'We have the security of our religion and that is proof against all assault. Master Pomeroy will give them no names, whatever ordeals they put him through. We must keep our nerve and pray that we survive.'
'Amen!'
Chapter Six
Lawrence Firethorn roared like a dragon when George Dart banged on the door of his bedchamber at the Smith and Anvil. Reverting to the trade of his father, the actor-manager was playing the sturdy blacksmith to Mistress Susan Becket's willing anvil. He was tilling the air with sparks of joy at the very moment that the rude knuckles of his caller dared to interrupt him. Plucked untimely from the womb, he flung open the door and breathed such crackling flames of anger that the little stagekeeper was charred for life. Facing his employer was a daunting task at any time but to be at the mercy of Firethorn when he was naked, roused and deprived of consummation was like taking a stroll in the seventh circle of Hell. George Dart was sacked three times before he was even allowed to open his mouth. It was a lifetime before the message was actually delivered.
'Dick Honeydew has been taken, sir.'
'By whom, you idiot? By what, you dolt?'
'The gypsies.'
'Away with your lunacy!'
'I fear 'tis true, Master Firethorn.'
Corroboration came in the form of Nicholas Bracewell and the other apprentices, who were conducting a thorough search of the premises. They had checked every nook and cranny in the building, including attics and cellars, but there was no sign of Richard Honeydew. The boy had either run away of his own free will-which seemed unlikely-or he had been kidnapped. The second option was accepted at once by Firethorn who turned it into a personal attack upon himself and his career.
'They have stolen my Maid Marion!'
'We will find him,' said Nicholas determinedly.;
'How can Robin Hood play love scenes on his own?'
'You will have to use one of the other boys.'
'I like not that idea, Nick.'
'Sherwood Forest must have another maid.'
'Not John Tallis!' said Firethorn. 'He has a face more fit for comedy than kissing. Maid Marion cannot have a lantern jaw, sir.'
'Stephen Judd or Martin Yeo will take the part.'
'Neither is suitable.'
'Then choose another play, Master Firethorn.'
'Be thwarted out of my purpose! Never!' He stamped his foot on the bare boards and collected a few sharp splinters. 'This villainy is directed at me, Nick. They do know my Robin Hood is quite beyond compare and seek to pluck me down out of base envy.'
'We must track the boy down at once, sir.'
'Do so, Nick.'
'I will need a horse.'
'Take mine, dear heart!'
Nicholas was not at all convinced that gypsies had abducted Richard Honeydew even though the band had been seen in the vicinity, but his opinion was swept aside by a man who would brook no argument. Simultaneously robbed of his orgasm and his Maid Marion, the actor-manager was in a mood of vengeful urgency.
'To horse! To horse, Nick!'
'I will meet you in Nottingham.'
'Come not empty-handed.'
'If the boy be with the gypsies, I will get him.'
'Have a care, sir! Gypsies are slippery.'
'Adieu!'
Nicholas rushed off and missed an affecting moment. Throughout the conversation between actor-manager and book holder, George Dart stood meekly by, wondering whether he still had a job or not, and whether his little body would be needed to swell the ranks in the forthcoming performance at Nottingham.
Firethorn saw him there and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Dart's face was a study in uncertainty and apprehension.
'Shall I still be one of the Merry Men, sir?'
Nicholas saddled up and rode out of the stables just before dawn. Sword and dagger were at his side. He was an excellent horseman. The son of a prosperous merchant from Devon, he had, from an early age, accompanied his father on his travels and learned how to ride and to take care of a horse. When Nicholas grew older, his father's business commitments obliged the son to travel to Europe and he developed his great love for the sea, a passion that was to culminate in three years with Drake on the famous circumnavigation of the globe. Notwithstanding this, he had lost none of his feel in the saddle. Pacing his mount carefully, he went off at a steady canter.
It was four hours before he caught their scent and another two before he finally rode them to earth. They had stopped at a hamlet in Leicestershire to peddle their wares and to offer entertainment to the simple souls of the parish. While the gypsy women sold scarves or read the palms of the gullible, their menfolk turned acrobat to divert the locals. Nicholas tethered his horse and made his way to the little green where everyone had gathered. From behind the cover of a chestnut tree, he observed a scene that was lit with animation and colour. In spite of the circumstances, he was consumed with interest.
Nicholas always felt some sympathy for gypsies. They were vagabonds with an air of freedom about them. At the same time, they suffered far more severe punishment than any indigenous vagrants. In addition to being regularly fined, whipped, imprisoned or chased from a locality with sticks, stones and a posse of dogs, they were under legal threat of deportation. Throughout the reign of Henry VIII and down through that of his daughter, Elizabeth, Queen of England, the official attitude towards the so-called 'sons of Ptolemy' was consistently hostile. Bands of gypsies were shipped off to Europe and there were occasional calls for a complete extirpation of the breed.
In view of all this, their very survival was a minor miracle. Nicholas had some fellow-feeling for them. His own profession had close affinities with the lifestyle of the gypsies. Actors were also outlaws if they were not employed in the service of a noble patron such as Lord Westfield. Shorn of such livery, they could be hunted and hounded almost as ruthlessly as the gypsies and, like the latter, could often become the scapegoats for any crimes that were committed while they were passing through an area. Gypsies were far from honest and law-abiding but Nicholas always believed that tales of their inherent wickedness and sorcery were wildly overstated.
Such thoughts were still flitting through his mind when the acrobatic display came to an end. Rough palms clapped in applause and a few small coins were spared when a small child ran around the spectators holding out a large cap. Musicians now struck up and there was a display of dancing. Lithe and graceful, the men went through steps that had rarely been seen upon the green before. Nicholas admired their skill and was entranced by the elements of the fantastic. Then the boy appeared. It was evident from the first that he was not as confident as the others, going through a routine as if he were under compulsion rather than as if he were enjoying the dance.
Nicholas Bracewell had seen the jig. It was one that Barnaby. Gill had taught to the apprentices and which had been mastered by one of them straight away. As the book holder studied the willowy youth in the tattered rags and the painted face, he came rapidly to one conclusion. It was Richard Honeydew. Kidnapped at night, the boy was being made to work his passage with the gypsies. He was one of them now and had to dance for his keep, however reluctant he might be. As Nicholas ambled forward to get a closer look, the boy did a somersault that drew a patter of applause and confirmed the book holder's suspicion. He had seen the apprentices practising that somersault only days earlier. Here was firm proof.
Reason would be useless with the gypsies and the parish constable would stand no chance against a band of muscular men who could fight like fury. Nicholas had to take the lad by force while surprise was still on his side.
