The Princess of Denmark

Chapter Five

George Dart was the smallest and most timid member of the company. As an assistant stagekeeper, he performed a whole array of menial tasks with a willingness that never flagged. On occasion, much to his discomfort, he was also compelled to take part in a play, albeit in a very minor capacity. For the most part, however, he loved his work and looked upon Westfield’s Men as his true family even though the apprentices sometimes teased him and the actors frequently used him as their whipping boy. Expecting to be discarded for the visit to Denmark, he was overwhelmed to be one of those selected to go. Dart was bursting with gratitude.

‘A thousand thanks, Nicholas,’ he said.

‘It was not my decision, George.’

‘But you spoke up for me. I know that. If it had been left to Master Firethorn and the others, they would not have given me a second thought — except to laugh at me.’

‘I know your true worth,’ said Nicholas fondly. ‘You do the work of three men and are always ready to learn. Dear old Thomas Skillen is our stagekeeper but you do most of the tasks that should rightly be his. Since his ancient bones would never survive a voyage across the North Sea, he urged that you should go in his place.’

Dart was amazed. ‘But all that he ever does is box my ears.’

‘That is his means of instruction.’

The two of them had come to the Queen’s Head to take away the scenery and properties that would be needed on tour. There was a limit to how much they could carry. Weight and bulkiness were thus crucial factors. Guided by their book holder, Lawrence Firethorn and the others had chosen to perform plays on tour that could share many of the same items as well as most of the same costumes. Duplication would simplify matters. Nicholas took out the key. When he unlocked the room where everything was stored, there was barely enough space among the clutter for them to stand side by side.

‘Read out the list, George,’ said the book holder, handing him a scroll. ‘I’ll try to find the things we need.’

Dart unrolled the paper. ‘Item, one Pope’s miter, one imperial crown, one throne.’

‘The throne is far too heavy. If we play in a castle, I’m sure that we can borrow a high-backed chair that will serve our purposes.’

‘They may also furnish us with a crown.’

‘That would be too much to ask,’ said Nicholas, taking two objects down from a shelf. ‘It would be impertinent of us to ask King Christian to abdicate for a couple of hours so that we could make use of his crown.’ He put the objects aside. ‘Here we are — one miter, one crown. What’s next?’

‘Item, one rock, one tomb, one cauldron.’

‘The tomb must come — it’s used in three separate plays — but we will have to find a rock in Denmark — a real one, probably. It is so with the cauldron. The castle kitchens will furnish that.’

‘What about the steeple and maypole for Love and Fortune?’ asked Dart. ‘I doubt that we will find those so easily. Big as they are, we’ll have to take them with us.’

‘No,’ said Nicholas, putting the wooden tomb outside the door so that it would not impede them, ‘they will stay here. When we reach the castle, Oswald Megson will make us a new steeple and maypole. He’s been told to bring his tools.’

‘I forgot that he was trained as a carpenter.’

‘It’s the reason that Oswald was picked to go.’

Before they could continue, they heard footsteps in the corridor outside then the face of Alexander Marwood appeared in the doorway.

‘I want all this taken away,’ said the landlord peremptorily.

‘It will be,’ replied Nicholas.

‘Every trace of Westfield’s Men must leave my inn.’

‘The costumes have already been removed by Hugh Wegges, our tireman. George and I will clear this room today as well. When we have picked out the items that we need to take to Denmark with us, we’ll return with a larger cart and carry everything else away.’

‘No, before then!’ snarled Marwood. ‘Since we lost almost half of the Queen’s Head in the fire, we need to use every room we have.’

Dart was curious. ‘This will become a bedchamber?’

‘It will have to. Eight rooms were lost in the blaze.’

‘But what happens when we come back?’

‘You will not be allowed on my premises.’

‘We do have a contract with you, Master Marwood,’ Nicholas reminded him, ‘and it was signed in good faith. You have no legal right to put us out on a whim.’

‘That contract — accepted against my better judgement, I may tell you — stipulates that Westfield’s Men may play in my yard for the next year. But I no longer have a yard,’ asserted Marwood, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, ‘and so the contract is null and void.’

‘Only until you rebuild the inn.’

‘That will never happen.’

‘But it must,’ pleaded Dart. ‘This is our home.’

‘It was our home until it was burnt down, young sir. It was the place that gave us our livelihood. You and the others may sail off across the sea to earn a living. We do not have that luxury. My wife and I are stuck here in the ruins of our inn.’

‘Have you spoken to a builder yet?’ asked Nicholas.

‘What is the point?’

‘The Queen’s Head can arise anew.’

‘Only at a high price, Master Bracewell. Where am I to get the money to pay it? I do not have a wealthy patron like you.’

‘Come now,’ said Nicholas, ‘you can hardly plead poverty. The weather has been kind to us all year. Throughout spring and summer, we filled your yard with paying customers. They bought your refreshments during the performances and thronged your taproom after it. Six days a week, you made healthy profits.’

‘Yes,’ Dart put in, ‘and it would have been seven days had we not been banned from staging a play within the city limits on the Sabbath.’

‘We bring in most of your custom, Master Marwood.’

The landlord sneered. ‘You also bring cunning pickpockets and greasy prostitutes to my inn,’ he said. ‘I watch them mingle with the crowd as they go about their nefarious business. I will be well rid of such vile creatures.’

‘You will also lose the gallants and their ladies who inhabit your galleries,’ said Nicholas persuasively, ‘not to mention those members of the court who spend their money so freely here. Great men of state have sat on cushions at the Queen’s Head in order to watch us. Would you spurn them as well?’

‘I will spurn anyone in order to keep Westfield’s Men at bay.’

‘But we need each other,’ wailed Dart.

‘My mind is made up — you are expelled forever.’

‘Rebuild,’ advised Nicholas, pointing through the open door at the yard beyond. ‘Rebuild your inn and rebuild your faith in us.’

Marwood was adamant. ‘The only thing that I will build is a high wall to keep out you and that infernal company of yours. I am sorry, Master Bracewell,’ he went on, ‘you are a decent man and have always dealt honestly with me, but Lawrence Firethorn and his crew have tortured me enough.’ He indicated the wooden tomb at his feet. ‘This is your monument — Westfield’s Men are dead and buried. Away with the whole pack of you!’

With a vivid gesture, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Dart was distraught. ‘Did you hear that, Nicholas?’

‘I’ve heard it all too often.’

‘He means to evict us. We have nowhere to perform.’

‘Yes, we do,’ said Nicholas, ‘we have the castle in Elsinore and other places in Denmark. That is all that concerns me at the moment, George. Pay no need to the landlord. When we are gone, he will rue his harsh words. Now,’ he went on briskly, ‘let us carry on. Read out the next items on the list.’

Turning it gently in her hands, Anne Hendrik examined the hat with an expert eye. Light green in colour, it was round with a soft crown and a narrow brim. Twisted gold cord surrounded the crown. An ostrich feather sprouted out of the top of the hat.

‘This is good,’ she said with admiration.

‘It will pass,’ said Preben van Loew. ‘It will pass.’

‘It will do for more than that. Are you sure that Jan made this?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘He has improved so much in the last year, Preben.’

‘Apprentices must work hard if they are to master their trade.’

‘Jan has certainly done so. You must be proud of him.’

‘I am teaching him all I know,’ said the Dutchman. ‘I showed you this latest example of his craft to prove that you need have no fears while you are away. The business will continue. Jan is now able to make hats that are worthy of sale. The lad is no longer a burden on you. He is helping to earn his keep.’

‘And maintaining the tradition that Jacob established.’

‘That is very important.’

Anne had invited him into her house so that they could discuss how the business would be run in her absence. There were enough commissions to keep them busy for months and there was always the possibility that more might come in. She had no worries about the making of the hats because Preben van Loew would oversee that. Where he needed advice was in the areas that she usually reserved for herself — the buying of the materials and the pricing of the finished article. What the Dutchman and the others made, she then sold. Her side of the operation was one in which the old man did not excel.

‘We will get by somehow,’ he assured her.

‘I know, Preben.’

‘How long will you be away?’

‘I’ll not stay much more than a week in Amsterdam.’

‘I still have many friends there. Will you carry letters for me?’

‘I’ll insist upon it.’

‘Thank you, Anne.’

It was early evening and they were seated in the parlour where candles had already been lit to dispel the shadows. Anne had no regrets about marrying into a Dutch family. She had not only acquired some charming relatives, she had also made many friends from the Low Countries and been impressed by the diligence and simplicity of their lives. She did not merely keep in touch with her relatives by marriage out of a sense of obligation. It was a pleasure to make rare visits to see them. Unwilling to return to his homeland himself, Preben van Loew valued her excursions there because she always brought back news and letters for him.

‘I feel that I can leave with a clear conscience now,’ she said.

‘Conscience?’

‘Nick did what he vowed to do.’

‘Ah,’ he said, realising. ‘The Dutch Churchyard.’

‘He and Owen kept vigil there for three nights in a row before they caught that young man.’

‘I know, Anne. I’m very grateful.’

‘He was the same person who threw the stone at you that day we were there. He admitted as much to Nick.’

‘But he did not write those cruel verses about strangers.’

‘No,’ she agreed, ‘but he endorsed every word of them. He’ll be punished severely for his part in the outrage. He’ll not be able to hang any more libels on the wall of the churchyard.’

‘Somebody else will do that.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘They will, Anne,’ he said with an air of fatalism. ‘He can easily be replaced. The only way to stop these attacks is to arrest the men who write and publish them. Nicholas would never catch them. They are far too clever to put themselves at risk. They stay hidden while someone else spreads the poison on their behalf. The young man who was captured last night was suborned by others.’

‘Their names will soon be known, Preben.’

‘He’ll not yield them up willingly.’

‘Nick says that he’s been taken to Bridewell to be examined,’ she told him. ‘We both know what that means.’

Preben van Loew swallowed hard. A sensitive man, he recoiled from the idea of pain, even when it was inflicted on others. The young man in custody had broken open the Dutchman’s head with a sharp stone yet he could still feel pity for him. Examination in Bridewell condemned the prisoner to torture. Instruments that could inflict the most unbearable agony were kept there. The very notion made Preben van Loew squirm. He tried to change the subject.

‘Do you wish me to see you off, Anne?’ he asked.

‘We’re not sailing for another couple of days.’

‘Will you want me at the quayside?’

‘No, Preben,’ she replied. ‘You are much better off here, carrying on with your work and helping Jan to improve even more. If he or any of the others have letters or gifts they wish me to take to Amsterdam, they only have to ask.’

‘I’ll pass that message on to them.’

‘Good.’

‘It’s a pity that you cannot go on to Denmark as well.’

‘Oh, I do not have time enough for that.’

‘But you would like to be with Nicholas, would you not?’ he said with a quizzical smile. ‘And you have always enjoyed watching Westfield’s Men — do not deny it.’

‘I would never dare to do that. I’ve spent many happy afternoons at the Queen’s Head and hope to spend many more in the future. And yes,’ she added, warming to the thought, ‘I would love to go with them to Denmark. But then — if truth be told — I’d gladly go anywhere with Nick Bracewell.’

On the eve of their departure, Nicholas Bracewell called at the house in Shoreditch to confirm arrangements with Lawrence Firethorn. Once again, he was clasped to Margery’s surging bosom, hugged for a long time then kissed repeatedly.

‘Let him go, my love,’ said Firethorn with a chuckle, ‘or you’ll squeeze the life out of him. Above all else, we need Nick on this voyage. He’s the one true sailor among us.’

‘Then I charge you to bring him back safely to me,’ she told her husband, releasing the book holder. ‘For I have my needs as well.’

‘It’s always a delight to satisfy them, Margery.’ She let out a merry cackle and gave her husband a playful push. ‘Well, Nick,’ he continued, ‘is everything in order?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Where are our costumes, scenery and properties?’

‘Awaiting us at the quayside. I rented space in a warehouse.’

‘What of the items we leave behind?’

‘Hugh Wegges has stored the costumes in his own home. All else has been stowed with our carpenter in Bankside. It hurt me to tell Nathan Curtis that he would not be sailing with us, but there is no room in the company for someone who does not act.’

‘Then why are we taking Barnaby?’

Margery laughed. ‘Do not be so wicked, Lawrence!’

‘Have you spoken to our patron again, Nick?’

‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I’ve just come from Lord Westfield’s house, as it happens. He and his servants will sail with us tomorrow on the Cormorant — and so will his adviser.’

‘Adviser?’

‘A man named Rolfe Harling. I met him earlier on. It seems that he was responsible for helping to arrange this match. He has been combing Europe for a suitable bride.’

‘I found mine right here in England,’ said Firethorn, slipping an affectionate arm around his wife’s plump waist, ‘and she has been the light of my life. But more of that later,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I have never heard of Rolfe Harling,’ he admitted, turning back to the book holder. ‘Is he part of Lord Westfield’s circle?’

‘Far from it,’ said Nicholas.

‘Why so?’

‘Because he would look out of place among the other hangers-on. Our patron likes the company of flamboyant young men and powdered young ladies. Rolfe Harling is too sober and diffident a man in every way,’ said Nicholas. ‘He’s quiet, watchful, intelligent. I take him to be a scholar of some sort.’

‘Perchance he is tutoring Lord Westfield in Danish.’

‘Our patron relies heavily on him, I know that.’

‘And we rely heavily on you, Nick.’

‘I would never trust myself to pick out a bride for another man.’

‘When are you going to marry the one you have picked out for yourself?’ asked Margery bluntly. ‘Anne clearly adores you.’

‘And I, her,’ confessed Nicholas. ‘But she prefers to remain a widow for the time being and I respect her wish. A lady should not be rushed into marriage.’

‘I was — and happy to be so.’

‘And what about this Sigbrit Olsen?’ said Firethorn. ‘It seems that she is being taken to the altar at a mad gallop. Lord Westfield has not even met the lady yet he wants to move post-haste to the marriage bed.’

‘It would appear that she is agreeable to the plan.’

‘Then we must abide by it ourselves and perform The Princess of Denmark by way of celebration. How does Edmund fare?’

‘Four acts are completed. Even now, he works on the last one.’

‘Changing an old play is swifter work than writing a new one.’

‘Trust him — the piece will be ready in time.’

‘I hope that the same is true of everyone else,’ said Firethorn sternly, ‘for the Cormorant will not tarry. It leaves on the morning tide. I know that the others will want to take a fond farewell from their wives and lovers tonight, but we do not want them still sleeping between the thighs of a woman while we sail down the Thames. Did you make that clear to them, Nick?’

‘Crystal clear. The whole company will be there tomorrow.’

‘What of you, Nick? Will you roister with them tonight?’

‘No, I’ll spend a quiet evening in Bankside with Anne. We will have to be up early to get to the quayside.’

‘So will we,’ said Margery. ‘I have a husband, two children and four apprentices to roust out of bed. I’ll manage it somehow.’

Firethorn chortled. ‘You’ll have us up, washed, dressed and fed long before dawn, my love. If only everyone had someone like you to haul them from their slumbers.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Owen Elias is my real concern.’

‘He’s as eager as any of us to go to Denmark,’ said Nicholas.

‘I do not question his eagerness, Nick. What troubles me is the way that he’ll spend the night. Owen is a Welsh mountain goat. The rest of us — except Barnaby, that is — are content to lie in the arms of one woman. Owen will seek out three or four and swear undying love to each. Do you see why I worry?’ he asked. ‘What state will he be in in the morning?’

Owen Elias was determined to enjoy his last night in London. In the company of James Ingram and Frank Quilter, two other actors who would be going to Denmark, he spent a couple of riotous hours in the Black Horse, drinking his fill. Aware of the passage of time, he then peeled off from his friends and strutted off towards the first house he intended to visit that night. A buxom young woman was awaiting him, her appetite whetted by the fact that she might not see him again for some time. Elias planned to spend an hour or so with her before rolling on to his second port of call. He was so elated at the thought of what lay ahead that he did not hear the footsteps behind him or sense any danger.

The attack came when he turned down an alleyway. Seizing their moment, the two men who had been trailing him ran forward and started to belabour him with cudgels. Taken unawares, Elias was beaten hard around the head and shoulders. He put up his arms to protect himself and spun round to face his attackers. Two brawny men were flailing away with their cudgels, trying to knock him senseless. One blow opened a gash above his eye, another sent blood cascading down from his nose.

Elias surged with anger. He was a powerful man and he fought back with fury. Ducking and weaving, he managed to catch one of the cudgels in his hand and wrested it from the grasp of the man who had been holding it. With a weapon of his own, he was not such an easy target. The second man continued to strike at him but Elias was able to parry the blows with his own cudgel, punching at his attacker with the other fist. Swerving out of the way of another murderous blow, he kicked the man in the groin and made him double up in pain. Elias increased his victim’s agony by rapping him hard on the skull with his cudgel and making blood spurt out.

The first man was not finished. Deprived of his cudgel, he drew a sword and tried to run the Welshman through. Elias reacted swiftly. He parried the blade, grabbed the man’s jerkin and lifted him a foot into the air before hurling him to the ground. Elias stamped on his hand to make him let go of the sword then landed a series of stinging blows with the cudgel. His attackers had had enough. Dragging himself to his feet, the man limped away as fast as he could. His companion was close behind him, still clutching his groin and moaning with pain. Bruised, dazed, panting for breath and covered in blood, Owen Elias forgot all about the women on whom he had promised to call.

He tossed the cudgel aside and staggered off into the night.

The Cormorant was a small galleon used, for the most part, as a cargo vessel but ready to take a certain number of passengers as well. Built in the Netherlands, it had recently been bought and renamed by an English merchant. It was a three-masted ship, square rigged on the fore and main, and with a lateen sail on the mizzen mast. It had good carrying capacity and its shallow draught allowed it to sail along inshore waters with comparative safety.

Nicholas Bracewell was pleased with what he saw. Having sailed on many vessels during his youthful apprenticeship to his father, he could assess the finer points of a ship at a glance. Anne Hendrik stood beside him on the quay and appraised the Cormorant.

‘Why are there so many cannon guns?’ she asked.

‘Piracy is still a hazard in the North Sea,’ he replied. ‘That’s why she is so well-armed. There are gun ports along the main deck and the quarterdeck. At a guess, I say that she had at least thirty cannon aboard.’

‘Well, I hope they are not needed.’

‘They will frighten off smaller vessels, Anne. A show of strength is sometimes all the defence that you need.’ He indicated the gangway. ‘You may as well go aboard.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll wait here to check off all the names.’

There was a flurry of activity at the quayside. The last of the cargo was being loaded and the passengers were starting to embark. When he saw Edmund Hoode, the book holder beckoned him over.

‘Good morrow, Edmund.’

‘Good morrow to you both,’ returned the other.

‘Have you brought The Princess of Denmark with you?’

Hoode patted the leather satchel slung from his shoulder. ‘She is right here, Nick.’ He smiled at Anne. ‘But I see that you have your own princess.’

‘Thank you, Edmund,’ she said, beaming at the compliment.

‘Be so good as to take Anne aboard,’ said Nicholas. ‘I must stay here until the last.’ He consulted the list that he held. ‘We are still missing four people.’

‘What about Lord Westfield?’ asked Hoode.

‘He and his servants are already aboard. Take the trouble to introduce yourself to Rolfe Harling, who travels with our patron. It was Master Harling who found this young bride and who therefore made possible our voyage to Denmark.’

‘Then he deserves all our thanks.’ He turned to Anne. ‘Are you ready to come aboard?’

‘Yes.’ She tossed a worried glance at the cannon. ‘I think so.’

Hoode led her to the gangplank and let her walk up it first. Nicholas, meanwhile, was able to cross another name off his list as Barnaby Gill came into view, marching along the quay in a peach-coloured suit and an elaborate wide-brimmed hat. In his wake was a porter, groaning under the weight of the luggage he carried. Of all the actors, Gill was easily the most vain and he was taking by far the largest wardrobe with him. Since nobody had come to see him off, he went aboard immediately.

Some members of the company preferred to stay on land until the very last moment in order to be with the families and friends who had come to see them off. Oswald Megson was entwined with his young wife. Frank Quilter was caressing the cheek of his new mistress. Unable to go to Denmark himself, Thomas Skillen, the wrinkled old stagekeeper, was giving copious advice to George Dart. Lawrence Firethorn was part of a tearful huddle that comprised his wife, children and the boy apprentices.

What touched Nicholas was the number of hired men who had come to wave the company off even though — like Skillen — they would not be part of the adventure. Hugh Wegges, the tireman, and Nathan Curtis, the stage carpenter, were both there along with several actors whose main source of income was Westfield’s Men. They put on brave faces as they wished their fellows well. Two more of the travellers arrived with their bags and Nicholas was able to cross off the names of Harold Stoddard and James Ingram. As the latter strolled along the quay, Nicholas went to greet him.

‘Well-met, James,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry if I am late, Nick,’ Ingram apologised, a hand to his brow. ‘I drank far too much last night and I am paying for it now.’

‘Where is Owen?’

‘I thought that he would be here by now.’

‘He’s the one person who is missing.’

‘Owen will be here anon,’ said Ingram confidently. ‘He talked of nothing else when we were in the Black Horse with him last night.’

‘Your lodging is close to his,’ said Nicholas. ‘I expected that the two of you would come together.’

‘No, Nick. He told me that he had calls to make first thing this morning. Owen Elias spreads his love far and wide. He did not want three or four ladies turning up here together, each thinking that she alone would get a farewell kiss.’ Ingram smirked. ‘Owen is probably visiting them in turn.’

‘Then he needs to visit the Cormorant as well — and be quick about it.’ Nicholas looked back at the ship. ‘The cargo is loaded and everyone else is starting to go aboard. You go and join them, James.’

‘I will.’

‘And pray that Owen gets here in time. We’ll not wait.’

Ingram hurried on down the quay to be greeted by the other actors. They moved excitedly across to the gangway. Nicholas saw that Lawrence Firethorn was simultaneously holding his children in his arms and kissing his wife. It was an affecting scene. Other farewells were being taken yet there was still no sign of Owen Elias. The book holder was alarmed. It was far too late to go to the Welshman’s lodging and he might, in any case, not even be there. It was worrying.

Nicholas remembered the fear that Firethorn had expressed the day before, that an excess of pleasure might hinder Elias. If that were the case, Westfield’s Men would be deprived of one of their finest actors as well as of someone whose sunny disposition helped to keep spirits high in the company. He would be a grave loss and Firethorn would never forgive him for letting them down. Nicholas was hurt. Elias was a particular friend of his. He felt betrayed by his absence.

The last of the passengers were clambering aboard and the crew would soon be preparing to cast off. Nicholas could delay no longer. He walked sadly down the quay towards the Cormorant.

‘Nick!’ cried a familiar voice. ‘Wait!’

The book holder turned to see Owen Elias, moving gingerly towards him with a large bag slung from his shoulder. Nicholas was shocked. Not only was the Welshman walking with difficulty, he was patently injured. There was thick bandaging beneath his hat, around one knee and on both hands. His face was covered in bruises and one eye was virtually closed. Nicholas ran towards him.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked.

‘Bullies set upon me in an alleyway,’ replied Elias, his swollen lips making speech painful. ‘But I fought them off in the end.’

‘Give me the bag,’ said Nicholas, taking it from him then helping his friend along with the other hand. ‘We thought we would have to leave without you.’

‘No hope of that. I’d have crawled all the way here, if need be.’

‘You obviously took some punishment.’

‘The two of them had cudgels.’

‘Were they after your purse?’

‘No,’ said Elias. ‘They wanted something else — revenge.’

‘For what?’

‘The way I helped to catch that villain at the Dutch Churchyard. He has desperate friends. You are lucky that they did not come after you as well.’

Nicholas was puzzled. ‘Are you sure that this has something to do with those libels against strangers?’

‘Of course, Nick. I’m a foreigner myself, remember — I’m Welsh.’

‘Why should they pick on you and not on me?’

‘I had no chance to ask them that,’ said Elias, wincing as he struggled along. ‘I was too busy fighting for my life.’

‘I am still not convinced.’

‘I am — those cudgels were very persuasive.’

‘They might have simply been trying to rob you.’

‘No,’ said Elias firmly. ‘They were hired ruffians, ordered to break my bones. I’ve had the whole of the night to think about it, Nick, for I could get no sleep in this condition. The assault must be linked to what we did at the Dutch Churchyard that night.’ He hunched his shoulders. ‘Who else could possibly want to have me beaten like that?’

Dressed in black, the man was tall, thin, angular and beetle-browed. His features were unprepossessing enough in repose. When he was roused, as now, his face turned into a mask of ugliness, eyes staring, teeth bared and veins standing out on his forehead.

‘You let him get away!’ he yelled, glaring at them. ‘There were two of you against one of him — and he escaped?’

‘Only after we gave him a sound beating,’ said the man with the black eye. ‘We thrashed him hard.’

‘I ought to do the same to the pair of you.’

‘We’re here for our money, sir,’ said the second man, nursing a badly bruised arm. ‘You told us to come to the tavern this morning.’

‘Only if you’d done what you were told to do.’

‘We deserve something, sir.’

‘He helped to kill my son,’ snarled Isaac Dunmow, clenching a fist. ‘A beating is not enough. I wanted him dead.’

‘We did our best,’ said the first man, ‘but he fought like a demon. You can see what he did to us.’ He smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Give us another chance, sir. We’ll track him down, I swear it, wherever he’s gone to. We’ll murder him next time.’

‘Yes,’ added his companion. ‘I’ll shoot him, sir. Then we’ll cut off his head and bring it to you.

Isaac Dunmow studied them through narrowed lids. Since he was a rich man, money was no problem to him. He could afford to pay handsomely for vengeance. He remembered the moment when his son had arrived back in York in a wooden box. He had forced open the lid and seen something that he would never forget. Will Dunmow had been turned into a black, shrunken monster. Someone had to atone for that. Extracting some coins from his purse, he tossed them onto the table in front of him and the men snatched them up.

‘No,’ he said vindictively. ‘I don’t want you shoot Owen Elias. That would be too kind a death. I want him burnt him alive.’