Gurney was there with his henchman Catchpole. Afterwards they went down to the hall, colder and not so welcoming as the night before. There they were joined by the others, including Ranulf and Maltote still heavy-eyed with sleep and glowering at their master. Alice was still abed but Selditch came down, chattering as merrily as the night before. Servants brought them ale, freshly baked bread and strips of meat heavily coated with malt. Corbett urged Ranulf and Maltote to break their fast quickly.

'I'll take you to the Hermitage,' Gurney offered.

Monck insisted on going with them, although Gurney argued that Catchpole's presence would provide sufficient protection.

The physician and the priest also wanted to go – 'Just in case,' Selditch said, glancing quickly at Gurney.

Corbett studied both men closely. They seemed friendly enough to him, but a little more guarded than on the previous evening and he wondered what they had to hide. Monck remained as taciturn as ever; he tapped his leather gloves against his thigh, impatient to move on. A groom announced that their horses were ready and they swung their cloaks about them and went out into the yard. The sun, surprisingly strong for November, was burning up the mist. Corbett looked back at the old manor with its dressed-stone ground floor and half-timbered upper storeys.

'How old is Mortlake?' he asked.

'It dates from before the Conqueror's time,' Gurney replied, 'but my great-grandfather pulled the Saxon house down and rebuilt it, using the best stone and finest oak.'

Corbett stared appreciatively. Mortlake Manor was a long, rectangular building well defended by a curtain wall within which was a small village of barns, stables and smithies.

'And the land?' he asked.

Gurney grinned. 'It extends as far as you can ride, but some of the soil is salt-soaked, though further inland it yields good crops. However, it's the sheep that make us rich. But come!'