Chapter 11: What the Door Closed On

That night the Hart and Plough was dark and the sign had been taken down.

I found Merewyn in the taproom on her knees with a candle, picking the scraps of her licence out of a basket.

She had gathered every piece from the grass.

"They'll shut the roof next," she said without turning. "Then the stable. I told you I was in his gift."

"I know."

"Then why did you win a horse race with your mouth?"

"I wanted the notice off the Cobbs' door."

"And you got it." She sat back on her heels. "And I'm done."

"Merewyn."

"Don't be kind. I can't stand it."

I crossed the room and knelt in front of her.

The candle lit her face from below, hard and tired and furious.

"I owe you a roof," I said. "A licence. A name that nobody puts in a court again."

"You can't buy that."

"I can sign it."

She frowned.

"What do you mean, sign it?"

"The Duke signs the licences. The new one."

"The Duke's three months in the chair and sits in Tamworth," she said slowly. "Nobody's seen..."

She stopped.

I watched her work it out, the new silver penny, the knight in the wood, Osgar's face.

"You're the one with the new coin," she said.

"I'm Godric of Mercia."

"You're lying."

"The old Duke bought a boy from a man in a green cloak when I was six."

"He told me my parents sold me. I rode here to find out if it was true."

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