Beside him stood a short bald man, well dressed and fond of his food, to judge by the heavy jowls and rounded belly beneath his fine blue woollen tunic. “This is Master Henry Woodcote, my steward,” Sir Robert said, with a nod in the plump man’s direction. The steward glanced at Shadlok. Shadlok might have lived as a guest in the manor house for a few weeks last winter, but it was plain there was no friendship wasted between these two. But Master Woodcote smiled at Brother Snail: The fleshy cheeks dimpled, though the grin didn’t reach his eyes. They were cold and calculating as he took the measure of the crippled monk. Sir Robert glanced at William. “Fetch a chair for Brother Snail, boy.” William looked around and spotted a carved and gilded chair to one side of the huge stone fireplace. He carried it over to the table and set it down for the grateful monk. “You have matters you wish to discuss with me?”
