Traitor: John Shakespeare 4 by Rory Clements

Author:Rory Clements
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Espionage, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781848544314
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2012-04-11T12:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

ANDREW AND URSULA did their best to keep away from Reaphook and Spindle. It was a situation that could not last.

The evening was warm. Staffy was not around. Ursula and Andrew were at the Dogghole, cooking pigeon at the fire. A gaunt young man, newly arrived, was playing a tune on his wood whistle, hoping to get a bit of food for his pains.

Ursula repeated her refrain, ‘Don’t give him nothing.’

Suddenly, there was movement behind them.

‘Well, well.’

They turned to see Reaphook and Spindle standing over them.

‘Pig off, Reaphook.’

‘I wondered where you two had got to.’

‘Do you want Staffy to know what you been trying?’

‘Staffy ain’t around.’

‘But he will be.’

Spindle moved forward and stroked her hair. She shook him off. He laughed.

‘Word has it that you got coin, Ursula Dancer,’ Reaphook said. His hand was on the haft of his sickle. ‘Did some good sharking on market day. I don’t believe I’ve had my share.’

Ursula jumped to her feet and faced him aggressively. ‘The only one gets a share is the Upright Man. And Staffy’s had his coin from me. You get nothing.’

‘How about a kiss?’ Spindle said. He tried caressing her waist, but she brushed his hand away as she had done before.

Andrew leapt to his feet. ‘Why don’t you leave her alone?’

‘Oh dear, why don’t you leave her alone, Mr Spindle,’ Reaphook said, imitating Andrew’s refined vowels once more.

‘And you leave him alone. Come on, Andrew Woode, we’re going. It stinks of dog turd around here.’

‘Not so fast.’ Spindle had grabbed her by the skirts. ‘We’re having your coin.’

Andrew lunged forward and pushed the thin boy away.

Spindle clutched his chest in feigned horror. ‘Why, Mr Reaphook, he has hit me again. That’s twice now.’

Reaphook grinned, his mule’s teeth splayed across the lower part of his face. ‘There’s only one way to settle this, then. There’ll have to be a challenge fight. Only way to settle a feud in the band. Staffy’s own rules, I do believe.’

‘That’s it,’ Spindle said. ‘I want a challenge fight. Tomorrow morning.’

Ursula shook her head. ‘He hardly touched him. You got no cause for a fight.’

‘The challenge is made. That’s it. Even Staffy can’t break it.’ Reaphook eyed Andrew up and down. ‘Good fighter, are you? You better be, because you’re fighting young Spindle here. Vagabond law. You hit him – you fight him. One hour after daybreak. Be there or begone. He’ll enjoy doing for you, won’t you, Spindle?’

A mere fifteen miles away from Andrew and Ursula’s woodland lair, Shakespeare stood in the gatehouse of St John’s College. He was itching to get away, to hunt for Andrew, but there was no point in going before dawn and he had business here before leaving.

He examined the manciple’s face for signs of nervousness or guilt, but could detect nothing. The college servant was in his late twenties or early thirties. He was squat and bent, but looked strong enough to hold a boy of Andrew’s age.

‘How did he make his escape, Mr Porter?’

‘Slipped his ropes.

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