‘So we are near the Sussex border?’ I asked.
‘Yes. The ironworks here in the west are fewer and more old-fashioned, but there is still plenty of work for them.’ He turned and looked at me, the light blue eyes in his tanned face anxious. ‘Do you not think my idea a good one, sir?’
‘I hear the foundries are dangerous places to work.’
‘Less dangerous than soldiering,’ Llewellyn answered with feeling.
TOWARDS SIX the company halted outside the little town of Liphook, where a local man waited beside our allotted meadow. The soldiers marched in and began unloading the tents under Snodin’s supervision. The clouds above were still heavy and thick, the air cool, but it was not yet raining. Leacon told us he was sleeping with the company again, but advised us to find an inn; the man whose field it was had assured him there would be heavy rain before the evening was out. Leacon’s manner towards me still had that new remoteness, which saddened me.
‘You don’t let the men into the towns?’ I asked him.
‘No. Strict orders. They’d just get drunk and there is always someone who will cause trouble.’
‘What of Sir Franklin?’
‘He’ll stay with the men. He believes it’s a captain’s place, though sleeping in a tent gives him gout. Now I should go and supervise things; I will come into town with the purser later, and try to get some decent food for the men. Meet us in the town square tomorrow morning at seven. Leave your horses in camp if you like,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring them.’
‘Seven. A late start, then.’
‘I have promised the men a shave before we leave tomorrow morning. One of the recruits is a barber.’
‘I could do with one too.’
‘For archers it is a point of pride. Long hair and a beard may get in the way if you are drawing arrows at the rate of half a dozen a minute.’
‘Perhaps we might meet in Liphook later, for a drink?’
‘No, I had best return with the supplies. Goodnight.’ He walked away.
LIPHOOK WAS small, a village rather than a town, and there were only two inns. As at Cobham, there were carts everywhere. There was only one room at the better inn, which I let Dyrick and Feaveryear take. A small bribe secured Barak and I a little room at the other. Barak flopped down on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust from his clothes.
‘I wonder if Dyrick will let Feaveryear crouch praying in their room. Dear God, I hope Master Hobbey doesn’t make me share with him.’
‘Maybe he will convert you to his saintly ways.’
‘Let’s hope we find Hugh Curteys happy as a pig in muck.’
‘Amen to that.’ I stretched my legs. ‘God’s death, I swear I heard the bones creak.’ I hesitated, then said, ‘I think I will go for a walk, stretch my legs. And see if I can find a barber.’
Barak looked up in surprise. ‘Are you not going to rest?’
‘I will be back later.’ I went out quickly, uncomfortable that I had not told the truth. I had decided Liphook was a good place to begin my enquiries about Ellen. Having sworn not to involve Barak, I had not mentioned her name since we left London. Nor had he, though I knew he would not have forgotten my intention to investigate her past.
I DECIDED to ask first at the larger inn. I paused, though, at a barber’s shop in a side street and had a shave. Dyrick, had mentioned earlier that he would look for a barber in Liphook and I found myself hoping he would not find it; let him turn up at Hoyland Priory looking unkempt. I shook my head: his endless competitiveness was infecting me.
The inn parlour was busy and I had to elbow my way to the serving hatch, where a plump, weary-looking man stood handing out mugs of beer. I waited my turn, ordered a beer, then laid a groat on the bar and leaned forward. ‘I am looking for information about a place over the Sussex border,’ I said quietly. ‘Rolfswood.’
He looked at me curiously. ‘I come from near there.’
‘How far is it?’
‘You need to get off the Portsmouth road south of Horndean, then take the road east about five miles.’
‘Is it a big place?’
‘No. A little market town.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘What d’ye want at Rolfswood? Not much there since the ironworks went.’
‘They work iron there?’
‘Used to. There’s a small seam to the north. There was a little bloomery furnace in Rolfswood, but since it burned down the ore gets taken east.’
‘Burned down?’ I remembered Ellen’s face, her words: He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire!
‘When I was a young man the owner and his assistant were killed. It must be twenty years ago.’
‘An accident while they were – what is it – casting?’
The potman took the groat, then leaned over the bar. ‘No. It was during the summer, the old bloomery foundries only operate in the winter. What’s your interest, sir?’
‘Can you remember the names of the people who were killed?’