Shakespeare frowned in puzzlement. ‘Boltfoot?’ ‘My horse was shot from under me, master. I have had to walk here.’ ‘Who did this?’ ‘A scavager named Billy. The man who found the body. I know where to find him.’ ‘Then let us ride.’ Shakespeare turned to the steward. ‘Mr Stickley, I am leaving Dorcas Catton in your care. Ensure she remains with Agnes and is kept safe at all times. She is not to associate with the other servants and they are not to be given access to her. Is that understood?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ They found Scavager Billy in the taproom of the Broken Wheel, just as Boltfoot knew they would. He was with the barmaid, as before. He leant towards her ear and said something, then laughed, the same tinkling laugh Boltfoot had heard before. Boltfoot had a great urge to pummel Billy around the head with the stock of his caliver for killing his mare. That would do for his irritating laughter and his immature fumblings for a while. Instead, Boltfoot merely nodded towards the man to identify him.
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