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

The river flowed seawards on our fight, while to our left, the dimly seen fields and ploughed strips belonging to the smaller settlements were lapped about, and often encroached upon, by the billowing forest. This was a land of abundant vegetation; in daylight, opulent, intrusive upon the eye like neighbouring Devon. We stopped twice to rest and refresh ourselves with the food provided for the journey by John Penryn; once under a brake of gorse, the second time in a deserted stone hut, long abandoned by some goatherd or shepherd. Our conversation, when we talked at all, was desultory, speculating on the King's reaction to events on St Michael's Mount.
    'Couldn't you have waited and found another ship to carry you to Brittany?' I asked at one point.
    Philip Underdown was scathing. 'And fallen into the hands of Lancastrians posing as good, honest fishermen or merchants? No! I'll wait for the Falcon .'
    I caught his response with only half an ear, listening as I was for the quiet clop of a horse's hoofs, carrying our pursuer. But all I could hear was the soughing of the breeze through the distant trees and the soothing murmur of running water.
    We were, according to Philip, about a mile from Trenowth when we stopped for the third and final time, dismounting and leading our horses down to the river's edge to wash our faces in the ice-cold water. The two animals drank thirstily while we attempted to rid ourselves of the night's growth of beard and brushed down our crumpled and travel-stained clothing. It was already light with the promise of a beautiful day. The early morning mist lifted and swam about us like spun silk; drifting, billowing folds, beaded here and there with trembling pendants of gold. Then the sun rose, gilding the clouds, and the mist dispersed, leaving the damp earth gently steaming.
    Philip yawned and stretched. 'I shan't be sorry to get breakfast inside me,' he said. 'Let's hope it's hot and there's plenty of it.'
    I agreed. My stomach was rumbling with hunger in spite of the cold meat pasties we had consumed less than two hours previously. I led the cob to the top of the bank and stood staring back the way we had come, the track barred with stripes of sunshine and dappled shadow. I remained perfectly still and quiet, but again there was nothing to hear except the singing of the birds, nothing to see except their fluttering in and out of the trees.

    Trenowth Manor stood high above the Tamar, on a wide plateau of land overlooking the river's thickly wooded banks.
    The home of Sir Peveril and Lady Trenowth was built around an' inner quadrangle, its grey granite walls presenting narrow apertures and a frowning aspect to the outside world, with more gracious doors and windows opening upon the courtyard. As we rode up the steep slope to the gatehouse, we could see that the servants were already abroad, the gate standing wide and two men unloading sacks of flour which had been brought up by cart from the corn mill. Philip approached them.
    'Is your master at home? Tell him his old friend Philip Underdown wishes to see him.'
    I could almost have believed myself that he was a friend of Sir Peveril, he spoke with such confidence, and it was not at all surprising that both men immediately stopped what they were doing and came to attend to his wants.
    'Master's from home, sir,' one of them said, pulling at his forelock.
    'Mistress, too,' the other man put in, thus confirming what Simon Whitehead had told us.
    'Up London,' the first one went on, obviously irritated by his companion's intervention and frowning him down. 'King's business,' he added importantly. 'Said 'e won' be back for a long time.'
    I had been half afraid that we should find they spoke nothing but Cornish, but the broad, flat vowels were reminiscent of speech across the Tamar, in Devon, and English was plainly their native language.
    'Ah!' Philip did his best to look nonplussed, as though sizing up an unexpected situation. 'This is awkward. My man and I