reel.
'Eleanor...is...not...my...wife.'
'Indeed, she is,' said the vicar. 'I solemnized the marriage myself and preached a sermon to you on the importance of walking in truth. Have you done that, my son? Have you and your wife walked in truth?'
'Yes, sir...down by...the river.'
'Stop holding back.'
'I... have... no... wife.'
'Whom God hath joined let no man put asunder.'
'A woman hath done it.'
'Done what, man? We are going in small circles.'
Humphrey Budden steeled himself to blurt it all out.
'Eleanor is no longer my wife, sir. She will not share my bed or suffer my embraces. She says that the voice of God has spoken to her. It is sending her on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.'
'Wait, wait!' said Melhuish in alarm. 'You go too fast here. Let us take it one step at a time. She will not share your bed, you tell me?'
'No, sir. She sleeps on the floor.'
'Alone?'
'She will not let me near her.'
'Have you given her just cause, Humphrey?'
'I think not.'
'Have you caused her some injury or turned her affections from you in some other way?'
Even as he asked the question, Miles Melhuish saw how cruel and inappropriate it was. Humphrey Budden was a strong man but he would never use that strength against a woman. No husband could have been more considerate. His wife must be to blame for what had happened.
The vicar tried to probe into the bedchamber.
'This problem is of recent origin?'
'Since I called you to the house, sir.'
'And what passed between you in former times?'
'We shared a bed in Christian happiness, sir.'
'And your wife was then...forthcoming?'
'Most truly!'
'She did not hold back from you?'
'I was the novice at first. Eleanor had to instruct me in my duties and she did so with wondrous skill.'
Miles Melhuish reddened as a vision flashed before his eyes. He saw the naked body of an impassioned woman in the bedchamber of a parishioner. He could sniff her fragrance, feel her touch, share her madness. It took a great effort of will for him to banish her from his mind.
He asked his question through gritted teeth.
'You say the marriage was happy?'
'Very happy, sir.'
'And that she instructed you willingly.'
'Two husbands had taught her much.'
'So you and your wife...mingled flesh?'
'Every night, sir.'
'The act of love is for procreation, said the vicar sharply. It is not a source of carnal gratification.
'We know that, sir, and acted accordingly. Our dearest wish was that our union would be blessed with a child.
'I'm surprised you have not had several offspring, muttered the other under his breath. 'With such regular activity, you could people an entire town!' He sat up and pulled himself together. But all that is now past?'
'This is what she says.'.
'For what reason?'
'Divine command.'
'The woman is deranged.'
'She wishes to become a pilgrim, sir.'
'Poor creature! She needs help.'
'Eleanor is leaving soon.'
'Where will she go?'
'Jerusalem.'
'I spy madness.'
Humphrey Budden leaned forward to make his plea.
'Speak to her, sir!'
'Me?'
'You are our only hope. Eleanor will listen to you.'
'Will she so?'
'Speak to her!'
It was a cry from the heart and Miles Melhuish could not ignore it. Part of him wanted to shrug the problem off his own shoulders but another part of him wanted to take the full weight of the burden. The vision flashed through his mind again. Long fair hair. Round, trembling buttocks. Joyous breasts. Satin skin. Succulent lips. Total surrender in its most beautiful human form.
The answer to a prayer.
'Very well,' he said. 'I'll speak to her.'
Lawrence Firethorn pawed the ground like an angry bull. When he began his charge, nobody within striking distance was safe. It was a terrifying spectacle.
'What did you say, Nick?' he bellowed.
'They will not suffer us to play there.'
'Not suffer us! In Lord Westfield's own country? Where the writ of our patron runs wide? And they will not suffer us, indeed? I'll teach them what suffering is, call me rogue if I do not!'
'Another company got there first, Master,'
'With our play! Stolen without compunction.'
'They would not hear Cupid's Folly again,' explained Nicholas.; 'Nor would they countenance any other play from us. They have eaten their fill.'
'Then will I make them spew it up again!' raged Firethorn. 'By heaven, I'll make their stomachs burn, the unmannerly rogues, the scurvy, lousy, beggarly knaves, the foul, ungrateful rascals, the stinking, rotting carcasses of men that live in that God-forsaken hole! Keep me from them, Nick, or I'll carve 'em all to shreds with my sword, I will, and hang the strips on a line for kites to peck at.'
Lawrence Firethorn unsheathed his weapon and hacked at a bush to vent his spleen. The rest of the company looked on with trepidation. Nicholas had met them a mile south of Ware to break the bad news. Predictably, it had thrown the actor-manager info a fury. As be reduced the bush to a forlorn pile of twigs and leaves, they began to fear for the safety of all vegetation in the country. He was armed and dangerous.
It was Edmund Hoode who calmed him down.
'That bush is not the enemy, Lawrence.'
'Stand off, sir.'
'Sheath your sword and listen to reason.'
'Reason? What care I for reason?'
'We are all losers in this escapade.'
'Indeed we are,' said Barnaby Gill loftily from his saddle. 'Cupid's Folly was to have been my triumph. I never play Rigormortis without I leave the audience in a state of helpless mirth.'
'It is those absurd breeches,' sneered Firethorn.
'My success does not lie in my breeches.'
