'Thank you, Master Randolph.'
'You prosper in the role.'
'I hope the audience shares your view.'
'Trust it well.'
'Have you no criticism?'
'None,' said Randolph languidly. 'Except that you stayed too long upon the stage once you had stabbed me. The murder of the Duke is of more dramatic significance than the reaction of his killer. Once you have dispatched me with your dagger, quit the stage.'
'I will, sir.'
'My corpse will be a soliloquy in itself.'
They were in the Great Hall and the stagekeepers were scampering around moving the scenery and props. Giles Randolph was very satisfied with the way that everything was going. On and off the stage, revenge was proving to be his best suit. He was about to move away when Scruton detained him by plucking at his sleeve.
'A word, sir.'
'It is not a convenient time.'
'This will take but a second.'
'Very well.' Randolph shrugged. 'What is it?' I am bold to put you in mind of my contract.'
'It has not been forgot.'
'When may I view it, sir?'
'When I have drawn it up.'
'And when will that be?'
'The other sharers have to be persuaded first.'
Scruton frowned. 'My understanding was that you could carry the business alone.'
'Well, yes, indeed. No question but that I can.'
'Why then the delay?'
'I am no lawyer, Mark. The terms must be drawn up properly and the Earl himself must take note of them. It is a big translation for you.'
'You know that I have earned it, Master Randolph.'
'No man more so.'
'Give me then a date. It was your promise.'
Giles Randolph gave him the enigmatic smile that was part of his stock-in-trade then walked slowly around him in a circle. Scruton did not like being kept waiting. His willing smile took on a forced look. Randolph faced him again and came to a decision.
'York.'
'What say you?'
'That is when the articles will be signed.'
'I have that for certain?'
'My hand upon it!' They exchanged a handshake. 'You will become a sharer with Banbury's Men and taste the sweeter fruit of our profession.'
'Thank you!' said Scruton with feeling. 'I did not doubt you for a moment. This gives me true happiness.'
'Wait but for York.'
'It will be my place of pilgrimage.'
'Bear your cross until then.'
Mark Scruton grinned. He was almost there.
It took Nicholas Bracewell fifteen minutes to convince her that he was not Jesus Christ and even then she had lingering reservations. When he saw her wading out to meet him in mid-river, he immediately lowered his body so that he could tread water. He had never been accosted by such a strange yet beautiful woman before, especially one who kept calling on him to baptize her in the Jordan. He took an age to persuade her to return to her bank then he swam back to where he had left his clothes and dried himself off as best he could before dressing. Restored and refreshed, he rode over the bridge and back along the bank to Eleanor Budden. Her wet shift was clinging to her body like a doting lover and he noticed that it had been repaired near the shoulder. Nicholas dismounted out of politeness and touched his cap.
'May I see you safe home, Mistress?'
'All the way to Jerusalem.'
'I have told you. I am with Westfield's Men.'
'Our meeting today was foretold.'
'Not to me.'
'We were destined to cross paths. Master Bracewell.'
'In the middle of the River Trent?'
'Tax not divine appointment.'
'Let me escort you to your house.'
'I have resolved to leave it for ever.'
'Yet you spoke of a husband and of children.'
'They will have to make shift without me.'
'Does duty not prompt you?' he said.
'Aye, sir. To follow the voice of God.'
Nicholas had met religious maniacs before. More than one of his fellow-sailors on the voyage with Drake had found the privations too hard to bear. They had taken refuge in a kind of relentless Christianity that shaped their lives anew and consisted in a display of good deeds and profuse quotations from the Bible. Eleanor Budden was not of this mould. Her obsession had a quieter and more rational base. That increased its danger.
'The Lord has brought us together,' she said. 'Has he?'
'Do you not feel it?'
'Honesty compels me to deny it.
'Where you lead, I will follow.'
'That is out of the question,' he said in alarm. 'You have been sent as my guide.'
'But we are not going to Jerusalem, I fear.'
'What, then, is your destination?'
'York.'
'I knew it!'
Eleanor flung herself to her knees and bent down to kiss his shoes. Nicholas backed away in embarrassment as she tried to clutch at him. Facing up to a band of angry gypsies had been nothing to this. Eleanor was a model of persistence, a burr that stuck firmly to his clothing.
'I must come with you. Master Bracewell.'
'Where?'
'To York. I must see the Archbishop.'
'Travel to the city by some other means.
'You are my appointed guardian.'
'Mistress, I am part of a company.'
'Then I will go with you and your fellows.'
'That is not possible.'
'Why, sir?'
'For a dozen reasons,' he said, wishing he could call some of them to mind. 'Chiefly, for that we are all men who ride together. No woman may join our train.'
'That is a rule which God can change.'
'Master Firethorn will not permit it.'
'Let me but talk with him.'
'It will be of no avail.'
Eleanor Budden got to her feet and turned her blue eyes on him with undisguised ardour. She stepped in
