Enemy of My Enemy

Chapter Twenty-One - Strings

"I could have wished for better circumstances than this for a reunion," muttered Carter.

He sat on a stool in the tent Robin and Much had been given, hands drooping between his knees. Robin stood at the open flap, looking out, frustrated by the hopelessness of the task they'd been assigned. It was a country of desert, after all, a gift for anyone wishing to hide a corpse.

"Well, I think it couldn't be better timing," replied Much. "With us here, you've a better chance of clearing your name."

"We're missing something," Robin said, ignoring them both. "Something which ties all this together, if only we could find it."

"You mean if only we could find who took a shot at us," grumbled Much. "That would answer a lot of questions. All of them, in fact. Instead, we're supposed to look for a body out here, which could be anywhere. I mean...."

"So, what do we know about the man who attacked us?" Robin cut in.

"Well, nothing, except that he was waiting there in the trees for us."

Robin thought for a few moments, gazing out at the camp's mid-afternoon lull.

"Vaisey must have warned him we were coming, but he couldn't have known when," he said thoughtfully. "So what was he doing up there, at that precise time? Did he spend hours watching – difficult, without his absence being noted, or without attracting attention."

"And knowing that he had to watch that approach, if he had to bury a body...." Carter had seen where he was going with it, at almost the same moment as Robin knew himself.

"...then why not combine the two necessities in one place?"

"Far enough from the camp to be discreet, trees for concealment...."

"The courier's horse to use, one he could release and send on its way, thus being able to walk into camp without attracting attention."

"What are we waiting for then?" said Much. "Let's go."

The hunch proved correct; after a few minutes of searching the grove, a patch of disturbed ground revealed a recently-dug grave.

"Ugh....do we have to?" Much reeled back as the stench escaped the removed layers of soil.

Resolute, Robin continued the task.

"It might tell us something, Much."

He scraped aside enough dirt to reveal the corpse. They stepped back, reluctant, in the end, to scour the body for clues.

"At least we know how he died," observed Carter.

There was a wound in the ghoul-grey chest, where a blade would have punctured the lung.

"Well, I don't see what else this can tell us," grumbled Much.

"No. Unless...." Robin crouched down, stifling the sights this ruffled in his memory – at war, infantry was ever willing to rifle the dead. He lifted a pouch from the man's belt. "This might tell us something."

But the pouch was empty of commissions, or of any identifying feature. He dropped it beside the body and stepped back.

"Let's go and tell the king, then we'll get this man a proper burial."

"At least we've cleared your name," Much said to Carter.

"Indeed, we have."

"And yet we know nothing more." Robin shook his head in frustration. "Where they met – how he picked up his commission – who engaged him...."