"The mayor can't afford it. And there ain't no chance o' gettin' yerself lands like maybe ye would if'n ye set yer sights on ol' Talbot's snippet." His red-rimmed eyes took in the costly attire of the other. " 'Course, maybe ye'd not have a need for another's wealth. But even if ye could afford it, ain't no lands what's ter be 'ad around 'ere." He paused and raised a crooked finger to correct himself. " 'Ceptin' maybe 'at ol' place what burned a few years back. Saxton Hall it be, gov'na, but it be partly rubble now, not a fittin' port in any storm."
"Why is that?"
"All 'em Saxtons were murdered or run off. Some blame the Scots, some say not. More'n a score years back the ol' lord was dragged out in the middle o' night and run through with a claymore. His wife and boys managed ter escape, and nothin' was ever heard from any of 'em till... oh... long 'bout three... four years back one o' the sons come back ter claim it all. Oh, he were a proud-lookin' one, he were. Tall like yerself, with eyes what'd fix a body through when he blew hot an' mad. Then, when he barely had his feet firm on the sod o' the place, the manor caught fire, and he burned ter death. Some say 'twas the Scots again." Ben slowly shook his shabby head. "Some say not."
Christopher's curiosity was piqued. "Are you saying you think it wasn't the Scots?"
Ben's head wagged from side to side. "There be 'ems what know, gov'na, and 'ems what don't. 'Tain't safe ter be ones what do."
"But you do," Christopher pressed. "Anyone with your quick mind has got to know."
Ben leered at his companion. "Aye, ye're a sharp one there, gov'na. I gots me wits 'bout me, 'tis true, an' in better times ol' Ben has ridden wid the wildest of 'em. Most folk think ol' Ben is a witless, half-blind ol' rummy. But I tells ye, gov'na, ol' Ben, he 'as a fine eye an' ear fer seein' and hearin' what goes on." He bent closer and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I can tell ye tales 'bout some folks what'll stiffen the hairs on yer head. Why, they'd laugh ter see a man burn, they would." He shook his head as if suddenly troubled. "I'd best not ter talk of it. 'Tain't healthy."
Christopher beckoned to Molly and threw out another coin when she brought a replacement for Ben's empty tankard. She was all warmth and smiles for him, but when she glanced at the old tar, her lip curled sneeringly, and with a toss of her head, she pranced off to serve the men who sat near the hearth.
Ben drank deeply from the new mug, then leaned back in his seat. "Ye're a true friend, gov'na. I'd swear by me mother's grave ye are."
A robust fellow, with a fiery red mop of straggly hair tied in a queue beneath a tricorn, came through the door, stomping the mud from his boots and brushing the raindrops off his coat. Close behind him, almost trotting on his heels, was a fellow of seemingly like comportment, whose left ear appeared to twitch of its own will.
Ben hunched his shoulders as if he desired to escape being noticed by the newcomers and anxiously gulped down the remainder of his drink before he sidled out of his chair. "I gots ter be goin' now, gov'na."
The newcomers crossed the room to the bar as Ben slipped through the doorway and scurried down the street with ragged coattails flying, briefly glancing over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.
"Timmy Sears!" the innkeeper hailed and chortled, " 'tis been such a while since I seen ye, I was wonderin' if the earth had opened and swallowed ye up."
"It did, Jamie!" the red-haired man roared back. "But the divil spewed me out again!"
"Ah, ye're a red-haired demon yerself, Timmy me boy."
The barkeep snatched up a couple of mugs and filled them from the spigot of the ale barrel. He set the mugs upon the slick surface of the bar and with a practiced hand sent one sliding down toward the pair. The seedy, dark-haired man with the restless ear intercepted it and, gleefully licking his lips, brought it toward them, almost making contact
"Why is that?"
"All 'em Saxtons were murdered or run off. Some blame the Scots, some say not. More'n a score years back the ol' lord was dragged out in the middle o' night and run through with a claymore. His wife and boys managed ter escape, and nothin' was ever heard from any of 'em till... oh... long 'bout three... four years back one o' the sons come back ter claim it all. Oh, he were a proud-lookin' one, he were. Tall like yerself, with eyes what'd fix a body through when he blew hot an' mad. Then, when he barely had his feet firm on the sod o' the place, the manor caught fire, and he burned ter death. Some say 'twas the Scots again." Ben slowly shook his shabby head. "Some say not."
Christopher's curiosity was piqued. "Are you saying you think it wasn't the Scots?"
Ben's head wagged from side to side. "There be 'ems what know, gov'na, and 'ems what don't. 'Tain't safe ter be ones what do."
"But you do," Christopher pressed. "Anyone with your quick mind has got to know."
Ben leered at his companion. "Aye, ye're a sharp one there, gov'na. I gots me wits 'bout me, 'tis true, an' in better times ol' Ben has ridden wid the wildest of 'em. Most folk think ol' Ben is a witless, half-blind ol' rummy. But I tells ye, gov'na, ol' Ben, he 'as a fine eye an' ear fer seein' and hearin' what goes on." He bent closer and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "I can tell ye tales 'bout some folks what'll stiffen the hairs on yer head. Why, they'd laugh ter see a man burn, they would." He shook his head as if suddenly troubled. "I'd best not ter talk of it. 'Tain't healthy."
Christopher beckoned to Molly and threw out another coin when she brought a replacement for Ben's empty tankard. She was all warmth and smiles for him, but when she glanced at the old tar, her lip curled sneeringly, and with a toss of her head, she pranced off to serve the men who sat near the hearth.
Ben drank deeply from the new mug, then leaned back in his seat. "Ye're a true friend, gov'na. I'd swear by me mother's grave ye are."
A robust fellow, with a fiery red mop of straggly hair tied in a queue beneath a tricorn, came through the door, stomping the mud from his boots and brushing the raindrops off his coat. Close behind him, almost trotting on his heels, was a fellow of seemingly like comportment, whose left ear appeared to twitch of its own will.
Ben hunched his shoulders as if he desired to escape being noticed by the newcomers and anxiously gulped down the remainder of his drink before he sidled out of his chair. "I gots ter be goin' now, gov'na."
The newcomers crossed the room to the bar as Ben slipped through the doorway and scurried down the street with ragged coattails flying, briefly glancing over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.
"Timmy Sears!" the innkeeper hailed and chortled, " 'tis been such a while since I seen ye, I was wonderin' if the earth had opened and swallowed ye up."
"It did, Jamie!" the red-haired man roared back. "But the divil spewed me out again!"
"Ah, ye're a red-haired demon yerself, Timmy me boy."
The barkeep snatched up a couple of mugs and filled them from the spigot of the ale barrel. He set the mugs upon the slick surface of the bar and with a practiced hand sent one sliding down toward the pair. The seedy, dark-haired man with the restless ear intercepted it and, gleefully licking his lips, brought it toward them, almost making contact
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