Free A Famine of Horses by P. F. Chisholm Page B

did you see it? How was it lying?”
    The lad swallowed. “The crows had pecked it.”
    Carey was patient with him. “I know, but which way was it lying? Was it on its back, or…”
    “On his side.”
    “Which side?”
    “God, I don’t know, right side I think.”
    “Then the right cheek was to the ground.”
    “Ay.”
    “Was it stiff?”
    “Stiff as a board, sir.”
    “Well, how did you get it on a horse to bring it back then?”
    “Sir?”
    “If the body was stiff, how did you put it over a horse? Did you have to break him…”
    “Och no sir, nothing like that.”
    “Then how…”
    “It was bent over already,” snapped Dodd. “Like this.” He showed the mad Courtier and the mad Courtier grinned like a Bedlamite.
    “Would you say he’d been brought here on a horse?”
    “Well, of course, he was, sir,” said Dodd. “I told ye, I followed the tracks of two nags from the ford…”
    “But he was dead when he was put on the horse and then brought here; not, for instance, alive when he came and dead when his killer left him?”
    What was the man driving at? “Ay sir. I’d say so, the tracks of one of the horses didn’t look like a beast was being ridden, more a beast burdened.”
    “Excellent. So he was killed somewhere else and dumped here, on an old battlefield in the hope that after a few months anyone who came on the bones would think they died fifty years ago.”
    “I suppose so, sir,” said Dodd who couldn’t see any point in this expedition at all. “There weren’t any traces of blood or suchlike around about here either.”
    Carey nodded. “What did he have on him?”
    Bessie’s Andrew blushed. Dodd saw it and hoped Carey wouldn’t. Unfortunately he did.
    “So what did you take off him, Bessie’s Andrew?” Carey asked ominously.
    “Nothing sir, I…”
    Carey folded his arms and waited. Dodd was glaring at Storey who looked terrified.
    “Well, nothing much, sir…”
    “What did you take off him?” Carey didn’t raise his voice.
    Bessie’s Andrew muttered something.
    “Speak up, boy,” growled Dodd.
    “He…er…he had a ring.”
    “ A ring?” Carey’s eyebrows were very sarcastic. Dodd wondered if it was the eyebrows that broke Bessie’s Andrew’s spirit.
    “Well, he had three rings, gold and silver and one with a little ruby in it,” stammered the boy in a rush, “and he had a purse with some Scots silver in it, about five shillings worth and he had a dagger with a good hilt…”
    “By God,” said Bangtail admiringly, “that was quick work picking him clean, lad.”
    Bessie’s Andrew stared at the ground miserably. “And that’s all, sir.”
    “ All ?”
    Dodd was impressed for the first time. Bessie’s Andrew’s face twisted. “He had a good jewel on his cap. No more, I swear it.”
    Carey reached out and patted Storey’s shoulder comfortingly.
    “The Papists say that confession makes a man’s soul easier in his body. Don’t you feel better?”
    “No sir. Me mam’ll kill me.”
    “Why?”
    “I only gave her the rings sir, but I took a liking to the jewel and the dagger and the silver…”
    “Of course you did,” said Carey softly. “Now, Storey, look at me. Do I look like a man of my word?”
    “Ay sir.”
    “Then you believe me if I swear on my honour that if you ever rob a corpse while you’re in my service, I will personally flog you.”
    Bessie’s Andrew went white. His large Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively as he nodded.
    “And,” Carey continued, “if there’s a second offence, I will hang you. For March treason. Do you understand?”
    Bessie’s Andrew squeaked something.
    “What?”
    “Y–yes sir.”
    “Which applies to any man in my service whatsoever,” said Carey, glaring at Bangtail and then at Dodd. “You’ll see the men know that.”
    “Yes sir,” said Dodd. “When did you want to flog him?”
    “It depends if he’s told the truth this time and if he hands over what he took.”
    Bessie’s Andrew’s