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monk went, he called back over his shoulder, "It would be good to know when the lad announced the girl's presence in the well. Also, mayhap you can also encourage the leper or the girl's mistress to swear that the child is English? At least we'll get that much done before we must leave this place for the night."
    Once again Edmund issued commands where he had no right, but against such a successful day, and the possibility of an even better day on the morrow, it didn't rankle just now. Faucon grinned and called back, "So I shall, although I doubt I can do the task as well as you."
    If his clerk noted the friendly sarcasm in his employer's reply, he gave no sign of it.

Chapter Three

    Still shaking his head over Edmund's impossible behavior, Faucon brought his attention back to the four living people yet near the well. Once more weeping, Amelyn now sat upon the moist sod, her daughter's corpse cradled in her arms. As for the oldster, the rustic continued to watch his new Crowner with sharp interest.
    The old woman, her gaze yet afire with the satisfaction of having accused Gawne of murder, stared boldly at her better. That was rude behavior for an unmarried woman, even one as old as Meg. What sort of gentlewoman, even as an absent landlord, employed a servant with so disrespectful a manner?
    As for Ivo the Smith, he stared after his departing sons, looking as stunned as he'd seemed when Amelyn the Leper had approached the well. And stunned Ivo should be. In the space of a breath his youngest child had gone from rescuing hero to accused murderer.
    Faucon touched the smith's bare arm to draw his attention. With a jerk, Ivo sidled away from his Crowner. Then, like a man startled out of a terrible dream, he gave a violent shake of his head.
    "Gawne didn't do this," he shouted at his Crowner, his fists closing. "They were like brother and sister, those two. Just a pair of children seeking to wring a little innocent joy out of a life gone sad and sober too soon. Gawne would never, ever have hurt Jes."
    "Master Smith, you protest when I have said nothing at all about your son," Faucon replied mildly. He picked up the leather apron Gawne had used in the watery depths and handed it to Ivo. "Take your gear and go home. There's nothing more you or I can do for the now save wait on your bailiff's return."
    Which Faucon continued to pray would be without Gawne. He also hoped that Ivo or Gawne's brothers had some inkling where their young kinsman might choose to hide. More importantly, Faucon needed to find a way to win their trust. If the bailiff didn't bring back the boy, then one of them would have to lead him to Gawne on the morrow.
    While the smith blinked in surprise at his Crowner's command, Meg freed an irritable huff. "Better that you hold tight to this sorry ass until Odger finds his lad, sir knight. Ivo cares nothing for your laws or your king, only for his own flesh and blood."
    She turned her disrespectful gaze on the smith. "I warned you, didn't I? Spare the rod, spoil the child, said I. But you didn't heed me. The way you let Gawne wander as he would, making whatever mischief he chose!" She made an impatient sound. "I tell you, it wouldn't surprise me to learn you've never asked so much as an hour's work out of that child. See now how you spoiled your boy until he thought he could do this horrible thing with no fear of consequence? That little smell-smock! His sin rests upon your shoulders."
    "There is no sin," Ivo protested again. "He didn't kill her. Gawne is innocent."
    "Innocent, indeed!" Meg retorted. "There was nothing innocent about those two when they were together."
    She turned her shoulder to the smith to address her Crowner as if she were his equal. "Make note of my words, sir knight, and you'll understand why Gawne did murder. Those two were forever stealing off together, disappearing into yon woods, sometimes gone for the whole night." The wave of her hand indicated the direction in which Gawne had fled. "And her