s chase and the boy was not far into the forest from there.”
    “Is that where your quarters are located?” Bascot asked, knowing that in his position as a mounted forester Tostig would receive, as part payment for his services, shelter for himself, his horse and his dog.
    “No. ‘Tis my right if I wished to do so, but Sir Gerard lets me stay in his hunting lodge. It’s more comfortable and I don’t have the villagers taking resentment at my presence amongst them. Since the royal chase is so close and they must have licence for any activities they would pursue there, they would always be wary that I might report them to the king’s agister or woodward if I should see them taking liberties.” The forester shrugged. “I pretend ignorance most times when they set loose a few more pigs to forage for acorns than are allowed, or perhaps take a coney for the pot, for I know what it is like to be hungry. But it would be more than my life is worth if I were to be too lax and they know it. So, to save their temper, and mine, I stay in the lodge.”
    “This lodge, is it near where Hubert was slain?”
    “Not the new one, the one where I keep my gear. There is an old lodge a little closer, but it’s ramshackle now and deserted.”
    “Were you abroad in the forest last night?” Bascot asked.
    The forester shook his head. “No, unfortunately, I was not. Yesterday I went to the southern part of the chase. One of Sir Gerard’s woodwards looks to that area mostly, as he has kin in the village nearby and stays with them so he is handy for the work. But I like to take a circuit there every few days to check and see that he’s doing his job as he should. My mare threw a shoe while I was down there and I had to seek a blacksmith to replace it. By the time I got back to my lodgings it was well past the middle of the night. I wanted only to get my mare bedded down and find my own pallet. I did not leave the lodge until the morning was well on. That was when I saw the crows and found the boy.”
    When they reached the chase, Tostig took a path that was almost imperceptible to Bascot. It wound through the trees in no particular manner that the Templar could see, but before long they came to a track that was more defined, with plentiful piles of deer dung and hoofprints, mingled with the deeper marks of the shod feet of horses. The sheriff and his brother must have taken the same route. This track appeared to be well used by both man and beast. In the distance the ring of an axe sounded and there was the smell of smoke in the air.
    “It’s just a little way on from here,” Tostig flung back at Bascot over his shoulder. The narrow