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impending departure, and to his considerable surprise Rob had insisted on leaving with him. There was little
chance of refusing him. The mere thought of trying to persuade Rob’s mother that it would be a good idea for her to keep him
with her at Dartmouth was enough to persuade Simon that he might as well accept the lad’s company. She was not a greatly maternal
woman, and as soon as she heard that her firstborn was leaving her she’d be out of her house and into the nearest tavern to
meet another man. She had only ever looked on Rob as an unwelcome nuisance at the best of times. He got in the way of her
search for a husband.
    Besides, having an additional servant was always a good idea. Simon had no idea how his household was faring just now. It
was always possible that one of the other servants had been taken ill or died. Yes, bringing Rob was almost certainly a good
idea.
    He had brought a skin of wine, some cheese and a loaf of bread for the journey. Others might look upon a ride of ten leagues
across the moors as dangerous at best, and more probably near suicidal, but Simon had covered these moors regularly in the
last eight or nine years, and he knew thedifferent parts better than he knew his garden at Lydford.
    They stopped in the lee of a hill and lunched together, drinking the wine and chewing lumps of cheese with the loaf, a harsh
brown one which proved to have more fragments of grit from the millwheel than actual grain, judging from the foul crunching. Several times Simon had to search out shards of moorstone and discard them. Still, it was enough to fill their bellies, and
once the horses were watered they set off once more, Rob muttering under his breath all the while.
    ‘Why did you ask to join me, if you are so bitter?’ Simon demanded at last, exasperated.
    ‘I didn’t know you were bringing me up here. Thought we’d be going on a real road, stopping off at a tavern for the night. Thought it would be a laugh.’
    ‘Now you know the truth,’ Simon said unkindly. ‘So shut up, or take yourself to the main road south of here and meet me in Tavistock tomorrow.’
    ‘I can’t go alone! I’ll get lost!’
    ‘Let me dream,’ Simon muttered.

Chapter Three
Exeter City
    MasterRichard de Langatre was a comfortably-off man. In his early thirties, he had the paunch of a man considerably older, and his
cheery smile won the attentive gazes of many mothers of unmarried daughters who saw in him a potential son-in-law. After all,
the man from Lincoln was fortunate enough to have a good business and a near-monopoly in Exeter.
    He was not the most handsome man in the world. The round features and fleshy jowls showed his financial position, but did
not add to his charm. However, the shock of mousy-coloured hair and his grey eyes offset the appearance of unbending probity
and financial expertise. The eyes were too prone to laughter, and the hair would never submit to a comb or brush, always ending
up unruly and discreditable no matter what the barber did to it. The first impression was that this man would be pleasant
company for an evening in the tavern.
    Today he had been shopping, a task which he viewed as essential not only to the efficacy of his mixtures, but also to his
reputation. There were some hideous concoctions he had made in the past which now he recalled with fondness. The more foul
the medicine, the more the patient valued it, hebelieved, and provided that he didn’t kill too many with his potions – and none had died as a direct result of taking his
medicines, so far as he knew – he should find his reputation improving and his purse growing heavier.
    This year, ah, this year had been a good one. First the consultation with the sheriff over the little matter with his woman,
then some woman who had been nervous about her husband’s learning of her infidelity – she had paid well for the correct answer!
– and finally the man who wanted to be abbot. He had been willing to pay well, thank the