The King's Return

‘We may be seen first,’ pointed out Thomas.

‘Indeed we may. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.’

They saw nothing until they came to a fork in the path. There Josiah spotted a crust of bread which had been tossed to the side of the path leading to their right. He picked it up and broke it in half. ‘Stale, but not mouldy. A day or two, I should think.’

‘Right. We’ll follow the man who didn’t want his breakfast.’ Charles was clearly relieved to have found a sign of life, even an old crust, and led them off at a brisk pace.

About four hundred yards further on, he dropped to his knees and signalled to them to do the same. ‘A cottage ahead,’ he whispered. ‘Keep down and I’ll take a look.’

They did as they were told while Charles crept forward. He was soon out of sight around a bend in the path and below the tops of the reeds. When he returned he was upright again. ‘Just a deserted hovel. No sign of life. Let’s go on.’

During the afternoon they came upon three more empty cottages, their owners out on the marshes, and saw a number of cottars with their sheep in the distance. Only once did anyone come close, when Josiah’s sharp ears picked up the sounds of approaching voices before their owners came into view. They dropped quickly into the reed bed and watched a party of travellers go past. It was impossible to tell who they were or where they had come from, but theirs were Kentish voices and they were probably harmless.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Josiah, as they emerged wet and muddy from the marsh.

Thomas made a feeble effort to brush mud off his trousers. ‘Better dry than dirty. Unless we’re going to spend the night out here, we’d better turn back now. We’ll stay at the inn and try again tomorrow.’

‘It grieves me, but I fear you’re right,’ agreed Charles. ‘We won’t find anything in the dark except watery graves.’

Still Josiah showed not a hint of fatigue and led them unerringly back to the town at a fast pace. So fast that by the time they reached the inn, even Charles, whose swords were weighing heavily, needed food and rest. Thomas simply wanted to wash the mud off himself and his clothes and to sit quietly with a bottle of something for company.

At the inn, Josiah went to make sure the horses had hay and water while Thomas and Charles enquired about beds. There was just one – large enough for two but not for three. Josiah would be on the floor. They agreed another outrageous price with the landlord – a sharp-faced little man with the look and charm of one who has spent much of his life in gaol – and ordered the best he could offer for their dinner. If Josiah was put out by the news that he would be sleeping on the floor, he did not show it. A night without sleep and twenty-five miles or more on foot had dented his good humour not a scrap.

While they waited for their dinner, the weaselly landlord eyed them suspiciously. Thomas doubted if he had ever had three men like them in his inn. His usual customers would be local drinkers and travellers on their way from Dover. They had come from London on two horses. One of them wore two swords and another was as broad as he was tall and carried a stout stick. They must seem an odd little group.

Before long, the man’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘And what might you gentlemen be doing in these parts?’

Josiah answered without hesitation, as if he had been expecting the question. ‘Important business. Important and private.’

‘Business, eh? And what sort of business would that be?’

‘Private, I said. Now go and attend to our dinner.’

‘And bring another bottle of this miserable stuff,’ said Charles, holding up an empty bottle.

When dinner eventually came, it looked filthy. Three plates of what might once have been parts of an underfed sheep, accompanied by a green mess of turnip and cabbage, all swimming in a brown liquid. It tasted as filthy as it looked and had to be forced down with liberal doses of thin claret.

‘Ye gods,’ said Charles, belching loudly, ‘that was as revolting as anything I’ve ever been served, even by you, Thomas.’

‘I didn’t know you was a cook, sir,’ said Josiah.

‘I am not, Josiah. Mr Carrington is being unkind.’

‘I see, sir. Don’t forget you’re sharing a bed with him tonight.’

‘Would you like to change places, Josiah? I could sleep on the floor.’

‘No thank you, sir. I’m used to floors.’

Their room was as mean as their dinner. The bed – no more than a dirty blanket and a thin straw mattress on a wooden pallet – Thomas and Charles shared with an army of biting insects. Had they not been too exhausted to care, they would have slept little. Josiah simply curled up under his coat on the floor and in no time was snoring peacefully.