Ahead was a small slope, leading down to where the Eldacre Company had made camp. Gaise led the way, allowing his grey gelding to pick its own path through the mud and the ice.
A middle-aged soldier, wearing a hooded cloak, approached them and saluted. Gaise stepped down from the saddle and the soldier took hold of the grey’s reins. ‘Are the supplies in, Lanfer?’ asked Gaise.
‘Aye, my lord,’ replied Lanfer Gosten. ‘Less than half of what was promised. Even on short rations there’s not enough to last a week. Four wagons was all we got.’
‘Gather ten men and follow me to the quartermaster general,’ ordered Gaise. Swinging into the saddle he touched heels to the grey and rode through the camp. Mulgrave followed, drawing alongside the angry young man.
‘Are you planning something rash, sir?’
Gaise said nothing for a moment. ‘Did Ermal like my gift?’ he asked suddenly.
The question took Mulgrave by surprise. He recalled the little priest’s delight at the bottle of apple brandy. They had sat on the last night staring at it, wondering how two whole apples could have been inserted through such a narrow neck. Then they had pulled the cork and filled their glasses. The liquor was sweet and warming.
‘He was most grateful, sir,’ said Mulgrave, ‘though perplexed.’
Gaise grinned. ‘As was I when first I saw them. Did he think magic was used?’
‘At first he did. But by the time we had finished the bottle he had an answer.’
‘What was it?’
‘He thought the bottle must have been tied to the branches of an apple tree, with twig and blossom inserted into the neck. The apples would have grown within the glass. After they were ripe the twig was snipped and the brandy added.’
‘The man is such a delight!’ said Gaise happily. ‘A fine mind.’
‘What do you intend to do when we reach the quartermaster?’
‘Find the wagons I paid for and see them delivered. I’ll not have my men going hungry again. And not a word more about rashness, my friend. There is nothing you can say that I do not already know.’
Mulgrave knew this was the truth. They had discussed the problem many times during the past year. The quartermaster general, a rich merchant named Cordley Lowen, had friends at court. Those friends were well paid by him from the huge profits he made from supplying food, gunpowder and weapons to the king’s army. Not content with the fortune he was amassing from this – barely – legitimate enterprise Lowen was also engaged in reselling supplies to merchants from outlying towns: supplies already purchased by officers commanding private companies. The scandal was tolerated on two counts. First, Lowen shared his profits with the king’s closest advisers. In addition, his list of contacts in the merchant community was second to none, which meant that Lowen could find supplies anywhere and at any time. A more honest quartermaster general would experience enormous difficulty supplying one tenth of the amount Lowen could provide. All of which made the man’s position virtually unassailable.
Once before the Eldacre Company had received smaller shipments than had been paid for. Gaise had sent Lanfer Gosten to investigate. The sergeant had returned frustrated and angry. Order forms had been misplaced, ledgers had apparently been lost, and no-one could find details of the original supply orders. Gaise had written to Cordley Lowen, and received no reply.
Mulgrave rode on beside the silent Gaise Macon. It was after midnight now. The warehouses would probably be locked and guarded. There would be no stable hands or wagons ready.
The small town was full of soldiers, many of them drunk. Food might be scarce, but liquor was still plentiful. Gaise and Mulgrave rode slowly along the cobbled streets, cutting through the old market square, and on towards the merchant district. Three soldiers staggered across the street, singing a bawdy marching song. Two women approached the soldiers from the shadows, drawing them towards a darkened doorway.
The merchant district was quieter. Four musketeers stood guarding the warehouse gates. Gaise Macon rode past them, dismounting before a large terraced house, fronted with marble pillars. Trailing the grey’s reins he called Mulgrave to him. ‘High risk for high stakes, my friend,’ he said. Taking a leather gauntlet from his saddle bag he tucked it into his belt.