The Trip to Jerusalem

'She's no Virgin Mary,' said Firethorn quickly.

'The lady is a distraction,' said Hoode. 'She has no place alongside us. Nor does Master Oliver Quilley. They should find some other means to travel north.'

Firethorn did his best to win them over but they were unconvinced. As a last resort, he knew that he could impose his will upon them but wished to avoid doing that if at all possible. Their acceptance was important. He wanted to be seen by Eleanor Budden as the leader of a company who studied to obey his every wish, and not as some petty tyrant who bullied the others into agreement.

His two colleagues left with stern warnings.

'I set my face against this, Lawrence!' said Gill.

'It will not improve your complexion.'

'I am with Barnaby,' said Hoode. 'You have made a move here that will bring us nothing but awkwardness.'

The two of them went out and Firethorn was left to mull over what they had said. He was not dismayed. They always objected to his ideas. It was simply a question of giving them time to grow accustomed to the notion. When they saw what a harmless woman Eleanor Budden was, they would alter their views. Firethorn was pleased with the new transaction. He called for a pint of sherry.

He was taking his first sip when she appeared.

'I hoped to find you here, sir.' V 'Susan, my dove! Sit down and take your ease.'

'I come to inform you of my decision,' she said with a broad grin, lowering herself down into a chair. 'Your lonely nights are over, Lawrence.'

'Prove it lustily between the sheets.'

'So will I do, sir.'

'You are man's greatest comfort, Susan.'

'That is why I will not desert you now.'

'Bless you, lady!'

'Master Gill made up my mind for me.'

'Barnaby?'

'He told me even now of Mistress Budden.'

'Ah, yes,' he said dismissively. 'A holy woman who hears the voice of God, A poor, distracted creature on whom a Christian must take pity.'

'Is she young or old?'

'Ancient, I fear. And so ill-favoured that a man can scarce look fully upon her. That is the only reason I took her. Mistress Budden will be no temptation to the goatish members of my company.'

Susan Becket's eyes twinkled merrily.

'I saw the lady leave you. If she be ancient, then I am dead and buried this last ten-year. She has a bloom upon her that could seduce a bishop.'

'How came I to miss such a quality?'

'Because your mind was firmly on me, Lawrence.'

'Indeed, indeed,' he fawned.

'That is why I reached my decision. Mistress Budden is a child of nature and innocence sits upon her. I'll be a true mother to her and keep those goats from grazing on her pasture. She'll thank me well for it.'

'I do not understand your meaning, Susan.'

'Your warming-pan comes with you, sir.'

'All the way?' he said anxiously.

'Every last inch.'

'I could not put you to the trouble.'

'It is my pleasure.'

Her smile of easy determination fractured all his plans for the journey. Susan Becket was an old flame he had intended to blow out in Nottingham but she had now rekindled herself. Lawrence Firethorn could not hide his chagrin. He was taking one woman too many to York.

The pint of sherry was guzzled quickly down.

Sir Clarence Marmion strolled through his garden with his soberly-clad companion by his side. Large, formal and a blaze of colour, it was a tribute to the skill and hard work of his gardeners, but their master was not interested in their craft that morning. His mind was preoccupied with something of more immediate concern.

'He would yield up no names.'

'Are you sure that he knew any?'

'No question about that, sir.'

'Did you press him on the matter?'

'As hard as any man dare.'

Robert Rawlins rubbed his hands fastidiously.

'Let me speak to the fellow, Sir Clarence.'

It will not serve.'

'Haply, I may succeed where others have failed.'

'You have come too late for that.'

'I will lay spiritual weights upon him.'

'He would feel them not, Master Rawlins.'

'What are you telling me?'

'The man is dead.'

'Since when?'

'Since I had him killed.'

'Sir Clarence!'

Robert Rawlins put a hand to his mouth in shock and leaned upon a stone angel for support. It was not the first time that his host had taken him by surprise since lie had arrived in Yorkshire but it was easily the most disconcerting. He waved his arms weakly in protest but his companion was brutally calm.

'The man was given Christian burial,' he said.

'After he was murdered.'

'Executed, sir. Like Anthony Rickwood.'

'An eye for an eye?'

'We gave him all the justice he deserved.'

'I would have sued for clemency.'

'On behalf of such a villain as that?'

'Every man has some good in him.'

'Not this black-hearted devil,' said Sir Clarence with asperity. 'One of Walsingham's jackals. He brought dozens of Catholics to their deaths and did so without compunction. Was I to let him go free, sir, to report that I was party to the conspiracy? And that Robert Rawlins is a missionary priest of the Romish persuasion?'

'I like not this business.'

'We had no choice before us.'

'You had Christian teaching to guide you.'

'So did Anthony Rickwood and where did it land him? Upon a spike at Bishopsgate until we engineered his rescue.' His vehemence increased. 'And what of Neville Pomeroy? What guidance did his Christian teaching give him? It showed him the way directly to the Tower!'

'I did not mean to anger you so, Sir Clarence.'

'We must fight fire with fire!'

'Murder should be anathema.'

'Revenge has its own dignity.'

Robert Rawlins bit back any further comment and tried to come to terms with what had happened. Sir Clarence Marmion was a good friend and a charming host when he wished to be but a new and more callous side to his character was emerging. It was highly unsettling. Joined indissolubly by the same purpose, the two men yet had different ideas on how it could be best effected.

Sir Clarence tried to still the other's disquiet.

'He sleeps with God now, sir.'

'Will the Law not come searching for him?'

'He'll not be found six feet under my land.'

'I own I am distressed.'

'Would you rather we had been subjects for burial?

'Indeed not, Sir Clarence.'

'Then rejoice in the death of an enemy.'

They strolled on along a gravel path that bisected the rose garden. Robert Rawlins slowly came to see some reason in what had been said. His host sounded a note or cautious optimism.

'I have prayed for help.'

'So have I, Sir Clarence. Daily.'

'Our prayers may yet meet with a response.'

'You have a sign of this?'

'Not outwardly, Master Rawlins.'

'Then how?'

'It is no more than a feeling but it grows and grows all the time. The man we seek may not need to be hunted down after all. There may be another means to find him.'

'Tell me what it is.'

'Let the villain come to us.'

'Will he do that, Sir Clarence?'

'I am certain of it. When I trust to instinct, I am seldom misled. The man is getting closer and we must be ready for him. Keep your wits about you, sir.'

'I will.' He is on his way to York.'

Christopher Millfield knew how to cut a dash when the opportunity presented itself. He had been cast in the part of Will Scarlet and sang the ballad which began the rehearsal of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Sauntering about the stage, he let his flowing scarlet costume swish to great effect and accompanied his pleasing tenor voice with chords from a small lute. Will Scarlet truly had his moment at the Town Hall in Nottingham.