Free A Famine of Horses by P. F. Chisholm

two thousand pounds.”
    Dodd said nothing. Did the bastard Courtier expect him to be impressed?
    “I’m not one to go against tradition, Sergeant. You may keep two faggots at any time and no more. Do you understand?” He crossed out one of the names.
    Oh God, Janet would have his guts. “Yes sir.” He turned to go, but Carey stopped him.
    “Sergeant, do you think you could give me that list of men I can call upon to fight by this evening?”
    “Any particular surnames?”
    “No, Sergeant, surname doesn’t matter to me,” said Carey heretically. “Dislike of Lowther and a willingness to fight is all I want.”
    “Well sir…”
    “I’ve asked Richard Bell to be your clerk if you need him.”
    Dodd was relieved. It wasn’t exactly that he couldn’t write, it was only that not being a gentleman, paperwork of any description always took him several hours and more sweat than a pitched battle.
    Carey grinned, shut the book and stood up.
    “We’ve finished here. Don’t drink it all at once, gentlemen, that’s all I’ve got. Company dismissed.”
    Tuesday, 20th June, morning
    The men left the castle in a rabble, jingling their purses and planning extensive wanderings among the town’s alehouses that night. Naturally they decided to have a magnificent breakfast at Bessie Storey’s and they marched into the common room in a bunch, called for quarts and steak for their meals. Oddly enough she seemed to be expecting them and as soon as the last order was in, Bessie’s cousin Nancy Storey barred the door. Bessie herself shuttered the windows and rang her bell.
    Janet Dodd, broad and resplendent in her red wool market gown, led the wives of Bangtail, Archie, Red Sandy and Long George into the common room. Grim determination on their faces, they split up and moved in on their husbands. At last Dodd cracked. He laughed and laughed until the tears were dripping in his beer, while Janet marched up to him, sat down beside him and held her hand out. Still snorting feebly, Dodd took five shillings beermoney out of his pay and gave the rest into her hard upturned palm.
    “I hear he’s a fine man, your new Deputy Warden,” she said smugly. All around them arose whining and protests, while Bessie stood by with a broad grin on her face, ready to calm marital discord with a cudgel. Her son Andrew had already given her his pay.
    “You’ve met him?” said Dodd in astonishment.
    “No, no, Lady Scrope sent her girl Joan with Young Hutchin yesterday to tell me what was afoot. I told the others.”
    Privately deciding to tan Young Hutchin’s arse for him next time they met, Henry drank his beer without comment.
    Janet put hers down with a sigh of satisfaction. “Lord, Bessie knows how to brew, I wish I had her skill. Is he married, the new Deputy?” she asked.
    “No.”
    She elbowed him in the ribs. “Come on, Henry,” she said, “what’s the difference? By tomorrow you’d be in the same state, only you would have drunk and gambled the money and I would be after you with a broom handle.”
    “That fine Courtier found out about my faggots.”
    Janet made a face. “I minded me that was what he was after, I even brought in three of my brothers, only I saw we couldna get them into the castle in time, so I sent them home. The Borders are very tickle at the moment, the Middle March was hit yesterday, but only four horses stolen and they lost a man because they hadna paid the Warden first. Did he leave you any faggots?”
    “Two. He said that’s all I’m to take the pay off.”
    “It’s not so bad, then. Dinna be so glum.”
    “Ha. Yon Courtier had us cleaning ourselves like bloody Dutch housewives yesterday, you wouldna ken the barracks now, and even Archie’s gun is gleaming bright,” Dodd said grudgingly.
    Janet seemed to find this funny.
    “I heard he took on that Turk Lowther too, and bought you new bows. Ay well, think upon it, Dodd. He has to make his mark which he’s now done. He’s paid you cash and