[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak by Kate Sedley

aching limbs from bed, roused my companion, gathered our things together and went in search of the Abbey lavatorium. Here, we washed and scraped the stubble from our chins as best we could in the icy water before standing in line yet again for a bowl of thin gruel, a hunk of the previous day's bread and two oatcakes. Thanks to our cleanly habits, we were almost the last to arrive in the refectory, the only person later than ourselves being the well-dressed stranger.
    That he was well-dressed, I now had a chance to observe; a polite, quiet man with a long, thin face and a rather lugubrious expression, who gave the impression of being unable to say boo to a goose. But I knew from experience that such an appearance could be deceptive. I invited him to sit with us, wondering what his reaction might be, but he accepted with every indication of pleasure, I did my best to engage him in conversation, but found him unforthcoming. Apart from learning that he had spent the night in the seclusion of the Abbot's parlour, he told me little else.
    Sitting opposite us were the two friars, one of whom was having trouble tearing his hunk of bread into manageable pieces. Glancing up, he asked the stranger, who was sitting immediately facing him, if he could borrow his knife. 'For, as you know, my son, we are forbidden to carry them.'
    My new acquaintance fumbled at his belt, hesitated and looked flustered. 'I'm sorry. I seem to have mislaid it. I must inquire if it has been discovered before I leave.' Philip Underdown's head turned sharply at this. 'Lost your knife, have you? We found one, didn't we, Roger? Show it to the gentleman. It could be his.'
    I stooped down and untied the bundle at my feet, producing the knife, its blade wound round for protection with a scrap of woollen cloth torn from the square. 'As you see,' I said, pushing it towards the stranger, 'it's a good one. It has a silver handle.'
    He hesitated, and I could almost feel the itch in his palm as he restrained the impulse to claim it. But: 'No,' he said resolutely, shaking his head, 'that doesn't belong to me.
    Mine has a handle inlaid with enamel. You should place that in the keeping of one of the brothers. It's valuable.'  
    'So you can reclaim it later,' I thought to myself, satisfied that he was indeed the owner. I surreptitiously pressed Philip's foot with mine, and he returned the pressure with interest. 'We'll see it's properly bestowed before we leave.' I said aloud. 'Which reminds me, we should be on our way.' I swallowed the last of my ale and glanced pointedly at my companion's still full cup, then turned again to the other man. 'Are you travelling south? If so, would you care to join us? Three are always greater protection than two against misfortune.' I added mentally: 'And we can keep you under our eye.'
    'Er - thank you, no. I shall be riding north-west to Tavistock. I have business there. But God be with you both. Have a safe journey.'
    Philip had swilled down his ale in almost one gulp, and now rose to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 'We intend to,' he answered shortly, 'make no mistake about that.' He inclined his head towards the two friars, who raised their hands in blessing. 'I'm ready,' he said to me. 'Let's be going.'
    We made our way to the Abbot's stables, where we found our horses already fed and watered and only waiting to be saddled. When this was done, we led them into the courtyard and mounted, Philip springing up easily, myself hauling one leg painfully after the other, the injury of the past night adding itself to my other woes of stiffened thews and sinews.
    Philip watched impatiently, suddenly anxious to be gone and put as many miles as possible between us and the man we were both now convinced was his attacker. If we could reach Plymouth well ahead of time - for neither of us had any real doubt that he would follow us - we might be able to go to ground until tomorrow, when the Falcon should arrive in Sutton Pool to take