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badly pock-marked face, but his hair was thick and curling, his shoulders broad, and he had a steadiness in his green eyes that spoke of a stable nature. He glanced now at Sir Gilbert. ‘The sea is clean compared with the land, sir. On land, everyone is owned by someone and tied like a dog. At sea, when the wind blows we’re all equals. The man is a king who can save the cog, and if there’s discipline, there’s freedom too; on land a man has to behave as he’s told.’
    Sir Gilbert nodded and left the matter there, but he was aware of something else. William was a fighter; it was obvious in the way he had handled his staff. There was good money to be earned by a fighter on a ship – especially one like Hugh Despenser’s which was about to turn pirate and steal whatever it could. A sailor would be unwilling to jump back to land just to help protect his master’s cash from felons. He would want to be at sea with his boat where he could help win prizes and make his fortune.
    Perhaps William was with him less to guard Sir Gilbert, more to protect his mission and Hugh Despenser’s money.
    Unless William was a thief and simply sought an opportunity to take the lot for himself, of course.
    While they continued on their way, Matilda Carter was sitting in Tiverton with her eyes closed, the tears running down her cheeks. This part of her garden had always been a delight to her. It was peaceful here at the back of their burgage plot with the stream running along the lawn’s edge; the noise and bustle of the townspeople seemed a thousand miles away. Here the turfed seats stayed cool in the hottest weather and the scent of the little dog roses wafted to her on each small breeze. It was her sanctuary; she came here when she had need of silence and reflection, but now she would never know peace again because that man was safe in the sanctuary of her church.
    It was obscene! Andrew, Matilda’s husband, had railed against Joan for being no better than a whore when she eventually returned from her first meeting with the lad, but Joan had appeared unimpressed with his rage. She was handfast, she said; she would marry Philip Dyne. But before she could, her lover had throttled her.
    How a man could murder a sweet, innocent child like Joan, Matilda didn’t know. Her daughter was never spiteful or unkind. If anything, she was a little too quiet. And for her murderer to be granted safety in church was mad. There were rumours that he would be allowed to escape justice completely. While Joan lay in her grave, he might be allowed to run away.
    Hearing steps on the gravelled pathway, she hurriedly wiped at her eyes, composing herself.
    It was her maid, Clarice. ‘Mistress? Can I fetch you a cup of wine?’
    ‘No. I am all right, Clarice. Quite all right.’ Matilda sniffed, then she burst out: ‘I just miss her! I feel so alone without her. You know my husband only values me for my money and the ties I have with my brother.’
    ‘Oh, no!’
    ‘It’s true. What’s the point of denying it? He only comes to me in our bed when he is desperate and there are no whores to tempt him. And to keep him happy, I allowed him to shut poor Joan away.’
    ‘I’m sure Joan was happy, Mistress.’
    Clarice’s words went ignored.
    ‘And she was so pretty. So pretty. As she grew older she became more so, but I missed her growing. I should have been there to watch her, to guide her; I should have been there for her to describe the first man she was attracted to, to help her dress and learn how to comport herself. I should have been there.’
    ‘You were there when she needed you.’
    ‘How can you say that?’ Matilda flashed. ‘She needed me when she met that bastard Dyne! She needed me to tell her that the man was evil – that he would kill her!’
    ‘You couldn’t predict that,’ Clarice pointed out reasonably.
    ‘How do I know?’ Matilda wailed miserably. ‘How can I tell? But at least I would have been there for her, instead of ignoring