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clear them away and collect the body, but Gervase Crake seemed strangely oblivious. He barely regarded the scene, which made even the soldiers’ hard hearts ache.
    Indeed it was as if some far more interesting thought had occurred to him. An expression of quiet satisfaction on his face suggested that he thought this day of clumsy tragedy had turned out really rather well. His eyes roved over the fine old farmhouse of the Ingoldsbys: the venerable oak timbers, the handsome stone mullion windows, the tall chimneys gently smoking in the autumn sunshine. The barns were pretty dilapidated, true. But for the rest … And then there were several hundred acres of hill and grassland, excellent sheep country. With the prices wool was fetching nowadays …
    At last he looked back and coughed dryly.
    ‘Pull the boy away.’
    It took three soldiers to drag him free. One received a kick in the shins, and responded with a mighty backhand swipe of a heavy leather gauntlet that set Nicholas reeling. Susan screamed out. The little ones wailed. At last Crake lost patience.
    ‘Drag them all here!’ he cried, pointing before his horse.
    All four children were pulled over and dumped unceremoniously before him in the mud. He looked sourly down at them.
    ‘Now listen to me, you traitorous whelps. You are not of the age of majority, or it would be worse for you. Though God knows under the reign of Bloody Mary, Protestant blood as young as yours was wickedly shed. Bodies as soft and young as yours burnt at the stake in Smithfield market. But your father was a foul traitor.’
    Nicholas rose up on his knees to cry out at this, and was once more violently cuffed into silence.
    ‘He was a Catholic – though not yet a crime in this Protestant kingdom, alas! But I doubt not we shall find his library stuffed full of the latest Popish propaganda from Flanders. Above all, we knowhe entertained two knights of the most élite and dangerous order of Catholic warriors in all Christendom. Known assassins. Here, in this house,’ he gestured angrily, ‘only last night! You should think it lucky he died as he did – thanks to you!’ His eyes bored into Nicholas.
    ‘Nevertheless he will be declared a traitor post mortem, his entire property forfeit to the Crown, and the name of the Shropshire Ingoldsbys utterly erased. How many servants have you in the household?’
    ‘Only one old retainer,’ said Nicholas.
    Crake moved with the snakelike swiftness of a small, lean man, and cut Nicholas across the face with his whip.
    ‘Liar! Do not think you can lie to me, boy! You have seven household servants, seven . I know their names, I know their ages and their occupations, their religious practices. Damn it, boy, I know when they last changed their underlinen!’
    Nicholas pressed his hand to the hot welt across his cheek. Tears pricked his eyes but he blinked them angrily away. His face burned, his heart ached, his whole world tilted.
    ‘I will deal with your servants. As for you and your sisters, you are now penniless orphans.’ Crake compressed his lips at the children’s cries. ‘Well, your dotard of a father should have thought of your fate before he entertained Knights of St John at his fireside, should he not? Your best course now is to quit this county, and throw yourselves upon your nearest relations, or else some charity or poorhouse. Either that or become mere hedgerow beggars, and join the great army of filthy vagabonds that infest this kingdom. It is no concern of mine.’
    ‘You cannot do this! You are a heartless villain, you will never sleep easy in your bed if I—’
    ‘Do not bring down the law upon your own head, boy!’ rasped Crake, his small eyes gleaming.
    ‘What care I?’
    ‘Nor the dainty heads of your pretty little sisters.’
    Nicholas scowled ferociously.
    ‘Ay,’ murmured Crake, ‘there’s the rub. You are head of the household now. But without a house, alas! So enough of your youthful fits of rage. You need to learn to