Chapter 9 – The Traveller

AN: Story Map on Photobucket … lol, I needed this just to stop myself getting confused! (Delete blank spaces and replace 'dot' with . and * with / )

1055 dot photobucket dot com * albums * s505 * Academia-Ideas * Castle * Forged%20in%20Heat%202_2 dot jpg


As the sun began to sink behind the distant mountains to the west and the evening gloom settled in around them, Richard calculated they must have travelled nearly thirty miles. Soon they would need to find somewhere to settle down for the night; an inn, a farmhouse or out in the open if the worst came to the worst. His trips to the capital had taken him further north and this area was relatively unknown to him.

There was also the small matter of the traveller who had kept his distance throughout the day. It might mean nothing, perhaps he just liked to travel alone, but it would have been much more natural for him to have caught up with them and offered to accompany them until their ways parted; there was always safety in numbers when travelling.

He glanced back over his shoulder and found he couldn't make out the rider, either he'd stopped for the night and was no longer behind them or the gloom was making it difficult to distinguish horse and rider from the surrounding trees. If that was the case then they too would be indistinguishable to the rider ….

Telling Innogen to follow him, he turned his mount off to the left, threading their way between the trunks and branches until the road was almost hidden from view. They dismounted and he told her to keep her horse quiet, pulling the packhorse up and rubbing both its and Santhall's noses and whispering quietly to them. The last thing he wanted was for one of their mounts to neigh or snort and draw attention to them.

It was perhaps ten minutes before they heard the approaching hooves. The rider was moving at a quick trot, possibly trying to make up ground in the encroaching darkness. He felt the packhorse's nostrils fluttering and blew gently into them, quieting any intention it might have had of making their presence known. The hoof falls continued on their way and faded into the distance. He let another ten minutes pass before leading the horses back out onto the road and mounting, all the while ignoring the questioning looks from his cousin.

About twenty minutes later some lights appeared ahead and he slowed them to a walk as they approached. They pulled up near a tree and he looked over the scene before him. It was a small hamlet of some half a dozen buildings, four of them looking like workers' cottages with the warm yellow glow of oil lamps shining through the small windows and casting fan shaped patches of light over the ground outside. The fifth was obviously a stable, the wide barn doors open in the cool evening, a number of lamps hanging from the overhead beams offering a clear view of the stalls inside, the bales of hay stacked in the back and an old ostler carrying a bucket of water into one of the stalls.

Next to it stood a single story inn, a lamp and iron sign above the door. Nudging his horse forward, Richard led the way into the stable and slid off his mount, telling Innogen to remain mounted. The ostler had turned and was looking at them from the stall as he held the bucket for the horse to drink from. There were about twenty stalls all together, but only five held horses.

Richard stepped up to the stall and gave the old boy his best smile, offering a good evening and running his hand over the horse's rump and back. There was sweaty dampness to the area that would have born the saddle, the liver chestnut lifted its head from the bucket and turned to look at him curiously as water dripped from its muzzle, before turning back to the bucket, ears twitching. Richard ran his eyes over the horse, noting the white sock on the off-fore, the downward swirling whorl on the rump and the small patch of white just above the left hock. He would know the horse in future, should he come across it.

The ostler finished watering the horse and they both stepped out of the stalls. Richard indicated that Innogen should dismount and they led the horses to the rear of the stables, the ostler's initial reluctance overcome by a couple of pennies from Richard's purse. They unsaddled the horses, brushed them down and added a couple of handfuls of oats from one of the saddle bags to the feed. The ostler carried the saddles into the tack room and brought back three buckets of water which he set down outside the stalls before seeing to the packhorse. They talked about the weather, the state of the roads up ahead and about the local news as they checked the hooves and cleaned them out, brushed out manes and tails and then closed the stall doors behind them. With the working relationship established, Richard turned to the ostler and asked about the rider of the chestnut, explaining that he was escorting his rich cousin to the capital and was suspicious of the rider who had given them a long, considering look as he'd ridden past them in the gloom.

Whether the ostler believed him or not, he gave them a description of the rider and added the information that if his cousin wished discretion, she could always enter the inn through the kitchen and so avoid having to do so through the front room. Richard thanked him, slipped another penny into his hand … while silently offering thanks to his Uncle's insistence on the provisions of funds … and picking up his cousin's bags, followed them out through the back of the stables and round to the kitchen door.

The smell of food made his stomach grumble and the cook threw him an amused look as the innkeeper, advised of the arrival of a wealthy patron in his humble abode, ushered them through into one of the private parlours at the back of the inn. Richard arranged for a private room for his cousin and kicked her shin when she began to indignantly claim that if she was to have a private bedroom then he should too. He agreed to have dinner with her in the parlour, but then added that he would spend the night in the main room. The innkeeper backed out with a bow, adding that food would soon be served and closed the door behind him.

Innogen was on the point of heatedly demanding to be told what he was up to when he put his finger to his lip and pointed to the bottom of the closed door. She turned to look and raised eyebrows in surprise as she noted the shadow blocking part of the light from the passageway outside.

Richard began to talk of their plans for the next day, and if his voice was a little loud, he didn't seem to notice. They would head southwest in the morning until they reached the River, he wasn't sure if they would do so by evening or not, perhaps they would need to find another inn. Then they would look for a ferry or ford crossing and continue to …. he paused when the shadow moved away and then turned to Innogen.

"Look, I could be building molehills out of nothing, but I need to keep an eye on those in the front room, being hidden away in a private room won't help at all."

"You think the rider was following us?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, maybe he doesn't like company, maybe he just prefers to travel alone, but he kept his distance all day and we aren't exactly a threatening couple. We'll leave early In the morning, before anyone else is up, I want to put distance between us and any possible followers, so when we've eaten, go to bed and get a good night's sleep, we'll need to be on our way at sunup."

After that they talked about mundane things, the knock on the door interrupting them and then the innkeeper entered followed by a maid. They enjoyed a first course of miniature pastries filled with beef marrow, a cameline meat brewet, the pieces of meat served in a delicious, thin cinnamon sauce and loach in a cold green sauce flavoured with spices and sage. The dishes were cleared away and the second course of freshwater fish, a meat tile with pieces of chicken, simmered, sautéed and served in a spiced sauce was laid before them. The third course was made up of frumenty, fritters and sturgeon.

With his stomach now satisfactorily filled, Richard told Innogen to lock the door to her room behind him and headed out the kitchen door, round the back of the inn and entered through the front door. The layout was very similar to Morgan's Inn back in the valley, only the stairs to the upper floor missing and in its stead a doorway in the back wall leading to the private parlours and rooms and through to the kitchen at the back.

There was a group of four men standing at the wooden-planked counter to the right, an earthenware pitcher before them and four drinking jugs close to their elbows. They were throwing dice and barely spared him a glance as the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. They gave all the appearance of locals, possibly from the cottages around. Four men sat at the table near the door, their clothes and swarthy features identifying them as traders, possibly from the south. There were bags on the floor beneath their feet and the dinner plates were being wiped clean with the last of the bread.

At the far end of the room, close to the door leading to the back of the inn, a man sat alone. He wore a leather jerkin not unlike Richard's, currently unbuckled and showing a pale blue gambeson below. Thick black hair was brushed back leaving a widow's peak in the centre of his forehead above thick eyebrows which protruded over deep-set eyes. It was as much as he could take in in an apparently cursory glance around the room, before turning to the counter and leaning his elbows on the top. As in Morgan's Inn and most inns around the country, the back wall was hung with local produce, tools and artisan works. The inns were often the sampling rooms where traders could find and inspect local products and the local population could obtain essential items without having to travel great distances.

On the wall before him hung a number of copper pots and pans, their sheen reflecting the slightly distorted glow from overhead lamps. They also reflected the room behind him, not smoothly, like a mirror, but sufficient for him to note the interested stare from the man at the back of the room.

He ordered a beer from the young lad behind the counter and carried it, along with his blanket and saddlebags over to a vacant table. Something in him desperately wanted to go and sit at the table across from their shy travel companion, to force the issue out into the open, but he was aware of the fact that this could have little to do with him, that perhaps it was Innogen who was the person of interest in this and it was his job to keep her safe. So he curbed his natural inclination and sat down with his back to the wall, looking across the room at the counter and the four locals who seemed to have finished their game of dice and were emptying the last dregs of their beer. The four traders sat at the table next to his, quietly discussing matters in a thick accent he could barely understand, just an occasional word suggesting they had something to do with the decorative floor carpets and wall hangings to be found in some of the better city houses.

He turned his head slowly, found the other occupant staring at him from under his thick brows and gave a polite nod of acknowledgement. The man quickly looked down and Richard hid a grin. He would hopefully have given the impression of unconcerned casualness. The two pennies and a promise of a further two for a quiet, early departure would hopefully keep the ostler silent aboutf his interest in the man across the room. The whereabouts of his cousin would depend on the innkeeper's discretion or loyalties and he held little expectation in either matter … his eavesdropping at the parlour door might be simple curiosity … or something more sinister.

Widow's Peak across the room might have already guessed his cousin's whereabouts or might well have been informed by the innkeeper or one of the maids, he had no way of knowing. If not, he was bound to be curious about his travel companion's location …. unless of course he was nothing more than a solitary traveller who preferred his own company to those of others.

The four locals left and those remaining settled down for the night. Richard chose the floor between his table and that of the four traders with whom he'd exchanged polite nods and good nights, the four of them occupying the floor the other side of their table and under the open window through which a cool breeze occasionally wafted.

He shifted onto his side, tucking the saddlebags under his head and allowing his eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom and semi-darkness around them. The one remaining oil lamp hanging near the front door had been turned right down, offering just a faint glow to any of the occupants who might need to make use of the latrine outside. Slowly, he was able to make out the shape of the figure occupying the bench at the far end of the room; the blanked draped over him though the warm temperature hardly called for it. He closed his eyes, let his hand settle on the hilt of the knife and tuned his ears to the back of the room.

He woke several times during the night, some shift in one of the occupant's position, a change in the tone or volume of the snores. Each time his eyes checked the far end of room before dropping closed once more. The fourth time he awoke, he rubbed sleep from his eyes and squinted across the room. The figure continued to lie atop the bench, though he was now on his back, the blanket having slipped onto the floor, only the end entangled around his feet draping itself upwards in the gloom. As quietly as he could he turned his head to look out the window at the front. He could make out the pale oblong of sky outside, the sun was not yet up, but the first tell-tale signs of dawn were there. He climbed quietly to his feet, gathered his belongings together and remembering the creaking floorboards from the night before, made his way silently to the half-open door of the inn. He stepped outside, bare feet feeling the cool of the earth beneath them. He moved to the window, keeping low and gave a slow count to ten before slowly straightening and peering over the sill. All five occupants of the room appeared to be unaware or uninterested in his departure. No one had moved. Satisfied he ducked back down and made his way to the stable. He used the water pump to fill a bucket and washed himself down, the horses in the stalls turning their heads and staring curiously at him.

Whether the ostler was a light sleeper or was aware of his desire for an early departure he didn't know, but he appeared from the back of the stables rubbing sleep from his eyes and scratching himself. He nodded to Richard and disappeared into the tack room, returning moments later with the first of their saddles and bridles.

Richard nodded to him in appreciation and pulling on his gambeson over his still damp skin, made his way out the back and round to the kitchen door. There was already a light on inside and his knock on the door brought a sleepy-eyed maid to open it. If she was surprised to see him it didn't show, perhaps she was not yet awake enough for the oddity to have registered, or the use of the kitchen door by guests was not such an uncommon procedure.

He asked her to quietly wake his cousin and to ask her to come through the kitchen to the stables as soon as she was ready. Another penny dropped into a willing palm brought a bit of life into the eyes and briskness into her movement as she turned and headed for the passageway beyond.

He returned to the stables and helped the ostler saddle and pack the horses, adding another handful of oats to their feed and making sure they had sufficient water to drink. They led the horses out through the back and tied them up to a hitching post even as the first tinge of pink touched the sky to the east. His cousin emerged looking a little bedraggled and not a little annoyed at the early start, but she said nothing as they strapped her overnight bags to the packhorse. The maid emerged from the kitchen once more and shyly handed him a muslin bag. He opened it and smelt the heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread and saw some slices of smoked ham. He smiled and nodded his thanks and she turned back and disappeared through the kitchen doorway. Checking that Innogen was ready he told her that they should walk their horses until far enough away from the inn.

With a nod, she took hold of her horse's bridle and led the way across the back yard and into the trees beyond. They circled round, keeping the small hamlet on their left until the first, early morning sounds and the smell of wood fire in the quiet air faded away behind them. They stepped out from amongst the trees onto the road almost a mile to the northwest of the hamlet and climbed up into their saddles. Stopping Innogen, he delved into the muslin bag, pulled out the bread and tore a good piece off it, Santhall stomping impatiently beneath him. He wrapped the bread round a thick slice of the smoked ham and handed it to Innogen before preparing a similar piece for himself. Tying the bag onto the horn, he nudged his knee into Santhall's side and they moved off along the quiet road, the first birdcalls breaking the silence around them as they bit into their breakfast.

They covered more ground that day, the early start and the overnight rest, however fitful, allowing them to make up for the late start the day before. The landscape around them slowly changed from flat fields to rolling hills, the grain crops giving way to vineyards and orchards, the neatly planted trees marching in serried ranks up and down the gentle slopes. Beyond these rolling hills, Richard told Innogen, they would emerge onto the Feinian Plains, miles and miles of grasslands and farms which would eventually come to a momentary stop at the banks of the Afon Aran … only to continue on the other side once again.

They met several travellers along the way, some heading southwards, back the way they had come, others turning off to head down one of the dusty tracks which led to farmsteads sheltering within the rolling countryside and glimpsed only occasionally as they climbed a rise or dropped down into the next shallow valley.

At midday they stopped beneath a large cedar near the top of a rise. They tethered the horses near patch of succulent grass a little further down the slope and settled down with their backs to the crinkly bark of the trunk. They drank deeply from the water skin and finished the rest of the bread and ham from breakfast, stretching their legs out and enjoying the cool breeze which brushed across the hilltop.

"Any sign of our companion?"

Richard turned his head sharply to look at his cousin, thought about denying it and then shrugged in resignation. He obviously hadn't been as discreet as he'd thought checking back whenever they topped a rise, but at least he could ease her mind a little. "Nothing so far; a couple of riders, some carts … they're obviously local as they never showed for more than a few miles. No, I think our friend is either southbound, fruitlessly searching for us or still well behind … of course, he may not even be interested in us anyway!"

"But you don't think so?"

It may have been posed as a question, but the look on her face told him he'd best be honest with her. "I honestly don't know. As I said, he could just be someone who prefers to travel alone and happened to be heading in the same direction as us …. or not. Whichever it is, there's nothing much we can do about it right now, we'll have to wait and see if he turns up again somewhere along our trail."