Robin reined in his horse and waited for the other members of his party. The mole said they should come unarmed. That's what he called Sir Harald. Some people did it as a joke. Robin liked his employer. For him, the term was almost one of affection. The mole didn't boss you around and treat you like you were a nobody.
Robin took "unarmed" to mean you shouldn't carry any conspicuous weapons. He had left his sword back at the Gascoigne manor. It was too difficult to conceal but his dirk fitted nicely in a shoulder harness under his green cloak. It was a bit fancy and so was his white shirt. They made him look a bit of a dill who wasn't capable of looking after himself. Guy Gascoigne said that was how you should look when you went on a secret mission.
At eighteen, Robin was by far the youngest member of the party. The mole was almost twice his age and the others were ancient. He'd known John Baret from childhood. The old man had a big house near the Half Moon Inn and William lived with him when he was at school. The other two men were strangers but he could tell they were important. Both wore dark gowns trimmed with white fur and had leather bags with books.
They were on their way to a manor court ... but not a regular one. Most courts were held in halls. This one would be held in a barn. The mole had told him why they were going. It was because of William's inheritance. His mother's family was trying to get it off him. She was dead and they said William couldn't have it anymore. The nasty sods were trying to rob a little boy of what his mother had given him.
John Baret rode up beside him.
'Not far now, Robin.'
'No, Master.'
'Do you know the barn?'
'Aye, Master. I've been there with William to collect oats for the horses. It's down in the valley at the end of that long paddock.'
The old man surveyed the scene.
'What do you make of it, Robin?'
'It doesn't look right, Master.'
'Why do you say that?'
'There's eleven horses in the paddock, all saddled up like they've just arrived. You'd expect them to be at the hitching rail but it's empty ... like it's been left for someone.'
John Baret moved closer and dropped his voice.
'Who do you think that someone might be?'
'Could be us, Master.'
'Aye,' the old man nodded. 'It could be us.'