The three confederates met up again at an abandoned hovel near Stokenchurch. By the light of a candle, they counted out their booty and divided it into four equal parts. The older man handed one share to the girl and another to the erstwhile William Pocock. As their leader, he claimed the other half of the money and stuffed it into a capcase that was already bulging. They compared notes over the night’s escapades and chuckled for a long time at the embarrassment they had inflicted on Westfield’s Men.
‘Firethorn was the biggest gull of them all,’ said the older man. He put a sly arm around the girl’s slim waist. ‘To think he could bed my wife with a wave of his arms and couple of ranting speeches. He got his just deserts. No, you are all mine, are you not, Judith Grace?’
‘Yes, Father,’ she said with a sensual giggle.
‘Kiss me.’
The other man nibbled on a stolen leg of ham while the two of them enjoyed a long embrace with guzzling kisses. The young woman eventually threw a compliment across at their corpulent associate.
‘Ned served us well,’ she said.
‘So you did, Ned,’ agreed her husband.
‘Shall we work that ruse again?’ asked Ned.
‘No,’ said the older man. ‘We must find new ways to pluck the chicken each time or its feathers will stick. And we must give mine host of the Fighting Cocks a long rest before we use his inn as our lure again. We’ll ride to the other side of Oxford before we choose our next cony. That will mean a change of apparel for Ellen and me.’
‘I am Ellen again, am I?’ complained his wife. ‘I so enjoyed being Mistress Judith Grace. Virginity becomes me.’
‘And I was happy as William Pocock,’ said Ned.
The older man was emphatic. ‘New places, new garb, new names. It is the one sure way to elude capture. If they search for a Samuel Grace, his beautiful daughter and a fat gentlemen with his breeches on fire for her, they will not look at two old Oxford scholars and their servant.’
They ate, drank, discussed their plans further then lay out their bedding for the last few hours before dawn. As the three of them settled down, the old man came to a decision that made him cackle afresh.
‘We’ll hit them again.’
‘Who?’ asked Ned.
‘Westfield’s Men.’
‘Think of the danger,’ warned Ellen.
‘They would tear us apart if they knew,’ said Ned.
‘That is the attraction,’ explained their leader. ‘It is a battle of wits here. Lawrence Firethorn is the prince of his profession and I of mine. We are well matched. He can play fifty parts at a moment’s notice but he could not dissemble as well as I can.’
‘Do you think he knows who you are?’ said Ellen.
‘He will, my sweet.’
She was proud of her husband. ‘The landlord will tell him when he sees the truth. There is only one man who could lay such a bold plot for a whole company of players — and that is the famous Israel Gunby.’
‘The infamous and wanted Israel Gunby,’ said Ned.
‘The great Israel Gunby,’ she added.
Ellen snuggled up to her husband and they lay entwined. Though they shared a mean hovel in the Chilterns instead of a comfortable bed at the Fighting Cocks, she did not mind. This was where she wanted to be. They were rich, happy and free. The open road was their kingdom and they could feed off travellers whenever and wherever they liked. Westfield’s Men had been given a generous amount of money by them and then robbed of far more. It lent a sense of style to the whole enterprise. She kissed her husband again then clung to his lean body like a squirrel holding on to the bark of the tree. Israel Gunby was the most notorious highwaymen of them all, and she loved him for it. Life with him was continuous excitement. Only one question now remained.
When would they need to kill their accomplice?
Chapter Five
Lawrence Firethorn’s wrath did not abate during the night. He awoke at cock-crow, caught sight of his defiled capcase and lusted for blood. George Dart was the first to feel the impact of his employer’s ire. Hauled from his bed and beaten soundly, Dart was ordered to get the rest of the company up before doing a dozen other chores, which would deprive him of all hope of breakfast. As fresh targets came down into the taproom at the Fighting Cocks, the actor-manager aimed abuse and accusation at them. Barnaby Gill was roundly mocked, Edmund Hoode was berated, Owen Elias was threatened, Richard Honeydew was criticised for his performance as Cariola on the previous night, John Tallis was treated to a withering analysis of his character defects and other members of the company came off far worse. In his general animosity, Firethorn even had stern words for Nicholas Bracewell. It was disconcerting.
Westfield’s Men were even more disturbed when they heard about the loss of their money. The success of their first night on the road had been illusory. They now saw only rank failure and it was less than reassuring to be told that they had been the latest prey of a daring criminal. Everyone had heard of the man who outwitted them.
‘Israel Gunby!’
‘The master thief of the highway.’
‘The most pernicious villain alive.’
‘He would rob you of the clothes you stand up in.’
‘’Tis a wonder we were not murdered in our beds.’
‘Israel Gunby is a monster.’
‘A sorcerer.’
‘A fiend of hell.’
‘They say that Gunby once stole fifty sheep from a Warwickshire farmer then sold them back to the poor fool at market for three times the price.’
‘Another time, he robbed a small party of travellers in a wood near Saffron Walden and rode off with their belongings. Not knowing that the rogue had placed an accomplice among them, they fell to boasting how clever they had been in giving the highwaymen the dross in their purses while holding back their real valuables, which they kept hidden about their persons. When Gunby robbed them again but two miles down the road, he was able to take everything he missed the first time.’
‘I heard that he took their horses and boots as well.’
‘Israel Gunby would steal anything!’
‘The hair off your head.’
‘Off your arse.’
‘And your balls.’
‘He’d rob Christ of his cross on the road to Calvary.’
‘Add one more tale,’ said Gill wickedly. ‘Of how Israel Gunby dangled his whore in front of a great actor until his pizzle was giving off steam. She invited this idiot to share her bed for the night and while he was gone, she and Gunby broke into his chamber and took everything they could lay their thieving hands on. The great actor then-’
‘No more!’ decreed the great actor with stentorian force. ‘I do not wish to hear the name of Israel Gunby ever again — unless it be linked with the date of his execution. I would ride halfway across England to see that foul rogue hanged by the neck. Until then, gentlemen, until then, Israel me no Israels and — if you value your lives — Gunby me no Gunbies.’
Lawrence Firethorn enforced his edict by glaring in turn at each man then he gave the signal to leave. He was keen to get away from the scene of his disgrace as soon as he could. With their leader at the head of the column, they set off from the Fighting Cocks on the road to Oxford, hoping that it might offer a fairer return for their labours. The exhilaration of the previous day had been replaced by a nagging pessimism. It was almost as if they had packed Alexander Marwood into the waggon with the rest of the luggage.
Nicholas Bracewell was glad to leave the inn but not before he had questioned the landlord and his ostlers. None of them could shed any light on the mystery attacker in the stables. After Westfield’s Men arrived, no other traveller sought a bed for the night at the same hostelry. This meant that the man was either already there when they reached the Fighting Cocks or he had come along later and bided his time in the darkness until his chance came. Nicholas settled for the latter explanation. The would-be killer could not have been certain that they would choose that particular inn as their resting place. It was much more likely that he had trailed them from London, watched through a window and waited for the moment to pounce. Nicholas soon came round to the view that he was jumped on by the same man who had poisoned the girl. That gave him two scores to settle. He was riding the same horse that had carried the girl to her death, and he was determined it would not lose another passenger until it reached home in Barnstaple. Nicholas was therefore extremely wary as they moved along, scanning the horizon on all sides of them and exercising caution whenever the road took them beneath overhanging trees.