stopped at the one before it, keeping my face hidden from the former Sheriff and pretending to examine some rather fine gold-chased spurs. William had been following me at a discreet distance. I was about twenty feet from Murdac and half-facing away from him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see William, coming towards me stealthily. He was a natural, moving like a predator, stopping now on this side of the street, now on the other, browsing, never touching the bright metal that was laid out on public display, never drawing attention to himself. But anyone watching him, if they cared to notice his movements, would think he was stalking me, like a house cat sidling up to an unsuspecting starling. Then he was next to me, on my right hand side, between Murdac and myself.
He didn’t look at me, the obedient boy, just tapped his finger against my thigh. I whispered: ‘Now!’ and then immediately shouted ‘Hoy! Stop thief!’ and quick as a cornered rat William darted away from me directly towards Ralph Murdac. I shouted: ‘My purse!’ and pelted after him. We were only twenty feet from Murdac and, in two heartbeats, William had charged straight into the little black-clad knight, butting him hard in the belly, just below the ribcage with his head as he ploughed forward. I was right on his heels bellowing: ‘Thief! Thief!’ As William’s brown head smashed into Murdac’s midriff, I was less than a yard behind him. All the breath came out of the evil little bastard in a short, agonised ‘whoomf!’ His body doubled over, and, as William bounced back and dodged away around Murdac’s bent-over form, I pointed and shouted at William to stop. While the world watched William take to his toes, I pretended to steady Sir Ralph Murdac with an arm round his shoulders and neatly whipped the gold chain and ruby over his lowered neck, and thrust the jewel into a sleeve of my tunic. Then I was past the winded knight, and the gaping, flat-footed men-at-arms and with a great cry of ‘Forgive me, sir, I must catch him!’ I was away and around the corner hot on William’s heels.
William was quick, I have to give him that - quicker than me, and I believed that I was as fit as I have ever been. In ten heartbeats we were a hundred paces away and at a crossroads where three roads converged. I had stopped shouting by this time - I hadn’t the breath - but also I wanted no one to intercept William. At the crossroads, William came to an abrupt halt, and ducked into the porch of a church. I followed him in, swiftly handed him the ruby, and walked away to the centre of the crossroads. The mid-afternoon crowds were fairly thick and the streets were crammed with ox-carts, horsemen, pedlars with big packs, housewives with their baskets and even a drover herding a great passel of sheep. William blended into the throng and began to walk swiftly but without appearing to hurry down the street to the left.
I looked behind me: the two men-at-arms were approaching at speed, and I pointed up the right-hand street and shouted: ‘There he is! Stop him, somebody!’ indicating an imaginary William some distance ahead. Then I ran. I bolted up the wrong street, shouting and halloo-ing and causing a quite a stir. People stopped and left their businesses and began to run with me. By sheer luck, for this was no part of the plan, I saw a boy about William’s age walking up the street ahead. I shouted: ‘That’s him, that’s the thief,’ and urged my fellow pursuers to lay hands on him as I lent against a wall and pretended to catch my breath. The unfortunate lad saw a crowd of enraged townsmen racing towards him shouting ‘Thief!’ and took off like a frightened rabbit. Once the pack had passed me, I was down the first alley I saw; the distinctive blue cloak, eye bandage and hat buried in a mound of wet straw, and I was doing my best to scrub off the fake stubble with a spit-wetted palm as I walked south to rejoin William at Albert’s
He didn’t look at me, the obedient boy, just tapped his finger against my thigh. I whispered: ‘Now!’ and then immediately shouted ‘Hoy! Stop thief!’ and quick as a cornered rat William darted away from me directly towards Ralph Murdac. I shouted: ‘My purse!’ and pelted after him. We were only twenty feet from Murdac and, in two heartbeats, William had charged straight into the little black-clad knight, butting him hard in the belly, just below the ribcage with his head as he ploughed forward. I was right on his heels bellowing: ‘Thief! Thief!’ As William’s brown head smashed into Murdac’s midriff, I was less than a yard behind him. All the breath came out of the evil little bastard in a short, agonised ‘whoomf!’ His body doubled over, and, as William bounced back and dodged away around Murdac’s bent-over form, I pointed and shouted at William to stop. While the world watched William take to his toes, I pretended to steady Sir Ralph Murdac with an arm round his shoulders and neatly whipped the gold chain and ruby over his lowered neck, and thrust the jewel into a sleeve of my tunic. Then I was past the winded knight, and the gaping, flat-footed men-at-arms and with a great cry of ‘Forgive me, sir, I must catch him!’ I was away and around the corner hot on William’s heels.
William was quick, I have to give him that - quicker than me, and I believed that I was as fit as I have ever been. In ten heartbeats we were a hundred paces away and at a crossroads where three roads converged. I had stopped shouting by this time - I hadn’t the breath - but also I wanted no one to intercept William. At the crossroads, William came to an abrupt halt, and ducked into the porch of a church. I followed him in, swiftly handed him the ruby, and walked away to the centre of the crossroads. The mid-afternoon crowds were fairly thick and the streets were crammed with ox-carts, horsemen, pedlars with big packs, housewives with their baskets and even a drover herding a great passel of sheep. William blended into the throng and began to walk swiftly but without appearing to hurry down the street to the left.
I looked behind me: the two men-at-arms were approaching at speed, and I pointed up the right-hand street and shouted: ‘There he is! Stop him, somebody!’ indicating an imaginary William some distance ahead. Then I ran. I bolted up the wrong street, shouting and halloo-ing and causing a quite a stir. People stopped and left their businesses and began to run with me. By sheer luck, for this was no part of the plan, I saw a boy about William’s age walking up the street ahead. I shouted: ‘That’s him, that’s the thief,’ and urged my fellow pursuers to lay hands on him as I lent against a wall and pretended to catch my breath. The unfortunate lad saw a crowd of enraged townsmen racing towards him shouting ‘Thief!’ and took off like a frightened rabbit. Once the pack had passed me, I was down the first alley I saw; the distinctive blue cloak, eye bandage and hat buried in a mound of wet straw, and I was doing my best to scrub off the fake stubble with a spit-wetted palm as I walked south to rejoin William at Albert’s
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