Edward Marston - The Trip to Jerusalem

'We had no choice before us.'

'You had Christian teaching to guide you.'

'So did Anthony Rickwood and where did it land him? Upon a spike at Bishopsgate until we engineered his rescue.' His vehemence increased. 'And what of Neville Pomeroy? What guidance did his Christian teaching give him? It showed him the way directly to the Tower!'

'I did not mean to anger you so, Sir Clarence.'

'We must fight fire with fire!'

'Murder should be anathema.'

'Revenge has its own dignity.'

Robert Rawlins bit back any further comment and tried to come to terms with what had happened. Sir Clarence Marmion was a good friend and a charming host when he wished to be but a new and more callous side to his character was emerging. It was highly unsettling. Joined indissolubly by the same purpose, the two men yet had different ideas on how it could be best effected.

Sir Clarence tried to still the other's disquiet.

'He sleeps with God now, sir.'

'Will the Law not come searching for him?'

'He'll not be found six feet under my land.'

'I own I am distressed.'

'Would you rather we had been subjects for burial?

'Indeed not, Sir Clarence.'

'Then rejoice in the death of an enemy.'

They strolled on along a gravel path that bisected the rose garden. Robert Rawlins slowly came to see some reason in what had been said. His host sounded a note or cautious optimism.

'I have prayed for help.'

'So have I, Sir Clarence. Daily.'

'Our prayers may yet meet with a response.'

'You have a sign of this?'

'Not outwardly, Master Rawlins.'

'Then how?'

'It is no more than a feeling but it grows and grows all the time. The man we seek may not need to be hunted down after all. There may be another means to find him.'

'Tell me what it is.'

'Let the villain come to us.'

'Will he do that, Sir Clarence?'

'I am certain of it. When I trust to instinct, I am seldom misled. The man is getting closer and we must be ready for him. Keep your wits about you, sir.'

'I will.' He is on his way to York.'

Christopher Millfield knew how to cut a dash when the opportunity presented itself. He had been cast in the part of Will Scarlet and sang the ballad which began the rehearsal of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Sauntering about the stage, he let his flowing scarlet costume swish to great effect and accompanied his pleasing tenor voice with chords from a small lute. Will Scarlet truly had his moment at the Town Hall in Nottingham.

Come now and listen, gentlemen,

That be of free-born blood!

I shall tell you of a good yeoman,

His name was Robin Hood.

Robin was a proud outlaw,

Whiles he walked on ground,

So courteous a fellow as he was one,

Was never none yet found.

Robin stood in Sherwood Forest,

And leaned him to a tree.

And by him stood Little John,

The stoutest friend was he.

The rehearsal had some shaky moments. Martin Yeo, the oldest and most experienced of the apprentices, was never more than a competent replacement for Richard Honeydew in the vital role of Maid Marion. His gesture and deportment were above reproach but he had none of his colleague's radiance or supreme sense of timing. Dressed in Lincoln green, as sanctified by tradition, Lawrence Firethorn brought his usual panache to the role of Robin Hood but even he faltered slightly in the love scenes. Barnaby Gill was a droll Friar Tuck and Edmund Hoode scored in the part of Much the Miller's Son but the Merry Men were a complete shambles. Supplemented by a few journeymen brought in for the occasion, they moved about the stage like a flock of frightened sheep and scattered in utter confusion whenever Robin Hood indulged in swordplay.

Nicholas Bracewell kept the whole thing moving and minimized the effects of most errors but even he could not stop George Dart--a decidedly unmerry member of the Merry Men--from felling a tree by walking accidentally into it. Will Scarlet was one of the few to come through unscathed and he brought the proceedings to a close with another ballad sung to the music of his lute.

Then bespake good Robin,

In place whereat he stood,

'Tomorrow, I must to Kirksley,

Craftily to be let blood!'

Sir Roger of Doncaster,

By the Prioress he lay,

And there they betrayed good Robin Hood

Through their false play.

Christ have mercy on his soul!

(That died on the rood)

For Robin was a good outlaw

And did poor men much good.

Robin Hood now rounded on his Merry Men as if they had each tried to assassinate him during the performance. By the time Firethorn had finished reviling them for their incompetence and blaming them for their mere existence, their cheeks matched the colour of Will Scarlet's costume. The actor-manager spread his criticisms widely and even Barnaby Gill was made to squirm a little. Martin Yeo was totally demoralized by the attack on him. The only actor who emerged unscathed was Christopher Millfield. It put him in buoyant mood.

'How did it look to you, Master Bracewell?'

'There is much work to be done.'

'I was speaking of my own performance.'

'You sang most sweetly.'

'And my playing of Will Scarlet?'

'It was sufficient,' said Nicholas with polite evasion. 'You will not let the company down, sir.'

Millfield felt damned by faint praise. Wanting to impress the other, he had only irritated him by seeking his approval so obviously. He watched the book holder take control. Now that the rehearsal was over, Nicholas started delegating the dozens of jobs that had been thrown up in the past couple of hours. Several props had been damaged and needed repair, one of the trestles that held up the stage had to be strengthened, and two of the instruments required a new string apiece. Some of the costumes had been torn during the fight scenes and George Dart was assigned the task of mending them with needle and thread. Stephen Judd's wig was falling apart.

Nicholas was so caught up in his work that he did not see the danger that threatened. With his back to the stage, he was unaware of the fact that two of his minions were struggling to dismantle the gallows that was used in the closing scene of the play. It was far too heavy and awkward for them to handle and its weight finally got the better of them. Before they could stop it, the long spar of timber toppled over and fell towards Nicholas.

Christopher Millfield responded like lightning.

'Look out there!'

Hurling himself forward, he knocked the book holder out of the way and suffered a glancing blow from the falling prop. Nicholas picked himself up and turned to see what had happened. Millfield was now sitting on the floor and rubbing his shoulder gingerly.

'Are you hint, Christopher?

'It is nothing serious.'

'I owe you much thanks.' Millfield grinned. 'I saved you from the gallows.'

'And from certain injury.'

Nicholas upbraided the two assistants who caused the accident and got them to move the timber away. Then he offered a hand to Millfield and pulled him up. The latter dusted himself off and continued to rub his shoulder.

'I will remember this,' said Nicholas.

'You would have done as much for me.'

'In your place, I might have held back.'

'Because you do not like me?'

'It is reason enough.'

'But I like you, Master Bracewell.'

It was Nicholas's turn to grin. Millfield's manner was quite disarming and it was hard to bear a grudge against him. The book holder made a concession.

'Your performance was excellent, Christopher.'

'Thank you!'

'To speak truly, I am not sure that Gabriel Hawkes could have bettered it.'

'I seek no higher praise than that.'

'You will get none.'

They shared a laugh and much of the tension between them evaporated. All actors sought approval but Millfield seemed particularly anxious to win a plaudit from the book holder. It made him quite forget the pain in his shoulder. He reached out to take Nicholas by the arms.