part0009

It took Jack longer than he had thought it would to buy the horses he wanted. Two good mounts were bought locally, but then he had a long ride to see more and pick out the final ones that he needed. Jack arrived back with his purchases a day after Richard returned with his new companions from Antwerp.

“And I will be having that one,” Mat announced, pointing at the dappled horse Jack was leading into a stable. “You tell the other lads that this one’s mine, I saw it first.”

“You damn well won’t be getting her.” Jack gave the horse a kindly pat on the neck. “This one’s mine. You can pick any of the others. They are all in the next five stalls, but if I were to choose, I’d be taking the chestnut rouncey; take a look and let me know what you think. ”

A rouncey was a good horse, not quite in the same league as the courser that Jack had bought himself, but still an excellent mount. They provided the rider with a horse that could be used for hunting as well as for day-to-day riding. They lacked the speed of the courser, but Mat knew Jack all too well, and if there was an opportunity to show off on horseback Jack would rarely miss it.

“You’re right, I’ll take the chestnut,” Mat agreed, emerging from the stable, then noticing the horse next to his new mount, he frowned. A small thirteen hand mare, almost white, pressed its head over the stable partition and tried to gain his attention. Mat rubbed his flat palm against the mare’s nose. “What’s this one for then? Looks a bit small even for Froggy.”

Jack didn’t answer him, and Mat, glancing between the mare and Jack, just shrugged.

Wandering back across the yard, Mat located Froggy and Dan in the inn and sat down to join them. “I tell you, I might not be happy to be away from England but what I’ve just seen in the stable makes up for it. Master’s not short of coin, that’s for sure.”

“Jack’s back with the horses?” Froggy was already rising from the bench.

“He is, and the chestnut is mine, so don’t go getting any ideas,” Mat shouted at his retreating back, and then added, chuckling, “He’s got you a white mare that’s in the next stable.”

“What’s the joke?” Dan asked .

“Jack’s bought a little mare. Lord knows what for. It’s no more than twelve hands, maybe thirteen at the most. Can’t see it pulling the cart either.”

“I’ve no idea. But you know what Jack’s like when it comes to horses. He wants to own them all,” Dan replied.

“I know what he’s like, but what’s he want a lady’s horse for…” Mat’s words trailed off and his eyes met Dan’s. “Jesus! You don’t think he’s bringing his woman with him, do you?”

Dan shook his head. “I hope not.”

Mat’s eyes suddenly widened and his face split into a huge grin. Leaning across the table, he said quietly, “You don’t suppose the fool got himself wed whilst he was in London?”

Dan snorted in his beer, spraying Mat across the table as he exploded into laughter. “There’s a thought I’d not had until just now.”

“Come on, Dan, you’ve spoken to the Master. Have you asked him what happened since they left Burton?”

“I have,” Dan conceded.

“Well? Go on then,” Mat pressed, leaning forward, very much wanting to know what had happened to the Fitzwarren brothers.

Dan shook his head slowly. “You don’t need to know.” Then seeing Mat’s glowering expression, he said, “We have a new course, the Master has put coin in your pocket, what else do you need to know?”

“Hmmppphh! I suppose I didn’t expect you to say much more. I asked Jack and got a slap round my head for my pains. He’s still got a temper on him,” Mat replied.

“Well, if they don’t want to tell you, leave it. It is, after all, not your business, is it?” Dan said quietly.

“No, it’s not.” Mat was grinning. “But I’d still like to know what happened. I can see with my eyes that Master has been ill and Jack’s got a secret or two he would rather not have. I want to know who the lass is that they’ve got traipsing around after them. Do you want to put a coin or two on a bet, Dan?”

Dan was not one for idle gambling, but on this occasion he could not resist. Before the bells struck for the next hour, Mat had taken bets from everyone in their group on whether or not Lizbet was Jack’s wife.

Dan watched the girl as she left Jack’s room and made her way down the stairs and he wondered. Neither of the brothers referred to her, but she was overly familiar with Jack, and Dan found the way she spoke to Richard nothing short of alarming. He’d assumed she worked at the inn, but he was not so sure. So who the hell was she? Jack’s woman was his guess, which surprised him. Jack was well noted for changing his woman every time the wind swapped direction, so to have one in tow was most unlike him. Dan resolved not to ask questions, not yet anyway. However stupid he often thought Jack was, he could not see him as wedded to the girl and he’d placed a coin on that which was currently in Mat’s keeping.

Jack took an instant dislike to Master Scranton, and it seemed the feeling was fairly mutual. Master Scranton, small, bespectacled, with thick greying hair and an acid tongue in his head, had been a man used to being obeyed when he was in England, and took no time in asserting his authority amongst the group. He made it painfully clear that, with the exception of the Master, he was above the lot of them. When he’d found out from the others that Jack was a bastard, it had reinforced his firm belief that he was a man not at all worthy of his attentions.

This fact rankled with Jack even more, as Richard had wisely advised him to keep his counsel about the exact details of his parentage. The men with them had known Jack as Richard’s bastard brother for years, and they cared little; he was widely accepted now as their second in command. If he announced that he was now indeed the Fitzwarren heir it was likely to attract little more than speculation, disbelief and a lot of ribald comments, all of which, Richard advised, they could do without. Jack was inclined to agree. Being heir to nothing, he had to admit, didn’t exactly lend him much credibility.

He had, however, started to use the Fitzwarren name, and it was with some satisfaction now that he occasionally heard himself referred to as Jack Fitzwarren rather than his previous title that had always been ‘the Master’s bastard brother’. He had even heard this on Dan’s lips, which had pleased him more than he thought it would .

Andrew and Thomas, however, Jack found to be good company. Andrew appeared to have no problem with his parentage, and accepted immediately his seniority in the company without question. It did not surprise Jack that Andrew and Thomas had left what was probably well paid employment to join a small band of men led by his brother that was heading slowly south through Europe. Richard could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it and with the benefit of their father’s money, they were, at the moment, an affluent group.

What exactly his brother’s plans were, he did not know, and Richard had told him repeatedly that he would let him know soon. Jack was happy enough, outside, with food in his belly and a good horse again beneath him. It was, he felt, going to be a good summer.

Lizbet, studying her hands, swore loudly. Tasked with cleaning the black oil from the flintlocks, she found a layer of it was now coating both her palms and with it there was an attendant noxious odour.

Hearing the door click open, she swivelled round to see the Master watching her as he closed the door behind him.

“They’re all done. It’s just me that needs cleaning now.” Lizbet held her hands up for him to see.

Richard, ignoring her, picked up one of the flintlocks and ran his hands along the deeply engraved barrels, his fingers tracing the fluid scrolling lines that decorated the barrel.

“Pretty as a crown of dancing garlands, aren’t they?” Lizbet, reaching out a hand, ran her fingers over the decoration.

Richard battered her hand away. “They are filthy. Keep them to yourself.”

“And they got that way cleaning them for you,” Lizbet said hotly.

Richard turned the flintlock over in his hand. “The future, it seems, is made of such things as these.”

Lizbet shrugged. “If you say so. I don’t care to ask how much they cost. I would wager they would empty even a gentleman’s purse.”

Richard, smiling, said absently, “Indeed, however the purse I have in mind is a large one.” He placed the flintlocks back on the table and twitched a cloth over them, before turning his attention back to Lizbet. “I’ve another task for you tonight.”

Lizbet’s shoulders dropped. “Another?”

“It’s an easy one.” Richard walked past her and flipped the drape from the window, revealing the stone sill. “Up you get, my pretty Erato.”

“What are you on about?” Lizbet remained unmoving in the middle of the room.

“I need your ears, and your silence. I need you to know what is said within this room tonight and I need to know if any of them repeat it where they should not,” Richard explained patiently.

“You want me to spy on them?” Lizbet’s eyes widened in delight .

“I’d have you know as much as they do, but without their knowing; there is a difference.” Richard’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. “It is a venture that could become unstitched so very easily by a loosened tongue and I would like to know if they speak out of turn. I would wager they don’t pay much heed to you.”

Lizbet grunted. “You’d be right there. Skivvy and servant to the bloody lot of them.”

Richard’s eyebrows raised. “That is what I pay you for.”

“I had thought I was seeing to you two, not mending the linen of a bloody army. I am fairly sick of having holed socks and filthy clothing thrown at me.”

“And so you should be.” Richard, still holding the drape to one side, motioned with his head. “Up you go and I, in return, will reduce your laundry burden.”

“And another thing…”

Richard planted a finger across her lips. “No more. Now up you go and keep your counsel for an hour.” Then, leaning forward, he asked, “You can be quiet for an hour, can’t you?”

Lizbet opened her mouth to protest but this time he clamped a hand over her mouth. “I think we will start now. The same letters are used in listen and in silent, so be both for me.”

Lizbet sat on the sill, her eyes blazing with fury and Richard, grinning mischievously, let the curtain fall back, concealing her.

The men filed into Richard’s room and waited; the Master was not yet present. In the centre of the room stood a trestle table and upon it several items covered purposefully with a cloth. Jack was more than a little curious and recognised that he was about to find out what they were doing in France. However, he obeyed the unspoken tenant and restrained himself from inspecting whatever it was that lay beneath the cloth. The door opened, and ten pairs of eyes fell expectantly upon Richard Fitzwarren.

Richard’s gaze met those of his men regarding him, finally coming to rest on the most inquisitive pair. “Have a look,” Richard invited, nodding towards the cloth.

Mat wasted no time, his sinewy hand pulling the cover away immediately. “Holy mother and all the saints,” Mat gasped. “Look at these beauties.”

Jack, Dan and Froggy crowded round the table. Andrew and Thomas, new to the group, stood back respectfully and Master Scranton, adjusting his spectacles, pushed Froggy out of the way to get a better view.

Lizbet from her concealed seat in the window knew what they were looking at. Her hands were still black with the pungent grease from the guns, but her work had been good, and Richard was pleased with the elegant shining results of her labours.

Jack took the second pistol from the table and upon turning it over appreciatively in his hand said, “ I am guessing you didn’t bring us all up here to show off your latest purchases.”

“You ever fired one?” Mat asked Froggy.

Mat knew Froggy had spent some time in military service.

“Aye, the musket but not the pistols; those are gentleman’s weapons. Although Lord knows why. They are less accurate than the musket, and fire over a shorter range.” Froggy hefted the musket in his hand. “Facing down a line of these takes some nerve, I can tell you. We used these against the French at the Siege of Boulogne.”

“Any good?” Jack asked, genuinely interested.

“If we’d had more maybe. There was about a double line of twenty, so they fire and then the row behind swap places while you reload. At least that’s the theory. Trying to drop a musket ball clean down the barrel when your hands are shaking is a rare feat, I can tell you. Then you just fire smoke and noise and hope no one notices you dropped the lead ball in the grass.” Froggy cocked the musket. The mechanism clunked neatly as he pulled the trigger. “This is a nice piece; much better than the ones we had. This pin here…” He twisted the gun so they could all see. “The one holding the frizzen, was forever coming loose, then the flint wouldn’t strike straight and the damn things stopped firing. I don’t think that would happen with this one. It’s properly secured to the rest of the mechanism rather than just having a daft screw into the wood to hold it.” Froggy turned his beady eyes on the Master. “These are fine pieces. I’d like a chance to fire them if I may. ”

“You may. I want you to know everything there is to know about them, and you will all get plenty of opportunity to train with these. In a month or so I’m hoping to show just how good these can be in the right hands. I want every one of you to know how these work and be more than proficient in their use,” Richard said, then added, “Gentlemen, it seems we have moved into selling the wares of war.”

“Nice as they may be, two pistols and two muskets are not going to raise a lot of money,” Jack said, holding one of the pistols now.

Richard gave him a weary look.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “How many?”

“Enough,” was the only reply he received, and upon meeting his brother’s gaze, Jack realised that he was unlikely to say more in the presence of the others.

“Well, let’s hope we don’t end up on the receiving end of these.” Jack changed the subject, quickly realising his error, and put the pistol back down next to its companion.

“I agree, two of these are never to be fired, and these are the ones we will use for show. Jack, pick up the two pistols and look at the end of the grip,” Richard instructed.

Jack did, and saw it then. One had a neat cross indented into the metalwork and, picking up one of the muskets, he found the same mark there as well. “Go on then, what makes these two different?”

“The barrels are not sealed at the mechanism end. Fire this and the charge will not expel the ball from the barrel, but will probably blow the firing mechanism into the face of the man who is holding it.” Richard smiled.

“Just on these two?” Jack asked.

“Just those two,” Richard confirmed.

Mat was examining one of the pistols with the notched mark. “I can’t see anything that would show the barrel is defective. Are you sure?”

“Quite. These two have been adapted to come apart, so we can show the inner workings of them more easily. I am fairly sure that standing in front of it is the safest place to be when it is fired,” Richard said, smiling.

Shortly after, they filed out, leaving Richard alone with a man who had a lot of questions.

The latch secure from the inside, Richard and Jack were alone again in the room.

“Come on out,” Richard commanded of the room in general.

Jack looked at him in confusion until Lizbet suddenly emerged, grumbling, from behind the curtain.

“I can’t feel my arse I’ve been sat up there that long! An hour you said, it’s been more like two,” she complained, rubbing her hands over her numbed rear.

“Any reason why Lizbet has taken to residing in your window?” Jack asked, folding his arms, his eyes switching between the pair.

“Lizbet will be my listener for idle tongues, that’s all,” Richard said.

“What about Lizbet’s idle tongue. She’s not known for keeping her mouth shut,” Jack pointed out .

“Silence, I agree, is not one of her virtues. Stupidity, however also isn’t amongst her traits either, is it, my Erato?”

“Stop bloody calling me that. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.” Lizbet’s brows furrowed. “I’ll keep my trap shut. Now, if you’ve no need of me I’ve a stomach that’s rumbling louder than the thunder clouds in Hell.”

Richard flipped a coin neatly into the air between them and, faster than a striking adder, Lizbet seized it, smiling. “That will certainly quieten my stomach.”

“And when you’ve eaten, bring me something as well,” Richard instructed.

Elbowing her way between them, Lizbet flicked the latch up on the door and left them watching her departure.

“So how many have you got then? And where the hell did you get them from?” Jack had been bursting to ask this all night.

“They are in London with a friend, but I have with me six muskets, four pistols and a selection of the spares that accompany them,” Richard supplied.

“Who are we selling them for? How many do they have? Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

Richard related the story Christian Carter had told him of the failed arms sale and how they had ended up in a warehouse in London.

“I only made the decision to bring them the night before London, and I didn’t want to unpack the cases on the Dutch Flower. You never know who would have had a look inside them,” Richard said. “ Anyway, as it happens, I got my idea from you as to where to sell them.”

“From me?” Jack said, surprised but also delighted.

“Indeed. Remember when we were riding down the Strand and we went past Thomas Tresham’s house? Well, then you told me of your high respect for the Knights of St John, and that gave me an idea,” Richard said.

Jack’s eyes widened. “No, we are not peddling these to that bloody lot.” Then his mind caught up. “How many of these have you got?”

Richard smiled broadly. “Enough to start a war.”

“I do hope we are not on the field when it starts,” Jack said sarcastically.

Andrew was leaning against the wall outside the room when Jack finally left his brother. That Andrew had been waiting there was evident, but he wasn’t sure whether it was Jack he had wished to speak to.

“I’ve a thirst on me,” Andrew said, meeting Jack’s enquiring gaze.

Jack smiled. He guessed Andrew had probably been waiting to speak to his brother, and why wouldn’t he be after tonight’s revelations?

“If you are buying, then I will join you,” Jack said, setting his feet towards the steps to the inn below.

A moment later, the door opened behind them and Lizbet emerged. She met Jack’s eyes and those of his companion. She didn’t like Andrew. She had felt his eyes upon her more than once since he had arrived, and the way he spoke to Jack irritated her. Chin in the air, she moved between them. Her eyes met Jack’s for a moment, and in a parody of Andrew’s address, she said, “Excuse me, Master.”

Andrew waited until she had passed before he spoke. “That lass needs some respect beaten into her.”

“Aye, maybe,” Jack replied automatically and then said, “Come on then, let’s see if Mat is in the taproom. He’s got a purse full of my coins that I’ve a mind to get back tonight.”

If Andrew had wanted Jack’s company to himself that night, it seemed he wasn’t going to get it.

Andrew joined Jack and absented himself as soon as he could, to go in search of the other brother.

Standing outside for a moment, Andrew hesitated before tapping on the door. He heard a voice from within and pressed the door handle to open it.

The expression on the seated man’s face told him immediately that he had not expected to be visited by any man other than his servants.

Andrew smiled broadly. “Excuse me, I’ve a mind to talk with you if I may?”

Richard pushed a chair out for Andrew to take. “Join me. Lizbet has brought me more than enough for one.”

Andrew seated himself and, taking a piece of the bread from the platter, tore off a chunk, crumbs scattering over the wooden table.

“I’m assuming it’s not food that brought you to my table,” prompted Richard .

“No, no, it’s not,” Andrew conceded, placing the bread down in front of him and meeting Richard’s dark eyes. “Although in a way it is.”

“Sugar. I’ve spent the last three years guarding it, protecting, keeping it free from prying eyes, stopping it from being pilfered and even tampered with.” Andrew paused.

“And your point is?” Richard asked.

“If you’ve a cargo here that needs that kind of attention, then I feel I am well placed to secure it for you,” Andrew said, and then added hastily, “I do not mean to speak out of turn or to denigrate the skills of your men, I just wanted you to know that I have some experience you can avail yourself of if you need it. You are paying me now and so place me where I can be of most use to you.”

Richard nodded, but instead of replying he reached for his cup.

Andrew, forced to continue, said, “It is not my place to ask, but I can only assume there is a large number of these muskets and if I can be of use in ensuring their security then use me.”

“Thank you, Andrew. Their security is not a current concern for me, however our journey south is, and your skills to ensure an uneventful and smooth journey are most wholly appreciated.” Richard twisted the cup in his hand, regarding Andrew over the rim.

“Thank you. I will of course do what I can. It would help if I knew where we are going,” Andrew asked .

“Just south. For the moment that’s all anyone needs to know,” Richard supplied. “Where this route will end, I don’t yet know myself.”

“I’m not prying,” Andrew said hastily.

Richard smiled. “I know, Andrew. I’d never accuse you of such. I did tell you in Antwerp it would be a worthwhile venture. What do you think of them?”

“They are the future.” Andrew leant back in the chair. “I wish it were not so, but time moves on and they are becoming more and more useful in the field.”

“I agree, and cannon aside, these can take down men, horses, punch holes through armour – and all at a hundred paces,” Richard said.

“It will change the field. No commander would pit his mounted forces against a fully primed musket line if it was executed right,” Andrew said.

“That’s the point, I think. Froggy talks about the poorest soldiers being trained to use them and it should be the reverse. In the hands of skilled, trained and dedicated soldiers, they would be a force to be reckoned with,” Richard replied.

Andrew nodded, “I agree. So how many do you have that would make a commander want to rethink his offensive strategy?”

Richard’s eyes darkened, then he smiled. “Enough to make the journey worthwhile.”

Andrew’s shoulders dropped. “I am a prying clod. I have no right to ask.” He leant close to Richard across the table. “But what you showed us all tonight, what you showed me, raises a man’s curiosity, forgive me. ”

Richard picked up the wine flagon, and filled Andrew’s cup. “There is nothing to forgive. Indeed, if your curiosity was not roused, then I would be doubting this very endeavour.”

Andrew picked up his filled cup and clanked it against Richard’s. “To your success, lad. I am proud of you.”

The following morning the company, united and now with a purpose, was assembled, mounted and ready for the start of a journey the destination of which only two of them knew. The cart was driven by Froggy, his own horse tethered to the rear, and ready to leave, as were the other mounted men.

“I’ve never ridden a bloody horse in my life. I don’t even know how to get on,” Lizbet was complaining.

Jack, taking a vice-like grip on her arm that made her wince, leant close to her ear so only she could hear his words. “Get on, shut up, and don’t make a fool of yourself in front of them.”

Lizbet bit her tongue. Indeed, all the men were staring at her, with the exception of Richard, who had already set his horse to leave the inn. She felt Jack’s hands on her, and none too gently he hoisted her up into the saddle. After some shuffling, she got her skirts straightened and Jack pushed her feet into the stirrups then left. Glancing round, she saw they were still all staring at her. If she had known why they were all so interested in the fact that she was obviously now joining them for the journey, she would have lost her temper. Mat, grinning, was counting his winnings already.

Her hands found the loose leather strap on the horse’s neck and taking it in her hands, she tightened her hold. The body beneath hers shifted and wobbled and Lizbet’s eyes widened in alarm. She heard laughter and her face reddened. The men rode from the yard, followed by the cart with the Dutch Flowers cargo strapped to the boards. Lizbet sat astride her horse and watched them all leave. The mare stood, solidly, as it had been trained to do, and waited.

“Come on then, you dozy animal.” Lizbet slapped the reins on its neck, but it did little more than dip its head and remained standing in the yard, teeth grinding noisily on the bit. The cart had now disappeared through the gates and she could only just hear the rumble of the wheels as it followed the mounted riders.

“Come on, come on, they are not leaving me here.” Lizbet urged her mount forwards but it did little more than spin around on the spot. “You miserable beast, come on, go through the gate.” Lizbet yanked hard on the reins and the startled mare pranced on the spot, ears back and eyes wide.

“Jesus, don’t do that or you’ll be sat on your backside in the road.”

Lizbet thanked the Lord; it was Jack’s voice behind her.

“I don’t know what to do, do I? I’ve eaten a few horses but I’ve never sat on one.” Lizbet’s voice was filled with relief as Jack clipped a line to the mare’s bridle and started to lead it out of the yard.

“Never?” There was disbelief in his voice.

“No, not much call for them when I was working in London, was there? And as if I’d ever earn enough to own one. Daisy had a man who took her out on his a few times, but I’ve never been on one in my life.”

They caught up to the back of the cart. Jack leant forward and clipped the other end of the strap that was attached to the mare to the back of the cart. Froggy was driving the cart and his horse was tied to the back as well and plodded dutifully on.

“There you go, she’ll just follow now. All you have to do is sit still, and don’t pull on her reins, just hold them loose. Like this.” Jack showed her his own hands. With that he pulled his own horse back a pace or two and set her to canter back to the front where Mat, Dan, Andrew and Richard were riding.

Lizbet felt fairly alone, but on the bright side everyone was facing forward and not one of them saw her jostling and bouncing along on the horse. After an hour she realised she wasn’t going to fall, and the only injury she was likely to suffer was a sore backside; the hard leather of the saddle already making itself known.

Richard and Jack had ridden ahead, leaving her alone with the rest of the men. When they had stopped for a meal and she had taken round bread, beer and cheese, every one of the bastards had taken a turn at slapping her sore behind and making fun of her. It had been Andrew who had started it, and the others had followed his lead, laughing at her reddened face and evident discomfort.

Lizbet, standing apart from them and leaning against a tree while she ate, felt utterly miserable. Her humiliation was complete when there was no offer of help to remount, Froggy wouldn’t let her in the wagon and she was forced to half walk and half run for the next four hours until they met back up with Jack and Richard and made a final stop for the day.

Lizbet sat down at last outside, her back to the inn wall. It was hard to say what hurt the most, her backside or her feet. Taking a firm hold of her foot, she pulled the wooden shoe from it. A painful cry escaped her lips as it came away, bringing with it a quantity of skin. The inside of the shoe was packed with sheep’s wool for softness and warmth, but on the long walk the wool had compressed into uncomfortable lumps and had become a trap for stones and grit from the road.

As she examined her left foot, she found the skin on the top was rubbed away, and each of her toes wore a painful blister. The other foot had fared little better.

Lizbet’s nose was running and she sniffed loudly, then rubbed the back of her hand across it to remove the drip.

“Are you getting us some food then?” It was Mat’s voice calling out from the doorway of the inn. All the rest of the men had trooped in, tired and quiet, while Lizbet had chosen to stop outside and examine her sorrowful feet .

Grumbling under her breath, unshod, she stepped carefully towards the door. There was already cheese, bread, ham, platters and knives provided on the table. Lizbet eyed the gathered men coldly. They expected her to serve and she was in no mood for their ribald comments and unpleasant humour.

Accepting a serving of bread, cheese and ham in front of him, it was Mat who slapped her hard on the backside, and laughing said, “It’ll be your rear that’ll be covered in blisters tomorrow.” Clearly, he didn’t know that it was already sore and rubbed raw underneath her skirts.

Lizbet thought for a moment about boxing his ears with the ale jug but, too tired to fight, she settled instead for slamming it down hard on the table and sending his ale cup flying, spilling the contents over his platter.

“For God’s sake, woman!” Mat exclaimed and, tipping the wooden trencher, he poured the ale from it to save his food from a soaking.

“Ah, stop being so bloody fussy,” Froggy called out. “It’s all going down your gullet to get mixed together anyway.”

Mat cursed at him, then said to Lizbet, “Get me some more bread and bloody get rid of these dripping sops.”

“Get it yourself,” Lizbet spat back.

The bench behind Mat scraped across the floor as he stood.

“Sit down.” A silken voice, sounding oddly bored, called from the other end of the table. “You fairly asked for that, Mat, now sit down, and if you want to get served, keep a civil tongue in your head and your hands to yourself.”

Lizbet’s expression changed to one of triumph as Mat was forced to back down and reseat himself at the table. The Master had spoken.

Tasks finished, Lizbet took her food and settled to eat it outside. The light had gone from the sky but the warmth of the day was still in the air. With her back against the wall she ate and let her eyes try to follow the flights of the darting bats as they silently and effortlessly cleared the night sky of insects. It was Jack who came and sat down next to her. Reaching over, he helped himself to a lump of bread from the hunk in her lap.

Through a mouthful he said, “What happened to your feet?”

Lizbet shook her head. “Nothing, they’ll be fine in the morning.”

Jack just shrugged. It was a lie and they both knew it. “You can’t walk again tomorrow, Lizbet. You’re not overly tall to start with. If you keep this up you’ll wear your legs down, woman.”

Lizbet, offended, straightened her shoulders and sat bolt upright. “I’ll have you know I was the tallest of my mother’s lasses by a head.” Then she added, “And I’m not shorter than Froggy either, and he’s a man.”

“I’m glad you cleared that up, I was never too sure about Froggy.” Jack sounded amused.

“You know what I mean,” Lizbet scolded with good humour, jabbing an elbow into Jack’s ribs .

Jack stood smoothly and held his hand out for Lizbet. “Come on in. Let’s find you a place to sleep.”

Lizbet didn’t take his offered hand, but instead looking up at him, said, “And how come you are being so nice to me now?”

“I just don’t want my food covered in beer slops,” he replied, grinning. “Come on.”

Lizbet took his hand. He pulled her neatly to her feet and she allowed him to lead her back inside.

“Watch, will you!” Jack scolded.

Lizbet pulled a face and returned her eyes to the horse.

“Hold the bridle like this.” Jack shook it again in front of her eyes, and then swore. “Woman! Will you watch?”

“I am bloody watching,” Lizbet spat back.

“Hold it like this in your left hand and then you can put your arm round the horse like this and use your right hand to put the bit…”

“If you think I am putting my fingers in that bloody animal’s mouth…”

Jack lost his temper and flung the bridle over the stall door. “Well then, you will be walking, won’t you?”

“Look at its teeth. It’ll have my fingers off!”

I’ll give her one last chance, just one more and that’s it . Jack retrieved the bridle and forced his voice to be level. “It won’t bite you. Now come here, stand in front of me and we’ll do it together.”

Lizbet flattened her back against the stall walls and edged round the beast to stand near Jack.

“Here, stand in front of me and get hold of this bridle,” Jack commanded.

Lizbet gingerly ducked under his arm and stood in front of him. Her hand reaching up, she clasped the bridle under his firm hold.

“Good. Now give me your other hand.” Jack reached down and took her hand, and together they reached for the bit.

Lizbet’s eyes widened. Her fingers were closer to the horse’s yellow teeth than Jack’s. She tried to pull back but his hold on her hand was a firm one.

“Now you just gently push your fingers in here…”

Lizbet screamed and her elbow rammed back into Jack’s ribs, while the horse panicked and shied in the stable away from them.

“God damn you woman!” Jack took hold of Lizbet’s arm and propelled her from the stable. “I have few rules.” He still had a bruising hold on her. “You never act like that near a horse, especially one of mine.”

“Bloody well let go.” Lizbet struggled against his hold. “What the hell have I done? It was going to bite me!”

Jack took a calming breath. “The horse…”

Lizbet cut him off. “The bloody horse nearly…”

Jack clamped a hand across her mouth, silencing her violently. “Give me strength, woman. The horse will carry you, will save your feet, will take you from danger, will be more loyal to you than any hound and will ask for nothing from you other than a little kindness.”

Lizbet made to speak and Jack pressed his hand harder across her mouth, the bridle still over his arm, rattling.

“I see lessons are going well.” The amused voice was Richard’s. “Are you trying to put a bridle on Lizbet? To be fair, her mouth is probably big enough.”

Lizbet’s eyes widened in anger but the filthy hand across her mouth prevented her from throwing insulting words at the Master.

Jack laughed. “That’s probably where I was going wrong. I should have put one on her to start with to shut her up.” Jack released her suddenly pushing her away; he didn’t want another bony elbow in the ribs.

Richard switched his gaze to Lizbet, his expression not overly kind. “Settle your temper and learn your lesson or as Jack says, you can walk.”

Lizbet, seated at the end of the table, strained her neck to see the two cards Mat had just placed face up. She could view his triumphant smile but not the hand that had gained him the victory. Rising from her seat to get a better view, she was just too late as Dan’s paw of a hand swept all the cards back into a pile, reuniting the deck for another game.

“What did he win with?” Lizbet called down the length of the table. Her question went unanswered though, as their eyes were on the quickly dealt cards that Dan flicked out at each of them across the table. Lizbet dropped back in her seat moodily. As a woman in public, none of them would let her take part in the game, and she was left with nothing better to do than watch.

“He had a pair of tens.”

She hadn’t realised the Master was standing behind her.

Lizbet swivelled her head around to view him. “The way he was crowing, you’d think he’d got a primero with aces.”

“Agreed, but then it doesn’t take much to get Mat excited, does it?” Richard sounded in good humour.

He was regarding her with steady grey eyes, the anger in his face he had turned on her earlier that day now absent, she noted with relief.

The sound of his voice brought the men’s attention from the cards to their Master.

“Will you join us?” Jack asked, expecting a refusal. He was surprised when his brother accepted the invitation and there was a hasty reshuffling of seats to make room for him.

It was Froggy Tate sitting to the left of Dan who took up the stack of cards and began to shuffle the worn deck. He tried to riffle the cards, but the act failed, and a dozen escaped, flying up into the air, much to the amusement of his companions.

“I have a better idea.” Richard leant over and claimed the deck from Froggy’s hands, adding to it the scattered cards he had dropped. “Lizbet, you can sit in between Dan and Froggy and deal. ”

“What!” Mat exclaimed, and then seeing the expression on the Master’s face, instantly regretted his outburst.

Richard’s eyes narrowed.

Lizbet, utter delight painted across her face, was already standing behind Froggy, her bony finger prodding him in the shoulder.

“Come on, Froggy, shift your arse along then so I can squeeze in.”

Froggy moved to his left. Lizbet had her feet over the bench and was settling into the gap a moment later, her hand outstretched for the cards still in the Master’s hand. With slow derision he dropped the cards onto her palm and Lizbet, with all the eyes round the table fixed upon her, shuffled the cards with more expertise than Froggy had shown.

Banging the deck on the table to square up the cards, she announced, “Well then, lads, who’s in? Get your coins ready or you’ll not be getting any cards.”

A shining coin skittered from Richard’s hand and stopped in the middle of the table. Lizbet, a smile on her face, met his eyes and delivered two cards from the deck to land neatly before him.

Froggy sent in his stake next and received his cards and one by one all the others joined in the round. By the time that five hands had been played, the men were too intent on the game to notice the woman in the circle with them. As Richard had known, Lizbet’s quick fingers and eyes that missed nothing made her the ideal head of the game. When Mat tried to avoid adding his stake to the pot to stay in the game, loud words from Lizbet brought an angry red hue to his cheeks and mirth to the rest of the players.

Late into the night the game concluded when Richard leant over and took the deck from Lizbet, declaring the table closed. The game had been a good one; Richard’s calculated losses had added fresh coins to those that passed through the players’ hands that night and both Mat and Marc left the table with fuller purses than they had started with, and the rest of the players had, more or less, the same amount of coins they had joined the table with.

“So that there can be no doubt or lack of trust among you, I shall give the cards to Lizbet.” Richard handed the now squared up, neat deck back to her. “If you want to play, then find the lass.”

Lizbet’s eyes were bright, the grin on her face showing a line of neat white teeth. Taking the cards, she made a great show of storing them carefully in one of her pockets. The Master had not said it, but the implication was clear. She’d be allowed at the table, albeit as the dealer, but that was good enough for Lizbet, and preferable to sitting in the dark at the back.

Froggy, who had little time for the powder expert, narrowed his eyes. “What if he did? ”

“I know we are away from England, but surely we have not lowered ourselves to a state where women can play at the same table as men?” Scranton moved in front of Froggy, blocking his exit.

“Mat has it wrong. She didn’t play,” Froggy said and made to push past Scranton.

The wiry man grasped Froggy’s arm stopping him. “He said the Master himself gave her the cards.”

Froggy stopped, and pulled his arm free from Scranton’s hold. “Well that is the Master’s business, isn’t it?”

“I agree it is his business, but I’d like to know what kind of group it is that I have joined. The Church warns us that such games lead to the sin of unchastity and that letting women play is an affront to God! What next?” Scranton continued.

“She wasn’t playing!” Froggy repeated loudly. “Christ, man! The lass was dealing the cards for us. I don’t think that’s a breach of any of the Ten Commandments that I can recall.”

Scranton’s face darkened. “She’s a tavern wench, or worse, and listening to her I’ve a good idea which gutter she crawled out of in London as well. Are those the hands you want on your cards?”

“Are you mad, man?” Froggy had taken a step back from him. This wasn’t an argument he wanted to have, nor did he really understand Scranton’s heated indignation. He was saved a second later when another voice ended the argument.

“Or worse? What exactly do you mean by that?” It was Jack who had spoken from behind Scranton .

Scranton turned round abruptly. The top of his head was level with Jack’s chin but he stared up fiercely into the other man’s eyes. “I shall tell you exactly what I mean. We all know she warms your bed when you’ve a mind for a woman, and she’s a voice on her like a Southwark whore from the bawdy houses. Is that elaboration enough?” Scranton’s voice was full of fury.

Froggy sensibly took a step back.

Jack swallowed hard, his mouth pressed now into a thin line. “I have been restrained, but now you have gone too far.”

Scranton had no chance to move as Jack quickly twisted both hands into the material of his doublet.

Before Jack could lift him from the floor, or worse, there came a commanding voice from the other side of the inn, pitched to carry. “Jack, please go with Froggy. He needs help with setting up the range this morning.”

The expression on Scranton’s face was a mixture of relief and triumph as Jack, after only a moment’s hesitation, let go of the little man and pushed passed him, disappearing outside with Froggy.

Scranton made a show of smoothing out the front of his doublet and strode across the inn to where Richard was stood.

“He’s out of control, sir. I am a man who wishes to meet God with a soul clean and free of sin and associating with some of the members of your group here is more than I can tolerate. Bastards, sir, are an affront to nature, and whores are a blasphemy against women. ”

Richard took a deep breath. “I respect your convictions. Let God however, and not you or I, be their judges. Is it not Castellio who preaches of tolerance? Did he not say that to kill a man is not to protect a doctrine, but it is simply to kill a man?”

“Sir, he was speaking of heresy. I don’t quite think that applies to the current situation,” Scranton retorted.

“You and I are better placed to know of their sins. God will recognise this and association will not stain our souls. Indeed should we not try to bring them to God? Did not John make the unclean clean? Would that not be an act God would condone?” Richard said calmly.

Scranton’s mood calmed. “Job 14.4 – you cannot make what is unclean clean again.”

“Surely repentance, even that of the most grievous sinner can bring them to the Lord’s grace,” Richard’s voice was serious, and, with a hand on Scranton’s shoulder, he continued, “I see the sins of both of them, and I would bring both to the Lord. Every soul, sir, is precious in the eyes of God, even those of bastards and whores.”

Scranton nodded sagely in agreement, his feathers soothed by Richard’s words. “What you say, sir, I cannot disagree with. Really though, it is for the house of God and its emissaries to bring people such as this to the Lord. It is admirable that you have charged yourself with the task, but I cannot see that you will succeed.”

“I know. It distresses me as well, but I wish to try. I wish to offer these two souls to God that he may provide them with salvation,” Richard did indeed sound distressed.

“But neither of them will thank you. They don’t even recognise the Lord,” Scranton pointed out.

Richard smiled benevolently. “And in that is the challenge the Lord has set me.”

“I admire your Christian spirit, sir,” Scranton replied.

“Come, let us pray together for these two ragged souls God has charged us with.”

Scranton, unable to refuse and pulled at the elbow by Richard, found himself on his knees next to the Master, following him in the words of a prayer, his lips moving in silent repetition of Richard’s loudly spoken words.