[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak by Kate Sedley

making a bolt for it. I've grown used to having you around.' I wasn't sure that I believed him, and in any ease there was some truth in what I had said. I had crossed on ferries many times, but never before in the company of a horse; and although the animal was firmly secured, I was nevertheless extremely nervous. My relief at standing once more on dry ground was considerable, and I fancied the cob felt the same way. He nuzzled my face affectionately as we watched the ferry depart on its return journey for Philip and his mount. I glanced about me.
    As far as I could tell in the darkness, we were standing on a spit of sand running some few yards out into the water.
    Behind us lay a little beach, and beyond that the land rose gently to a belt of trees, the edge of the forests covering this part of Cornwall. The river, which narrowed at this particular point, but which was still too wide for the horses to swim across, rippled between the banks on an outgoing tide. The opposite shore rose steeply to a cliff-top where stunted trees and bushes clung precariously in the teeth of the gales which must surely batter that coast each winter. Even on such a calm night, they swayed slightly to the rhythm of a refreshing breeze, dipping and curtseying; fiat, black shapes silhouetted against the faintly luminous skyline.
    I stiffened suddenly and my fingers tightened on the cob's reins. Surely there had been someone up there, on the clifftop, standing perfectly still, looking down on the scene below him. I screwed up my eyes, straining to see through the enveloping darkness. But there was nothing there except the bushes and wind-bitten trees. I stared long and hard, searching for a telltale movement, until forced to give up by the irritation of trying not to blink. I upbraided myself that I was getting jumpy, beginning to imagine danger where none existed. Yet I continued to peer at the distant cliff-top, not entirely convinced that I had been mistaken.
    The raft made its slow return across the fiver, the ferryman steering skilfully to allow for the swiftly running current and eventually depositing Philip Underdown and his grey safely on Cornish soil. The man held out his hand for his money, and when this had been paid, we mounted and turned the horses' heads inshore.
    Philip looked over his shoulder. 'Remember! If anyone asks, you haven't seen us. No one has crossed during the night. Is that understood?'
    The ferryman muttered something which might have been assent and which seemed to satisfy my companion. For my own part, I was doubtful, conjecturing that if he were offered enough to betray us, the man would do so without any qualm of conscience. I said as much to Philip as we rode inland from the strand towards the belt of trees.
    He shrugged. 'It's a chance we have to take. He may be afraid of retribution should we return this way. It was worth giving him a warning.'
    I wondered if I should tell him that I thought our crossing had already been overlooked, but I was so unsure of whether or not I had really seen anything at all that ! decided to remain silent. Just in case my eyes had not deceived me, I would be extra vigilant.
    Before we reached the edge of the woods, we turned off along a track which skirted the river for a while, then turned inland where the trees receded. I was deeply relieved, having been afraid that Philip's intention was to use the forest paths which, however great their concealment, were likely to be infested with outlaws and robbers. I had contemplated remonstration, expecting to be informed that he knew this countryside like the back of his hand and that he had no fear of a few cut-throats and footpads; but, as it turned out, I was thankful I had not laid myself open to ridicule. As it was, I was uneasy enough and frequently touched my 'Plymouth cloak', where it lay across my saddle-bow, for reassurance.
    We made a steady pace, avoiding wherever possible any hamlets or straggling clusters of cottages in our path.