Father Augustine accepted an invitation to stay the night. Alice withdrew with the thanks and plaudits of her guests ringing in her ears. Gurney escorted Dame Cecily out. The rest pushed back their chairs, accepting the servants' offer to refill their cups. Corbett whispered to Ranulf that he should take the now sleeping Maltote up to their chamber. Once they'd gone, Monck grinned sourly at Corbett.

'A penny for your thoughts, Sir Hugh. Or shall I tell them for you, eh?'

Corbett glanced across the table at Father Augustine, then at Selditch, who sat in his chair cradling his cup like some fat, cheerful goblin.

'Tell me,' Corbett murmured.

'A pretty mess.' Monck replied.

'Why was your servant killed?' he asked directly.

'I don't know,' Monck replied. 'But I blame the Pastoureaux. Cerdic was not the most talkative of men but he was eager as a ferret in searching out gossip. One thing I have established is that he visited the good sisters at the convent. Dame Cecily says that it was only a courtesy call and that Cerdic left just before dusk. Where he went then, or how his decapitated corpse came to be on the beach, I simply don't know.'

'What happened to his horse?' Corbett asked.

'God knows! We never found it. But Father Augustine is right. This countryside is a nest of thieves, smugglers, horse-copers and tricksters. Perhaps we should recommend to the king that he send his justices in Eyre to turn over a few stones and squash whatever crawls out.'

'Is that really necessary?' Selditch snapped. 'Sir Simon is a loyal subject of the Crown. He maintains the king's peace on his lands, but he cannot be held responsible for every one of his tenants or, indeed, for the Pastoureaux.'

'He allowed them to settle here,' Monck jibed.

'And they have done no wrong,' Selditch replied flatly.