Rating: NC-17

"My Lord...."

"The answer is no, Mr. Sands. I can not spare Master Ellison, or you, at this time."

Sir Robert Cecil was continuing to sift through the papers on his desk as if he was alone in his office within the confines of the Palace of Whitehall.

Whitehall was almost a small city within the city of London. It was a rabbit warren of buildings that included a tilting yard, an indoors tennis court that the late King Henry so loved—both now unused and neglected—and a cock fighting pit, as well as their Majesty's own apartments—when they were in residence. Queen Anne preferred to live apart from her husband as much as possible and his Majesty, King James, was often out hunting. The palace also included the chambers of their retainers and the offices of the ministers of state. Henry had built largely in red brick, but there was talk of King James wanting to put his own mark on the palace with something in the Italian style; white marble and colonnades... though most of his advisors, privately, groaned in aspiration over the idea and the costs involved.

There was one man in the kingdom who could put a curb on his Majesty's more fanciful and expensive ideas and that was the man Blair Sands—actor and king's agent—had come to see, his employer, Sir Robert Cecil, the King's Lord Treasurer and spy-master.

His desk was well lit by a south facing window, but Sir Robert rarely sat at it; his slightly humped back—a deformity caused, it was said, by his nurse dropping him in his early childhood—making it more comfortable for him to stand and walk around.

Like his late father, Sir Robert was an excellent administrator. He was also a cunning, master manipulator. His powers of oratory were legendary among both his friends and his foes, and he had a large number in both camps. He was a man of power and wealth. A man you didn't cross or anger lightly.

Not that that was going to stop Blair Sands. He knew he'd have a fight on his hands, but he wasn't about to surrender. This was far too important.

The fact that he'd asked for a private audience with Sir Robert should show how concerned, at the very least, he was about the present situation. The fact that Cecil had granted him an audience indicated that Blair's employer was curious over his request, but that curiosity didn't guarantee that Blair would get Cecil's consent to his plans.

Mind you, he hadn't been formally dismissed.

Blair straightened his stance. "By your leave, Sir Robert," he began again, "James Ellison was not born in the City of London. Even though he has lived here a while now, he has still not grown used to the extreme smells... the filth and rubbish, the pall of smoke, of shouts and noise, the sheer confusion of life, the din and clamour this city gives up, the foulness and darkness of the streets; the level of violence that we see every day in our work for you."

Blair emphasised his words with his hands. "This constant amount of abuse upon his senses is extremely wearing for him. You must have had reports of how hot his temper is? How quick he has been lately to lose that temper? The strain upon his senses may soon reach a breaking point. It is as if he were a rope pulled far too taut and in danger of snapping." Blair searched around for the right words to convince Cecil. "He is in danger of losing control. If he does, he will be of no use to you at all." He paused. "A short holiday is all I ask. A chance for him to find some peace, some rest."

"The king's enemies do not take a rest. Why then should the king's agents? The answer is still no, Mr. Sands."

"My Lord, please," Blair pleaded. "Jem will be no use to you if he collapses."

Cecil at last turned to face Blair. "Why does he not come to me himself?"

"He is a proud man; you know that, Sir Robert. He would rather fall down dead in the street than admit he needs a rest."

"So you come to me in his place. You presume to know he needs a holiday when he himself denies it?"

Cecil's eyes bore into Blair's, challenging him to back down, but Blair met Cecil's stare and held it.

Finally Cecil sighed. "How long a rest?"

"Just a month, maybe less." Blair tried not to look too hopeful or eager.

Cecil made him wait... and then conceded. "Two weeks, no more. Where were you thinking of taking him?"

"I haven't thought. Somewhere quiet, as I said."

"You hadn't thought? Why do I not believe that for one minute, Mr. Sands? Why do I get the feeling that you have this all planned out? And why then do I feel pity for Master Ellison?" Cecil's attention returned to the papers in his hands. "Make sure you alert my secretary of where you intend to stay in Luton, in case I have need of your services."

Blair's mouth fell open. "How did you know that I thought of Luton?"

"I understand Master Ellison received an invite to a wedding?"

Blair chuckled ruefully. "That he did, my Lord."

"Then I wish you good luck, Mr. Sands, in convincing your partner that he should attend!"

Blair exited the room with a bow.

"Now comes the hard part...I shall need that luck and all my powers of persuasion," he thought as he made his way out of the Palace of Whitehall, through the Holbein gateway and back to his and Jem's lodgings.

Jem angrily paced their room. "I do not need a rest! I am not an invalid! There is nothing wrong with me—if people would just stop interfering with my life, I would be able to carry on with my duties."

"Jem, look at you!" Blair was not about to give up now. "You are stretched as taut as a bow-string! You explode in anger at the slightest remark. I worry that you will do some damage to yourself or that someone will take offence and harm you! Not everyone ignores your bad temper the way I do!"

Jem glared at Blair, but then abruptly he sighed in defeat and ran his hand over his head. "I know I've behaved like a tormented bear at times lately. In truth, things have been a little... vexing. I suppose I am a mite tired," he conceded. "Perhaps a spell away from London may be pleasant. But what of your acting? Will Master Shakespeare allow you leave?"

"With the rise in victims of the pestilence again, there is talk, yet again, of closing the theatres and the troupe going on tour. I have already talked to Master Shakespeare about such a leave of absence. I think he would relish having one less wage to pay." Blair smiled.

Jem nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his face. "So my wily, little fox, do you have somewhere in mind for us to stay?"

Blair tried to look casual as he turned away to face the window. He took a deep breath. This conversation was about to get difficult again.

"I have always been curious to meet your family and to see where you grew..." he began in a calm voice.

"No! Absolutely not!" Jem's temper erupted again. "We are not going to visit my family. Get that fancy out of your mind!"

Blair swung around. "Jem, you have a chance to mend some bridges with your brother's wedding invitation," he said, pleading as much with his hands as his words.

"Some bridges are long past mending!" Jem turned away in anger.

"It's a time of celebration. You should be there," Blair entreated.

Jem whirled around. "You think I should celebrate Stephen marrying some heiress who will just wind up being my father's slave?"

"You don't know that! You've never even met her."

"Listen to me, Professor." Jem's voice dropped low and he stepped forward to try to intimidate his lover, standing toe to toe and looming over him. "You don't know my family. I do!"

Blair stood his ground. "But I know you and I'd really like to meet your kin."

"Why? So you can see if my brother is also a sentinel? I don't think so." Jem turned away.

"We could maroon him alone on the moors..." Blair backed up a step at Jem's fiery glare. "I'm jesting! I have one Ellison, one sentinel, and that is more than enough for this mere man to cope with!"

"I would rather walk over hot coals while carrying one of Mistress Nell's screaming brats than visit my family and that's an end to it!" Jem declared emphatically.

The road was busy, even early in the morning, as they left the bars of Holborn on horseback the next day and headed out towards St Giles in the Fields. Small hand-drawn carts with goods loaded onto them jostled with men on horseback. Sheep and geese were being herded into the city for market, but as the two men manoeuvred through the traffic, Blair found himself lost in thought.

He'd travelled with the King's Men around England, but leaving London always caused a small pang in his heart. He knew her idiosyncrasies, knew her people; knew the streets, the hovels, even the grand homes of the wealthy due to his job as a player and his work with Jem. The city might not always be welcoming, but in many ways everyone within her walls was a visitor, an outsider. And that in its way allowed people to accept one another. The small towns and hamlets he'd visited with the players were different. The country folk lived all their lives in their towns and villages. It was all they knew. Outsiders were just that—outside. The town and village dwellers held visitors at arm's length, treating them with a cool cordiality, but at the same time demanding to know all the details of their lives. Blair often felt as if he were some odd fish found washed up in a sudden hail storm....

Usually he had the rest of the troupe to keep company with. Together they offered one another a shield against any offences and indignities. This time it was just him and Jem, and Jem was returning to his family, his family who lived in one such small town. Would he notice if Blair felt excluded, as though he were an intruder there? What if Jem decided to stay? How would Blair fit into that life? Would Jem even want him to?

Jem's voice broke into his gloomy thoughts. "Is everything all right, Professor?"

Blair realised they were alone on this stretch of the road and he conjured up a smile for his lover. "Just wool-gathering," he said, pushing his dark fancies away.

"We could turn the horses around and return to London..." Jem ventured.

"Oh no! You think a little thing like melancholia is going to stop me? We go to Luton. I wish to visit the town from whence my sweetheart came."

Blair hid a smile over the soft "Damn!" that Jem exclaimed. He pulled his horse a little closer to Jem's. "But I applaud thine effort," he said with a smile.

Jem scoffed but smiled in return.

"They say that the odour of London travels five and twenty miles around. We should be able to test that as we are travelling thirty miles," Blair ventured.

"I would rather we were testing it in the very opposite direction."

A frown again marred Blair's forehead. Despite his misgivings, he truly hoped that he could help Jem find some form of reconciliation with his father and brother, but if Jem wasn't even willing to try....

"The heat must be affecting you. I'm sure I just heard you agree to a test of your sense of smell," he said.

Jem kept his eyes forward. "Your ears must be deceiving you."

Blair tried to look serious. "No, no, I'm sure I heard you correctly."

"Sands..." Jem's voice had a whining tone about it.

"A small test, every ten miles or so, to pass the time."

"I'm sure we could find some other diversion."

"Not while we are still riding the horses."

"We could talk... admire the countryside, that form of diversion."

"We could talk about how long before the air corrupted with London humours is no longer perceptible to your senses." Blair paused. "I could offer to share some of Meg's pie with you as a prize?"

Jem turned his head towards his lover. "You have one of Sir Matthew's maid's pies in those panniers?"

"Yes. She sent it over this morning once she'd heard we'd be making a journey. You did not notice the aroma of her pies?"

"Now you come to mention it... Where was I when this bounty arrived?"

"Out hiring these fine beasties, I believe." Blair slapped his hand gently against his horse's withers.

"And were you thinking of not sharing it with me?"

"It is one of Meg's," Blair hedged.

Jem's eyes glittered dangerously. "And you did not intend to share it."

"Well..."

"Why you little..."

Jem reached across towards his lover. Blair yelped, then, laughing, spurred his horse into a gallop.

With a cry of "Hey!" Jem tore after Blair.

Even though it was still morning, the day was fast warming up and they couldn't continue at that speed for long. They soon slowed to a gentle pace. Jem reached over and aimed a clout at Blair's head which brushed over his hair as he ducked, and he laughed. Jem in turn shook his head and chuckled.

The road led them down into a stretch of woodland and they passed under a cool tunnel formed by the trees that almost met overhead. Here the light was filtered and tinted dappled green with splodges of bright sunlight. Golden dandelions and tiny purple violets stood out amongst the green. There was a warm, rich, loamy smell coming from the undergrowth. The only sound was that of the chirping birds and the gentle clopping of the horses' hooves. It seemed almost like another world, one of peace and softness, and both men relaxed as they rode.

At midday, they stopped to lounge in the shade under a tree in a meadow in order to devour their treat. Their horses were left to graze near a lazy stream, their tails swishing and ears twitching as biting insects flew too close. Across the meadow white butterflies did a mating dance in the sunshine over the yellowing stubble. Bees and flies buzzed lazily around.

"She does make a good pie. Indeed it is the only palatable thing she bakes," Jem said as he wiped his hands on the cloth the pie was wrapped in. He shifted a little against the tree trunk, stretching out one leg and bending his other, flicking away a fly as it landed on his chest.

"Yes, I sometimes wonder why our deputy lieutenant allows her in the kitchen at all," Blair reflected.

"Because she is yet more frightening in the bedroom?"

Blair nearly choked around the beer he was drinking. Jem thumped him on his back.

"Not so hard!" Blair laughed as he coughed.

"That's not what you say in the bedroom!"

Jem's words started Blair laughing harder and coughing again.

"Shame on you, Master Ellison," he said as he wiped his eyes and got his breath back, "suggesting that Sir Matthew would bed his own maid!"

Jem lay back on the grass, his arms supporting his head. "Methinks he'd like to make an honest woman of her but she is too proud to marry gentry."

"Aye, Maid Meg is anything but humble." Blair lay back along side Jem. "Yet I feel it is a perverse and foolish form of pride that stops a woman from marrying the man who would make her happy and comfortable in life, just because he is of higher rank than she."

"Perhaps one day Matthew will convince her of the error of her ways." Jem smiled at his lover.

Blair chuckled. "One day. And on that day the moon will turn blue!"

Jem laughed.

A comfortable silence reigned for a moment.

"This is nice," Jem said.

"Very nice," Blair agreed. He paused. "But if we are to get to Luton before sunset, we shouldn't linger too long."

"Aye. I don't fancy a night out under the stars by the side of the road."

"Yes, this is supposed to be a rest for your senses, not more work."

"Oh I think more than my senses will be strained when we reach my father's house."

Blair turned his head towards his lover. "It may not be as bad as you think, Jem."

"We shall see." Jem turned towards him, his eyes roaming over Blair's form. "We could linger a short while though."

Blair smiled warmly. "Yes, and you could tell me what you smell."

Jem groaned and rolled onto his back. "You never give up, do you, Professor?"

"Only when it is in my own interests to do so." Blair propped his head on his elbow to gaze lazily at Jim.

Jem turned his head to glare at his companion. "You say words like those in that voice and look at me thusly and there will be no testing."

"Your point taken." Blair chuckled and schooled his tone as well as his look. "So tell me, what can you smell?" He supported his head on his hand the better to study his lover.

Jem sighed and closed his eyes, concentrating. "You..."

"Me?"

"Yes, that unique scent that says 'Blair' to me."

"I have a unique smell?"

"Everyone does. I know you well enough to catalogue several versions." Jem smiled with his eyes closed. "There is the aroused Blair, the sated Blair, the hungry Blair, the happy Blair, the contented Blair... should I continue?"

"I am surprised that they are all different."

"Different, yet the same. At the moment there is the inquisitive Blair-smell."

Blair chuckled. "I shall have to devise a test for that. Pray tell me what else you can smell."

"The grass...meadowsweet and clover... hay... fruit ripening on the trees... the horses... the remains of Meg's pie... beer... wood sweating in the heat... the river beyond... burning wood..."

"Burning wood?" Blair sat up and looked around; burnt wood in this dry weather could mean a forest fire.

"Yes." Jem frowned as he concentrated harder, and then he relaxed. "I think it must be from a shepherd's cooking fire. I can also smell sheep from the same direction."

Blair watched his friend with a warm smile on his face. He sometimes wished he had such talents; he was in awe of what Jem could do—though it would never do to tell Jem that! "Don't go too deep," he warned.

Jem placed his hand over Blair's and squeezed. "I have you here to rescue me. Now, can I still smell London you ask..."

After digesting their meal, the two men remounted their horses and continued, making good time on the road. Both Jem and Blair were in good spirits, silently agreeing to just enjoy the journey and not speak any more of their destination.

When they reached a crossroad Jem led the way and took the fork that led back towards the glittering river Lea where the air was marginally cooler and the road led towards the town of Luton.

They passed a barge navigating the river and stopped to watch as the sails were speedily taken down. A young boy, sitting by the side of the river with a large horse, leapt up and quickly ran over, pocketed some money from the barge men and then yoked his horse to the boat. He then took the reins of his horse and the horse began to tug the boat along the river.

"Where the Lea narrows due to the river being split and form a leat, to accommodate a watermill, it's necessary for the boat's sails to be taken down and horses are employed to pull the boats along until the river widens again," Jem explained. "The Lea is very popular for transporting goods into England's heartlands and back."

Blair could hear the pleasure Jem had in being able to share such things to him and he smiled, pleased to see his friend in such a sanguine mood.

They passed two watermills along that tract of the river; the mill nearest the town, however, was derelict, its roof bent and broken, its walls crumbling, wheel planks hanging loose and the mill pond clogged full of weed.

"The mills grind grain from Hertfordshire and Essex for the bread ovens of Stratford. Local children believed that particular mill..." Jem pointed to the derelict building as they slowed their pace... "was haunted. No one ever went near the place and there were stories of strange lights appearing at night."

"Ohhh!" Blair laughed. "Did you ever examine the place?"

Jem frowned. "I think I went in there once. Only found rotting timbers and mice. No unrequited spirits or fairy folk to delight your palate, Mr. Story-teller." He smiled at his lover.

The country outside the town was covered with thorn bushes and rabbit warrens. Here and there a tree dotted the landscape, but for the most part it was arable land and rough yellowing pasture stretching towards the Downs and the chalky North Chilterns hills.

"I doubt if anything much has changed here since Adam was born!" Jem said as they paused and looked down into the town. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead, then he reached for the skin containing beer that hung from his saddle and took a long drink before handing it to Blair. "Yonder is Galley Hill." Jem pointed. "You can see the gibbet from here."

Blair drank as he gazed across from the gibbet on the hill to the town. In the approaching evening light, he could see a church and the sign for an inn in the town itself. He also noticed the unmistakable shape of a ducking stool on the river.

Then Jem spurred his horse along and Blair followed.

Luton didn't appear any different to any other town, but Blair took an interest in everything. This was Jem's former home after all.

It was still busy with people, although most were winding down their business this late in the day. Some folk stopped and stared at the two men as they rode through, but most were too busy with their own affairs to bother.

They passed by a butcher, a draper, a glove maker, a shoemaker, a baker's and a carpenter's shop, as well as a smithy. There was also a set of stocks and a whipping post. That the town prospered was evident by the number of houses with glass in the windows.

The Lea was wide as it flowed through the town, but Jem led them though a well used ford. "Usually the river runs higher even here, but with the dry spell we're having..." The water barely covered the horse's hooves. "One day," Jem commented as they rode through the sparkling water, "someone will build a bridge here and save anyone getting their feet wet!"

He pulled up at the Red Lion Inn and dismounted.

"Wait here with the horses. I want to check something." Jem handed Blair the reins of his horse and he went inside.

"Jem!" Blair called out. "See if they have a bed for me?" He doubted that there would be room at the Ellison house for him and he didn't want to impose on what he still hoped would be a good family reunion, even though he didn't relish the thought of sleeping alone or even having to share a room with a stranger if the inn had no spare rooms. He had slept in enough communal rooms with just a rented mattress on the floor to prefer his own room for the night.

Blair stretched and looked around. The evening air was stifling and dry. He wished he could just dive into the Lea and cool down. He stood in his saddle, trying to ease his clothes from his sweaty body just as Jem emerged from the inn.

"I have secured a room and stabling for the horses," Jem said as he remounted and they set off again.

Jem soon halted outside a large town house on a corner of a quiet street. "Well, here it is," he said.

Blair stared with undisguised interest at the house. With the booming brick industry, a number of the houses had the old wattle and dab replaced with brick work within the timber frames. The Ellison house was one such, and it boasted fine windows fitted with lead and glass. The front of this house was where the merchant would likely see his customers and this façade was solid looking. It spoke of reliability, wealth and respectability.

"I'll be glad to walk a while," Blair said, stretching again. "It's been some time since I rode for this long! My legs and rear have seen too much of this saddle!" He rubbed his sore bottom, expecting some ready, dry wit from Jem, but his lover's face was set and cold.

He followed Jem as he steered his horse around to the back of the house to the yard and dismounted. A stable lad took charge of the animals while another servant took them through to the main part of the house and announced them into the parlour. The wealth was obvious here too. As well as the glass in the windows, there was a fine tapestry hanging on the back wall of the parlour. A number of brass and pewter plates were on display. The room smelt of wormwood, rue and bee's wax, none of the greasy smell of tallow candles, Blair noted.

There was one man in the parlour, sitting by the window. The ebbing light softened his features but there was no doubt in Blair's mind who it was, the likeness between father and son was there, though it was obvious Jem must have gained some of his good looks from his late mother.

William Ellison rose, showing evident stiffness in his joints as he stood. His hair was grey, his skin dry and papery, but he held himself straight and proud.

"James." His smile seemed forced and yet unsure.

"Father." Jem bobbed his head in a brisk greeting.

"It's been a while."

"Yes."

"I wasn't sure you would come."

Blair looked from one to the other. The two men stood as if ready for a fight, neither willing to make the first move in case it was seen as a sign of weakness. The atmosphere was so tense, it was almost perceptible, and he willed Jem to relax before it became too uncomfortable.

As if picking up on his friend's thoughts, Jem finally broke eye contact with his father. "My friend, Mr. Sands," Jem introduced Blair, "persuaded me that I should attend my brother's wedding."

"Then I am grateful to you, Mr. Sands." William smiled at Blair in greeting, then turned back to his son. "I shall have a bed made ready for you, James. I'm afraid..."

"That is not necessary, Father. Blair and I have a room at the Red Lion," Jem interrupted.

Blair frowned. The thought never crossed his mind that Jem wouldn't sleep in the family home, yet it should have. He knew Jem very well. He should have guessed that his lover didn't intend to stay under his father's roof for longer than absolutely necessary.

William's eyes dropped. "Oh. I see. But you will allow me to have some supper brought for you? Both of you? On the eve of the wedding I have arranged some entertainment for our invited guests and you are both included of course, though I would like to spend time alone with you, James, and hear the news from London."

Before Jem could reply, a little bundle of black and pink came running full tilt through the door shouting, "Grandfather! Grandfather! Ma'am says I must go a-bed!"

"Jennet!"

At the tone of William's voice, the little girl skidded to a halt.

William looked down at her. "Jennet, what have I told you about running inside the house?"

"That ladies never run when they can walk," she answered, her wide eyes rested on Jem as her thumb went into her mouth.

"Very good. Now, I want you to say a greeting to your uncle James, and his friend, Mr. Sands."

She cupped her hand around her month and whispered to William, "Which is which?"

The whisper was loud enough for even Blair to hear and Jem tried not to smile.

Blair felt no such restrain. He laughed and squatted down. "The tall gentleman is James," he said, smiling. "I think they gave him beans for his breakfast when he was little and they made him shoot up. God save you, Mistress Jennet. Please, call me Blair."

She giggled, then looked up at William for approval. He nodded, a soft indulgent smile upon his face.

"God save you, Mr. Blair," she said giving a curtsey. Blair looked back at Jem over his shoulder, nodding his head slightly towards the little girl and wiggling his eyebrows.

Blair's message plain, Jem signed softly. "How now, Mistress Jennet." He held out his hand to her and she placed her own little hand in his. He bowed over it and planted a kiss on the back of her hand. Jennet giggled again and then ran off out of the room, shouting for her mother.

William looked after her still smiling. "She is Letita's daughter," he turned back towards his son, "Stephen's betrothed's child."

"Not Stephen's."

William's eyes challenged Jem to find fault. "No, but she delights in calling me grandfather, and I find I delight in her."

"She is a lovely child," offered Blair.

Jem straightened his shoulders. "We should go. The day has been long, and we are both tired," he said abruptly.

William seemed to shrink in defeat. "Of course. Your brother will be sorry he's missed you, but he will see you on the morrow. Will you both join us after you have broken your fast?"

Jem gave a tight nod.

"Thank you, Mr. Ellison." Blair answered as Jem strode for the door.

Just as the two men walked out the door of the house to their horses, someone called out.

"James!"

Jem stopped, and turned. "Stephen." He gave a curt nod of his head in greeting.

Blair turned to see a man, slightly smaller in build than his lover, with sweeping light brown hair and a handsome face, before Jem was striding away, leaving Blair to rush after him.

"So that's your brother," Blair said as he mounted his horse. "I can see the resemblance."

"I never could," Jem replied as he turned his horse and started back for the inn.

By the time they'd stabled the horses at the Red Lion, the sky was growing dark and the air, heavy. Jem seemed restless so Blair suggested a walk "to help us both sleep."

They walked through the town and out again towards the deeper stretch of the river, its banks lined with orchards and meadow land, in companionable silence. The sky to the west had turned violet with pink tinged clouds catching the last rays of the sun, but to the east, the clouds were heavy, dark and threatening, and far off could be heard the distant roll of thunder. As they walked, the wind began to pick up.

It was still very warm and Blair could feel the sweat trickle down his back, his shirt and his nether hose again sticking to his body, the breeze causing him to shiver slightly. This heat will make sleeping difficult tonight, he thought.

They passed by some workmen securing a small crane by the side of the river, the flames from their torches, forced into the earth, dancing lazily in the growing wind.

Blair stopped to watch them work. "I wager that helps your work," he said.

"Aye sir!"

"Mayster's sone brook it back from Tyborn where ye nubbing-cove did use somefin similer to hang four and twenty people all at one! Bettre than the ones in Londoun herselven, best in country, I'll be bound!"

The man had a thick accent and Blair had to concentrate to understand him. Blair smiled at him. "There stands a man who has never been to London," he whispered to Jem as he caught up with his friend.

As he spoke the rain suddenly began to fall and the men had to run for cover. Jem and Blair took refuge in a ramshackle of a lean-to adjacent to a small barn as it began to bucket down and the storm loudly announced its presence.

Jem stood in front of the entrance and watched as lightning flashed across the sky. Blair stood back and watched Jem.

"With luck, this will clear the sticky weather away," Blair said from behind his lover. "I am weary of feeling like a wet rag most of the day."

Jem didn't answer.

"Jem," Blair hesitated, then continued. "I haven't asked about the animosity between you and your brother, but it's been a while and people change. Whatever happened, whatever he did, I saw the way he looked at you. He seemed genuinely pleased to see you."

For a long moment, silence reigned, and Blair was beginning to think Jem wouldn't reply.

Then, "Our father believes that to be a successful man you have to be strong and competitive. Those words shaped our lives. Our maid, Sara, looked after us when Father was away. In many ways, she became a second mother to Stephen. Sara tried to teach us that it was good to live an honest, but poor, life; Father insisted it was better to be rich and successful," Jem said, his voice flat.

"He had a large, well-made table in the parlour. It cost a lot of money and he told us that often too."

Jem turned towards Blair. His face was in shadow. "Years ago Stephen became involved with a group of roaring boys, youths with no sense, out to make trouble. But Stephen had enough sense to avoid discord by being thrown out of the inn. Instead while Father and I were away, he and his friends took to drinking in the parlour. Fooling around, they climbed up and pranced about on the table, and it was scratched and damaged. I returned before Father and when I discovered what had happened, I tried to repair it, to conceal the harm done, but Father walked in and thought that I'd done the defacement. Though much older than Stephen, my father had a couple of servants hold me while he administered a thrashing. Stephen never said a word about his involvement. My father always wanted to see the worse in me...."

Jem shook his head sadly at the memory and sighed, turning towards the door. With the rain beating down on the roof and a heavy roll of thunder that had the floor shaking; Blair had to move closer to hear his lover.

"Anyway as Stephen and I grew older so we grew apart. Stephen developed an aptitude for numbers, whereas I preferred to work with my hands, something Father never understood. To cut a long story short, Stephen grew up to travel with Father and learn the financial side of the business, while I worked with the boat men and the labourers to try and find better ways of managing the loads. I still believe I got the better end of the arrangement."

"It was you who designed that crane," Blair guessed.

Jem nodded. "I saw the larger examples in London on the docks. It was simple enough to devise how they worked and scale them down to suit the purpose here." Jem looked up into the sky. "I think it is clearing. We should be able to make it back to the Red Lion."

Blair laid his hand on Jem's arm, stopping his lover from leaving. "Jem... if you wish return to London, I have no more objections."

"What, after all your scheming to get me here?" Jem smiled ruefully. "No, we'll stay now and see this through. You could be right; it may not be as bad as I fear. There'll be free food at least!"

"There is that." Blair smiled back.

By the time they returned to the inn, the first stars had appeared in the clearing sky. Too tired to do much, the two men washed and quickly climbed into the bed, sharing a brief kiss before they fell asleep spooned up against one another in spite of the heat.

That night Jem had a dream.

He saw himself as a boy, running through the woods and tripping over something. The adult Jem felt fear for his younger self, a dread of something unknown, but something he felt he should warn the child over, but he couldn't speak or move to interfere...

He woke in a cold sweat. As quietly as he could he left the bed and went to splash his face with some water from the jug.

Blair moved in his sleep.

"I'm just taking a piss," Jem whispered. "Go back to sleep, my love."

Blair must have heard him on some level as he settled.

Now that he'd put the idea into his head, Jem realized that he did indeed need to relieve himself. He used the jordon given to the guests and pushed it out of sight under the bed, but as he climbed back into the bed he and Blair shared, he had a feeling it would be a while before he joined Blair in sweet slumber.

Blair awoke early wondering, for a moment, where he was and what roused him at such an ungodly hour! By all the saints, it was barely light!

He climbed from the bed and his warm bed-mate and set his feet on the bare floorboards, flinching as the soles of his feet encountered the rough wood. He tiptoed gingerly, across to the window and opened the shutter slightly to squint into the street below. It was already beginning to fill with people, people pulling carts, people opening their shops and putting out their wares, people calling out greetings to one another. There was even a tailor on his way to a customer, his apprentice nearly dropping a large bale of fabric as he followed behind his master, a sight unheard of in London until well into the afternoon!

Blair groaned. He'd gotten used to going to bed late in London and only emerging when the sun was high. "Country folk!" he muttered. He heard Jem chuckle and he turned to glare at his lover.

"You may well laugh! Just remember, my friend, you agreed to visit with your family today." Blair didn't mean to snap, but, by God's teeth, he'd been comfortable in bed!

"Come here, and let me put you in a better temperament," Jem coaxed. "One of us needs to be in a good humor over the coming day, and I doubt it will be me!"

Blair laughed ruefully. "So I am to keep the snarling sentinel in a good disposition? Then he'd better make it worth my while!" Mindful of the thinness of the walls and floors, he clambered up quickly and quietly onto the bed and on top of his lover.

"I can do that," Jem said as he slid his hands down Blair's body and then sliding them up and under Blair's shirt touching his still bed-warm skin and rousing a shiver down Blair's spine which had nothing to do with the cool morning air.

Blair sighed happily. "That is a very good start," he smiled and bent his head to kiss Jem.

They were late arriving at the Ellison house. As they approached, Jem's mood darkened and Blair's sank with his friend's. They were both tense as they were once more shown into the family parlour.

Jem's brother was there with their father, studying a ledger, while a young woman so much like Jennet it had to be her mother sat sewing in the window seat. She was younger than Jem had imagined, with an oval face and thin lips, yet her dark hair was touched by the odd grey strand. Her eyes were her best feature. They sparkled with good humor and intelligence. Her dress was plain but not austere. She seemed to be totally at ease in the house, already its mistress.

Both William and Stephen rose from their seats as Jem and Blair entered. William smiled warmly and then sat back down on his chair, but Stephen came forward, a large smile on his face, and gasped Jem's arm warmly in greeting. "James, it is good to see you. You look in good health."

"You also, Stephen." Jem smiled tightly. "This is my companion and friend, Blair Sands."

"Mr. Sands, you are most welcome." Stephen enthusiastically shook Blair's hand. "If it pleases you, come meet my intended." He gave Jem a pat on the back and brought the two men over.

The woman smiled and stood, putting down her work.

"James, Mr. Sands, this enchanting creature is Letita Wright, whom I shall soon have the honor of calling Mistress Ellison."

The young woman curtsied. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ellison."

Jem bowed. "Mistress Wright."

"If you please, Mr. Ellison," she said, "I hope in time you will come to call me sister, but at least for now, call me by my familiar name, Lettyce." She turned to Blair holding out her hand. "And you too are most welcome, Mr. Sands."

Blair bowed over her hand. "Mistress, pray do me the honor of calling me, 'Blair'." He glanced around the room. "And where is your charming daughter this morning?"

Lettyce smiled warmly. "With her nurse. I gather you made quite an impression on her yesterday."

"She is like her mother," Stephen said, smiling. "She has an eye for the gentlemen."

"Oh, fie, sir! As you are well aware, my eyes are only for one gentleman these days."

"As well they should be." William stood and placed a hand on each of his son's shoulders.

Blair noticed Jem stiffen. "This is a beautiful house, Mr. Ellison," he said to draw William's attention away from Jem.

William turned. "Thank you, Mr. Sands. It may not be as grand as the houses in London, but I am proud of it. The garden has been re-laid to Lettyce's plan." He pointed to the garden outside the window. "Before that we just had the herbs and medicinal plants. Now we have a garden worthy of a successful merchant."

He turned to Jem. "We've also made some changes to the house and partitioned the building. Yours and Stephen's room I've divided and extended so that little Jane has a small nursery of her own and the larger area will be Lettyce and Stephen's. It's meant that I've been able to add to the warehouse downstairs too."

"You seem to be doing very well for yourself, Father."

"I want to leave something for you and Stephen when I depart this earth."

"Which, God willing, will not be for a good many years!" Stephen said, squeezing his father's shoulder.

Lettyce turned to smile at Blair. "Mr. Sands... Blair... pray sit and tell me about London. What is your occupation there?"

Blair did as he was instructed. "Ah, madam, I am but a humble player with the King's Men."

"The King's Men you say?" Her eyes opened widely. "Then you have performed before his majesty?"

Blair nodded. "Indeed I have. Both Jem and I have met the king." He stole a glance at Jem.

Lettyce sat forward eagerly. "Tell me, what is he like? I have heard tales of how he is deformed."

"Letita!" Stephen objected, shock and horror in his voice at his intended's brazen question.

"I am a curious woman, sir. I just wish to know if it is true," she said, coyly.

Stephen looked embarrassed. "My apologies, Mr. Sands. My bride is too inquisitive for her own good."

Blair smiled at Lettyce. "None the less, I will answer her question, sir. Deformed, madam? No, he is not deformed. He has an odd gait that is due to a childhood illness. For that reason, I believe, he dislikes dancing. He does, however, have a keen mind and enjoys a good debate and a game of chess."

Stephen sat down beside Blair, interested in spite of his previous words. "You have played chess with the king?"

"Indeed I have, once."

"Who won?" asked William.

"Why the king of course!" Blair smiled and winked, implying that he allowed the king to win. He glanced up at Jem. Both men had good reason to remember that chess game, and both had mixed feelings about the occasion.

The others in the room laughed as Blair intended they should and Jem realized the tension had lifted somewhat. Nevertheless there was a moment of stilted silence when no one seemed to know what to say.

"Letita is a very unusual name," Blair commented with a smile.

Lettyce laughed. "My mother heard it once and promised herself that she would name one of her daughters the same. I have often wished she had fallen in love with something simpler. I much prefer to be called Lettyce by those close to me. I believe it rolls off the tongue more easily."

"Which is why you called your own daughter, Jane?" Jem asked.

Lettyce looked up at him, smiling. "Yes, and I find Jennet a pretty version for a child, do you not agree, sir?"

"Indeed it is, Mistress," Jem agreed.

"That was a bad storm, last night," William commented, drawing their attention back to a less frivolous subject. "Almost as bad as that one we had last winter, when we lost the Emily with her crew and cargo. Did you hear of that, James?"

Jem frowned and shook his head. "Last winter? No, I wasn't aware of that."

"Aye," said Stephen. "We have not found as good a master of barges since we lost poor Jack, except you, James. You could manage those boats in all manner of weather."

"'Tis just a matter of reading the ways of the skies and of the water," Jem said dismissively. "Yet you tell me Jack is dead due to a storm? What happened? Did you recover his body and the bodies of the crew?"

Stephen shook his head sadly. "All save Jack's. Though we dragged the river downstream, the whereabouts of his body are known only to God. We are unsure what was the cause, but when we dragged her from the water, she'd a large hole in her keel."

This time the silence was more solemn.

"Forgive me, gentlemen, but this is such sad tidings, and it is meant to be a happy meeting." Lettyce broke the sombreness. "Pray allow me to lighten the mood. Blair, tell me of the queen, if you please. What is the fashion at court?"

Stephen sighed dramatically. "If you intend to interrogate Mr. Sands in this way, woman," he said, as he rose to his feet, "then I shall show my brother our garden. I will have your maid attend thee, Lettyce."

Lettyce smiled at Blair. "I'm sure Mr. Sands will do me no harm."

"Indeed, Madam, I am thinking of the harm you might do him!" Stephen replied with a smile. He turned to his father. "With your permission, Father?"

"Of course. I have duties of my own to attend to. I take your leave, James, Mr. Sands, and I hope to see you later." William bowed his head to them both and left the room.

Jem looked at his friend. "Blair?"

"Go. I will share with Mistress Letita what I know of the secrets of the court."

"Beware, Madam," Jem warned, smiling. "The theatre is a place of much scandal and Blair knows it all!"

"Pish!" Blair dismissed his friend's words and turned back to their hostess. "Perhaps, Mistress, I may have a glass of something to cool my parched throat before I begin?" he asked. When Lettyce moved to get him a small beer, Blair whispered, "Be sure to lower your sense of smell, Jem, else you start sneezing in the garden!"

Jem was at the door with his brother. He ducked his head so that Stephen didn't notice his soft smile over Blair's concern for him.

After the cool of the house, the heat struck Jem once he stepped out into the garden. With high walls on three sides, and the house making up the fourth, the small area didn't pick up any of the light summer breezes but it also didn't catch the glare of the sun until evening. Roses and climbing fruit lined the walls and a small bench sat under the window of the house, but the centre of the garden had four interlacing bands of thyme, lavender, and hyssop, which enclosed other herbs and flowers within the 'knots'. Surrounding them were paths of light colored gravel. Standing in the very centre of the garden was a small statue of Venus, on a plinth decorated with vines. Jem's father always had a soft spot for the late queen and she was often symbolised by the goddess Venus.

A servant was busy watering the plants, but he nodded his head towards Stephen as a mark of respect, and went back inside the house, leaving the brothers alone.

Jem waited a moment until he was sure they could not be heard. "Is there more to the fate of the Emily that you haven't told me, Stephen?"

"God's truth, James. We don't know what happened. The boat was carrying a cargo of bricks and it's possible that it may have become loose, and slipped, capsizing the boat. It's rare, I know, but it could have happened. Jack was a good boat man; unless incapacitated, he would have pulled in to the bank when the storm got worse. Something caused that vessel to sink and the hole in her was the only thing that we found. We don't know what caused the hole either. Perhaps the river washed something up against her in the storm... I doubt we'll ever know the full story." Stephen shook his head sadly. "We lost some four good men that day. I was all for calling you home, but Father stopped me."

"If you had I would have returned."

"I know, but Father was right. You would have been unhappy and chafed at the bit wanting to return to London as soon as possible."

Jem didn't deny it. "I still would have come."

"Yes, I know you would."

There was a long moment of silence but this time it felt less forced to Jem.

"Will Cousin Rucker be joining the wedding party?" he asked, picking a leaf to pinch and smell its aroma, remembering at the last minute Blair's warning to not take too deep a sniff.

"No, he couldn't leave the farm, especially now he has a wife and child."

"He finally married Anne?" Jem turned to look at Stephen. "How long had they been betrothed?"

"Too long according to the fair Anne!"

"Fair Anne? The first time I saw her I thought her more of an Andrew than an Anne! The way she wrestled that ram to the ground..." Jem shook his head in wonder and awe.

"Aye." Stephen laughed. "I wager she could beat you at arm wrestling. She is of stout stuff."

"And now a child... Our cousin settled at last."

"Hard to believe, I know." Stephen smiled.

"So how long have you known Mistress Wright?" Jem asked.

"Oh, for many a year. Don't you remember her husband, John?"

"John... John Wright? But he must have been at least five and twenty years her elder!"

Stephen chuckled. "More like thirty!"

He grew solemn. "Sadly, his first wife died after twelve still-births. Wright had hoped by marrying a young woman he'd beget a male heir, but all they had was our precious, little Jane. Then during the winter two years ago, old man Wright caught a chill. It left for a while during the summer, but returned with a vengeance again this last winter and it did for him. I wanted to wait until Lettyce had time to grieve and was ready to marry again, but she had other suitors who were more persistent, so I offered her my troth and she accepted."

"So is it a love match?"

"Yes, very much so. I know that is not the fashion, but I do love her and she me. Her previous marriage contract allowed her a small jointure upon her husband's death to support her and Jennet, but his business, the house, and most of the furniture he left to his brother. I will not have it said I am marrying her for her money."

"You seem very happy."

"I am. And you, James? Are you happy?"

"I believe so."

"There is no sign of another potential Mistress Ellison on the horizon?"

"No," Jem dismissed the idea. "My life is too full to include a wife," he added. Too full with my very male lover, and not to mention our work for Cecil, he thought.

"And Mr. Sands? Does he have a wife?"

"Why do you ask, Stephen?" Jem said warily.

The sound of feminine laughter erupted from the parlour and both men turned their heads to the house.

"It's just that you and Mr. Sands are so different. Here you are, a keeper of the King's peace and there's Mr. Sands, an actor." Stephen turned around to face his brother. "You have such an odd friendship, that is all."

Jem felt himself bristle with irritation. "Blair is the most honest, trustworthy man I know. He has saved my life more times than I care to remember. I will not have a word said again him."

"Your pardon, brother." Stephen held his hands up in an appeasing fashion. "I meant no offence. I just wish to know about your life. From the letters Mr. Sands sent to Sara..."

Jem frowned. "Letters? What letters?"

Stephen ducked his head as a rueful grin crossed his face. "Ah, I did wonder if you knew about them. Sara has been corresponding with Mr. Sands. And she shared them with me, and I with Father."

Jem's frown deepened. "When did this start?"

"Soon after you left I believe. Sara wanted to know that you were safe and sent a letter, written by our priest, to the address you left. Did you not receive it?"

"I vaguely remember such a letter. I do not remember answering it, nor giving anyone permission to answer in my place."

"James, please, brother, do not be angry with Mr. Sands. When you left, it seemed that Father aged over night. He seemed to shrink within himself and I feared that the next time I saw you would be at his funeral. Indeed, I suddenly found myself at a loss. For so many years I looked up to you, admired you, was even jealous of you," Stephen sadly admitted. "Then suddenly, you were gone and I was forced to consider that I helped drive you away. Everything I had done seemed petty and, sometimes, I admit, spiteful. I am sorry, Jem. Truly. Mr. Sands' letters helped both Father and me.

"Though he would never know it, his letters also gave me the courage to propose to Lettyce, and she, and her daughter in turn, have brought life back to Father. For that I am forever grateful to your friend. He has continued to send the odd letter now and again since. He hints at the investigations you have been involved in and I have to say, James, you do seem to get caught up with murder and mayhem in the city!"

"London can be a dangerous place," Jem allowed.

A bell in the town chimed the hour. Stephen sighed. "I should go and attend Father. His eyesight is not as good as it was and he gets tired easily. You will stay for dinner? You and Mr. Sands? I wish to hear more of your adventures."

"Thank you. I accept for both of us."

As Stephen left, Jem noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a familiar maid servant appear. Her hair had turned white since he'd left and she seemed to have grown shorter and slightly bent. She came forward hesitantly as if unsure of her welcome.

Jem held his hands out to her. "Sara."

She beamed and hurried over. "Master James. Oh, it is so good to see you! I thought you would be gone again without saying good day to your old nurse maid."

"Sara, you know you have always had a place in my heart. I would never leave without greeting you," he said, smiling down at her.

"Oh fie, Master James! You always were one for flirting! Where is your friend?" She glanced around. "Mr. Sands, isn't it?"

"Yes, he's with Mistress Letita. I understand you and he are better acquainted than I thought!"

She blushed and then raised her eyes to his. "You, sir, never answered my letters! Mr. Sands did. He is a sweet man. You should treat him well."

"Sara..."

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she scolded him. "I saw the way you look at him, and the way he looks back. You are obviously devoted to each other. I am glad you have such a good friend."

Jem breathed a silent sigh of relief. He thought for one insane moment that Sara had discovered that he and Blair were lovers. Such a discovery could put them in danger, not to mention a part of him feared her disapproval, even though it would not change his love for Blair; being held in her esteem still mattered to him.

"Indeed, yes. I am a very lucky man. Tell me, Sara, are you well? Does my father treat you well since I left?"

"The master treats me very well, Master James. You know, I've been with him some thirty years! He has always done right by me. But you, sir, you and Mr. Sands see so much hue and cry, so much danger... I know it is not my place, but I worry for you."

"Sara... Mr. Sands and I watch out for each other. Please do not distress yourself. It is the way we earn our living. And it suits us, both of us."

"If you say so, sir." Sara didn't sound convinced. "I would very much like to meet Mr. Sands, in person, if I may be so bold."

"Of course, Sara. I'll make sure to bring him to meet you before we leave."

"Thank you, Master James." She smiled up at him. "Now I should get along. I have chores to do but I had to come out to see you." She curtsied and then turned to return indoors, just as Blair stepped out of the door. Sara hesitated and then bobbed a curtsy at him as she passed. Blair smiled at her.

"So," Blair said as he reached Jem. "How did your talk with Stephen go?"

"Better than I expected." Jem paused. "I hear you've been writing letters to Sara."

"Who told you? Not Sara." Blair glanced back. "Was that her? I should say good day to her."

"Yes, she wants to meet you too, and no, she didn't tell me. Apparently she's been sharing them with Stephen."

Blair put his hands up to ward off any confrontation. "Ah, Jem, I know what you must be thinking..."

"I am thinking I am very lucky to have you."

"You are?" Blair blinked. "I mean, yes, of course you are!"

Jem laughed out loud pulling Blair to him and ruffling his hair. "Come, let's go meet your fellow scribe."

An hour or so later, Sara was wiping her eyes, wet with laughter, with the edge of her apron as Blair finished another of his anecdotes about life in the theatre. He was sitting on a three legged stool in the middle of the usually busy kitchen, while Sara was sitting on an identical one opposite him.

It was hot in the kitchen. Herbs and onions hung on a rack from the ceiling; bread sat cooling on the table. A large cooking pot sat over the big fire, bubbling merrily. The door from the kitchen to the yard had been left open allowing the heat and cooking smells to dissipate. Yet none of those present made a move to go somewhere cooler.

Jem was leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a broad grin on his face that matched the one on his friend's. Around them the servants had more or less stopped work to listen.

"Mr. Blair," Sara said around gulps of air, "Methinks you manufacture some of these tales for your captive audience!"

"No, indeed not, Mistress Sara, they are all true, God's honor! Jem will tell you, won't you?"

Jem straightened up as his father walked into the room, shutting off whatever Jem was about to say. All the servants quickly found tasks to attend to.

Sara and Blair stood.

"So this is where you all are." William said.

"Indeed, sir." Sara made a brief curtsy. "We have all been entertained by Mr. Sands' tales, but you will find all is in order; the knives have been scoured, the cloth laid, trenchers scraped and napkins folded, and dinner will be ready shortly."

William laid his hand on Sara's shoulder and smiled gently at her. "I have no doubt of that, Sara. I just wondered where our guests were. When I couldn't find them, I feared we'd driven them away."

Blair saw the muscle in Jem's jaw twitch, but before he could come up with something to say in their defence, Jem answered.

"What, and miss some of Sara's cooking, we wouldn't dream of it, Father."

"Oh, fie, Master James!" Sara hit him lightly with the cloth in her hand. "Truth be told, I do little cooking these days, we have other staff to do that, but," Sara glared at two of the maids who had become distracted and who quickly returned to their tasks under her stare, "if I don't skivvy them along, they tend to get lazy!"

"Then, Mistress," Blair bowed his head to her, "we should leave you to your domain. I hope we get the opportunity to talk some more."

Sara smiled happily. "Oh, yes please. I would like that very much. Now, good sirs, shoo, there is work to be done and this is no place for gentlemen."

"I am exhausted!" Blair admitted as they walked back to the inn after spending the day with Jem's family.

"I should think so!" Jem chuckled. "You worked hard in there today, entertaining us all."

"As Master Shakespeare might say, 'the world is our stage and one man in his time plays many parts'. I enjoyed myself. But then, you did well too. I think a couple of times you almost developed a sanguine disposition and enjoyed yourself! Tomorrow, however, I can take my ease. We shall have the entertainment of the cock-fighting and perhaps the chance of this trip being lucrative." Blair rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Jem groaned. "Yes, we do. But this betting on helpless animals, forcing them to fight for our so called 'entertainment', it doesn't sit right with me."

Blair nodded. "I understand. Yet think on it this way, these birds are lucky."

Jem snorted contemptuously.

"No, listen. You only need one cockerel for each brood of hens, so extra cocks are destined straight for the pot before they grow and become aggressive. These birds are like gladiators, trained to fight, bred for sport. Yes, that natural aggression is nurtured, but they have a longer life than their brothers and they know no other life. And of course, successful birds are allowed to breed."

"You sound almost jealous!" Jem teased.

Blair rolled his eyes. "I, however, do admit to a certain fascination with them," he continued as though Jem hadn't spoken. "While it is true that I hate the blood and violence, gaming has provided Naomi and me with money for many a meal or a night's lodging when mother's occupation had failed us. I can admire the craftsmanship that went into creating the rapier-sharp, tiny, silver spurs the birds wear, but I do deplore the damage they do to the birds."

"You may be right, but it doesn't mean I have to like the sport."

Blair nodded, conceding the point.

"Jem..." he began, carefully, needing to broach another matter with his lover. "Sara didn't mention the Emily sinking. If she had you can be sure I would have told you, even though it meant earning your wrath over the letters. She wrote of day to day housewifely things. Naught to do with your father's business."

Jem put his hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed gently. "It probably wouldn't have occurred to Sara to mention it. She is very loyal to the family. To her, even though you exchanged letters, you were still an outsider and not privy to family business. And even if I'd stayed in touch, there wouldn't have been anything I could have done. Neither you nor I can control the elements."

"Jack was your friend..."

"Yes, and he loved that boat, probably more than he loved anything else! Certainly he loved that life more than I ever did. I do admit to being... unsettled by the report of his death, but let his body be at rest now."

"Amen," added Blair.

Next morning the two men broke their fast at the inn and then made their way through the town to the cock-pit in the market square. Built in a fashion similar to a playhouse, it was circular, with a brick wall at the sides and timbers supporting the roof. There the comparisons ended. The area where the wall ended and the roof began was left open to the elements. Inside the enclosed area stood a low stage where the birds would fight to the death, surrounded by benches for the patrons where those who would be placing a wager sat. Those who just came for the entertainment sat further back and up on tiers.

As they neared the structure, Jem stopped and looked around.

"What is it?" Blair asked.

Jem frowned and shook his head. "I just thought I smelled something familiar."

A memory sparked across his mind.

His father was leaving on a trip and was stuffing papers into his panniers. Jem and Stephen were sitting on the steps watching while Sara was doing some laundry in the yard and she stopped to smile at the boys.

"If this weather holds Saturday will be a perfect day for the boat race, Master James."

William heard her. "Just make sure you win, James," he said to his eldest son.

"I'm going to try, Father."

"Trying isn't good enough," insisted his father.

"Winning isn't everything, sir," Sara said very quietly.

"Correction, woman. Winning isn't everything," said William turning abruptly, "in this world, it's the only thing. Remember that both of you." He emphasised his words to his sons with his finger.

Both boys dropped their eyes. "Yes Father," they said, in unison.

Sara picked up her laundry basket and went inside as William was assisted onto his horse and set off leaving his sons to gaze after him.

Jem frowned, unable to pinpoint what made his thoughts return to the past.

Blair was standing watching him, a quizzical look on his face.

Jem shook his head and followed Blair as they made their way to a couple of empty places on the benches beside Jem's father and brother.

Blair looked around for the man who would hold their wagers. The first two cockerels with their brightly colored heads were brought out and carried around the ring to show the gentlemen their pedigree.

Jem drew back his attention away and towards Blair. He'd rather focus his senses on his lover than the spectacle his father thought of as suitable entertainment. That was when he noticed something. The frown reappeared as he tried to concentrate his sense of smell.

Blair had placed his wager and the fight had just begun accompanied by loud encouragement from the on-lookers and angry clucking from the birds, when Jem stood up beside him and began to edge his way pass the other men to leave the arena. Blair wasn't really surprised. Even so, he thought Jem would have stayed a while longer. With a last lingering look at the area, and probably his wager, Blair stood and followed Jem out... only for his friend to grab him by the shoulder as soon as they stepped out of the body of the audience.

"I smell blood, Sands. Too much blood and too fresh to be from the chickens," Jem whispered urgently.

Blair's eyes widened. "Can you find the source?"

Jem closed his eyes and slowly turned his head, taking a breath through his nose as he did. "This way." He walked around the outside of the structure finally squatting down beside some loose bricks at the bottom of the wall. Carefully he prized one brick out with his knife and then reeled back, covering his nose with a quickly grabbed kerchief. He shouted for assistance.

The body was pulled out from its hidey-hole. It was obviously in an early state of decay. Blair turned away and tried to breathe through his mouth. The victim been strangled with something fine, like the string from a lute, leaving a bright scarlet, deep, yet thin cut with a small amount of bruising around the gash. He was also stabbed in the chest. To Jem it was obvious that the stabbing was done after the man was dead as there was little blood around that wound. Then the remains were forced under the cock-pit and the bricks replaced, loosely, to hide it.

The local constable had been a member of the audience at the cock-fighting and he came and knelt to examine the body. "That's odd." He lifted up a small book that had been lying upon the body. It was an old, battered, copy of 'The Book of Nurture'—a child's instruction book.

Blair looked at it and then glanced up at a silent Jem. Blair frowned. His partner had gone white in the face.

"May I see," Jem asked. He took the book from the constable and opened the front of the book gently running his fingertips over the page. He showed it to Blair. Inside the front cover in a child's neat script were the words, 'This book belongs to James Ellison'.

Young James regained his feet after his fall in the wood...and then he saw something... something that chilled him to the very marrow...

"You knew this man?" the constable asked him, jolting Jem out of his dark memories.

"I do... did." The men hadn't heard Jem's father come through the gathered crowd behind them, Stephen with him. "His name is Barnaby Smith. He is—was—a merchant of my acquaintance."

"So how then did he come to have your son's book?"

William shook his head. "I have no idea."

"I don't think he did have it," said Jem. "It wasn't in his pocket, was it, rather placed upon the body. I think his murderer placed it there to be found."

"It would have been there some time before anyone noticed." William was doubtful.

"Not in this heat," Blair replied, brushing away some flies that buzzed too close. "There is already a great number of insects around, and animals would have tried to dig it out."

"Why place it there? What connection did this man have with you, Mister Ellison? If none, how came he by the book?" the constable asked Jem.

Jem shook his head. "I have no idea," he said, unconsciously echoing his father's words.

William Ellison was looking at his eldest son and frowning. "Ralph," he turned to address the constable, "we should move the body out of the heat."

"Aye," the man agreed looking down at the corpse. "He can lie in the crypt of the church for now. We need to find his relatives."

"I believe he had a wife," someone said.

The constable nodded. "One more question, who saw him last?"

No one answered, then Stephen stepped forward hesitantly. "I saw him at the Red Lion a few days ago."

"Indeed, Mr. Stephen. Did you speak to him?"

"No, I was celebrating my forth-coming wedding with some of my friends. He was drinking at another table."

"We should return home," William said. "Time is moving on and we have preparations to arrange."

The constable was staring at the corpse again. "I don't think we've had a murder like this since... oh years ago... in fact..." He hesitated, looking up keenly at Jem. "If it's no trouble, I would like your help, gentlemen, if you would be so kind to assist in removing the body to the church."

Jem nodded. "Of course. We will see you shortly, Father."

He knelt and wrapped the merchant's cloak around the body then helped two of the town's men to lift it. Together the men began to carry Barnaby Smith towards the church.

It's a pretty church. As patterned on the out as it will be plain on the inside, Blair thought idly as he followed the small cortège. It was built with a chequerboard pattern of black flint and grey stone. He had a friend who found employment regularly refreshing the whitewash inside churches in London to stop the popish images leaking through. Of course, if the Puritans had their way, the interior would be even more plain, no color, no art, no music within the church. And Blair did like color and music. In his opinion churches shouldn't be all hell and damnation. It should have colorful saints in the windows and humorous little carvings on the walls. On the other hand, you could have too much the other way; he wouldn't want anyone to think he had catholic idolatries. That was almost as dangerous as being Jewish...

"So, Mr. Ellison," the constable's voice broke into Blair's thoughts. Blair found the man had drawn level with Jem.

"I remember the stories from years back about a boy who found another body. As I heard it, that boy was one James Ellison."

Jem didn't reply.

"And as I remember," the constable continued, "two small boys were murdered in this area, but the murderer was not discovered. Then an adult, Henry Heydash was killed. John Hollow was a vagrant who was seen near the area. He'd raised his voice against popish plots and Henry Heydash was a recusant catholic. It was easy for people to blame Hollow for the murders. I believe he hanged himself before the mob could rip him apart." He was giving Jem an intent look.

"Jem?" Blair prompted. He could see the tension in his lover's face.

"I don't remember."

"I would have thought such a thing would stick in your mind," pressed the constable.

Jem turned towards him. "I was ten years of age. It was a long time ago," he said, flatly.

"I see. Well then if you do remember anything, Mr. Ellison, I would be grateful if you tell me."

"Of course." Jem nodded. "If I remember anything pertinent to this murder, I will inform you at all speed."

"You are staying for your brother's wedding?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I will know where to reach you if I have any more questions." The constable opened the church door and they stepped inside. The welcoming coolness of the interior washed over them.

The men carefully placed the body on the floor of the church.

"Reverend Davenport! Are you there, Robert?"

"Yes, I'm here, Ralph. Where else would I be?" The minister came along, panting as he rushed over. "I saw the commotion from the church tower and knew you'd be heading my way. It just takes me longer to get down those stairs these days."

"You shouldn't be up there, man! Let the boys do the sweeping."

"It was one of Daniel's tasks..."

There was a heavy silence at his words.

"Daniel?" Blair prompted.

"One of the choir boys, he's been missing six days," the minister answered. "His mother's frantic with worry."

"Is it possible that he could have run away to London?" asked Blair.

"It's possible." Reverend Davenport looked doubtful. "So many people pass this way, some with bright tales of the fortune to be made back in London and Daniel is a trusting child. He's small for his age and a little on the slow side. But he always seemed happy and contented; I just can't imagine him running away like that."

"And now we have a murder," the constable said, bringing their attention back to the matter at hand. "We need to place him somewhere cool until his wife can claim the body."

"Of course," the minister replied. "I'll have him made respectable, but in this heat, he'd best be put to rest soon. Though the ground is hard and dry enough for us to have to use pick axes! The charnel-house will be best, I think for the time being. It's separate from the church. The bride and groom will not want the stench of death hanging over their wedding day."

"Indeed," the constable agreed.

The minister led the way to the small charnel-house at the back of the churchyard and the men gently laid the body down and left it to the services of the priest and God.

"There was something, Blair, about that book," Jem said, as soon as they were out of the church and out of ear-shot of the constable and the townsmen. "A smell, sickly sweet, like the scents some of the men at court wear. It was very faint but...distinct. I'm sure I smelt it on the body I found when I was a boy."

"Smells can elicit memories, Jem." Blair became excited. "You know what this means? You had your sentinel abilities as a child!"

"What it means is this was not an imitator copying the other killings. This is likely the same person who killed years ago."

"Then he would be an old man now, Jem," Blair noted.

Jem sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't make any sense. It's almost as if someone is playing some cruel jest, or maybe the jest is upon me because I remember very little about the last murders."

"Stop tormenting yourself. You were a child. You found something terrible and I'm sure the effect of that closed everything off, your senses, your memory, everything."

"Then how do I open things up again?" Jem asked, desperately.

Blair pulled Jem to a small, quiet part of the churchyard. "Sit. Be still. Focus on that smell and what memories that may awaken."

Jem did as he was told and closed his eyes bringing the smell to mind. Slowly, memories surfaced.

He remembered docking a small home-made raft against the river bank and a man helping him to pull the raft out of the water. He could smell the river and feel the breeze on his face as if it was the present day....

"I hope I can row as well and as fast in the race tomorrow." His voice had the rough, uneven quality of a young boy, just about to break into manhood.

"I'm sure you will, Jem. Pray ask your father to save me a place at the winning post."

Jem dropped his eyes. "I don't think he'll be there. He left on important business away from the town this morning."

His companion frowned. "These things happen, Jem. It's not his fault."

Jem chose to ignore that comment. "Do you think I'll ever be good enough to manage a barge, Hal?"

"Jem." Hal put his hand on Jem's shoulder. "I think you could do anything on God's good earth, if you wanted to, but..."

"But what?"

Sometimes you hold yourself back. It's as though you are afraid to trust yourself."

Jem was about to reply when he heard his young brother's voice calling. "Stephen's coming. I think dinner's ready."

"How do you know?" Hal asked, looking around for Jem's brother.

Jem shrugged his shoulders. "I just do."

"And I suppose you can smell dinner cooking!" Hal laughed. "You had better run along then." He pushed Jem gently towards the Ellison house.

But then he called him back. "Jem..."

Jem stopped and turned back.

"Remember what I told you. Trust your instincts."

"I will. See you Saturday."

"I'll be there, Professor."

"Who was Hal?" Blair's voice brought Jem back to the present. Blair was squatting on his haunches in front of his friend.

Jem stood and brushed the grass from his breeches. Blair mirrored his actions.

"Hal was my teacher, my mentor," Jem said. "He called me 'Professor', said I was good at book learning. He thought I was intelligent enough to go to college, even suggested a Jesuit college overseas to my parents."

"Jesuit college?"

"Yes, I know!" Jem chuckled ruefully. "Hal was a recusant catholic. There were a few in the town then. For him the best education was to be obtained at a Jesuit school. My father was horrified at the idea. He was determined I should follow him into the business, not go into the church, even if that had meant the English church. I, on the other hand, was quite taken with the thought of a college education overseas and away from my family."

"You an acolyte...."

"What?"

Blair's face was flushed and he'd turned away. "I'll probably burn in Hell for the thoughts I just had," he said.

"Tell me."

"I had this quick fancy of me seducing you and you a priest."

"Unfrocked of course." Jem tried to hide a smile.

"As soon as possible!"

"Shame on you, Sands."

"I know, I know." Blair ducked his head but he had a grin on his face. He'd never admit it to his lover, but hearing Jem's pet name for him used in such a fashion, gave Blair a sharp jolt. One he'd quickly shaken off in light of Jem's memories.

Jem leaned in and whispered in Blair's ear. "Do you think there may be such a robe amongst the costumes in the Globe?"

Blair turned quickly, his eyes wide, his smile broad. "I believe there may well be such an item. Should I see if I can smuggle it out of the theatre?"

"I think that would be an excellent idea."

Blair nodded, trying to appear serious. "I'll make a point of doing so as soon as we get back to London."

Jem chuckled. "We may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb." He sighed. "Come on, my curly-haired incubus, we'd best return to my father's house and see if anyone there can shed light on any of this. I think the entertainment is over for today don't you? "

The sound of a heated discussion greeted the two men as they crossed the threshold into the parlour of the merchant's home.

"I really do think, sir, that the wedding should be postponed."

"Over the death of one man? Preposterous, Edward. Everything is too far along, to postpone now would be absurd and expensive!"

"But he is the second man killed recently, master. Such ill omens..."

"The second man?" Jem asked as he walked in followed by Blair.

William turned at the sound of Jem's voice. "James. Mr. Sands." He greeted them. "I see the constable has finished with you."

The man standing with him pointedly cleared his throat.

"I don't believe you've met my apprentice, Edward."

The young man smiled hesitantly in greeting.

Jem and Blair nodded to him.

"You were talking about a second murder, Father."

"Yes," William said, tiredly. "There was a silversmith killed on the road two nights ago, one Robert McCain. He was also strangled and stabbed. We thought it was a thief after his merchandise." He turned back to his apprentice. "Edward..."

"Robert McCain?" Blair interrupted. "Short man, ginger hair and a neatly pointed ginger beard?"

"Yes, that is correct," answered William, looking slightly puzzled. "Did you know him, Mr. Sands?"

"Yes, but not all that well. I met him once or twice at an acquaintance's house."

"I see. Then I am sorry for your loss, however slender." William turned back to Edward.

Blair pulled Jem to one side. "That acquaintance was Cecil," he whispered urgently.

Jem swore quietly. "You think this McCain worked for him as we do?"

"I know he did."

"So what was he doing here?"

Blair shrugged. "Another one of Cecil's intrigues? Or maybe he was here on some legitimate business that had nothing to do with our paymaster."

Jem looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"No, I don't believe that either," Blair agreed. "It would be too much of a coincidence. Damn! This time I truly believed we would have a holiday away from all this murder and skulduggery."

They paused to watch as Edward left the room, the conversation with his master obviously over and done.

Jem put his hand on Blair's back. "For the moment, we need to discover why Edward is so keen to stop Stephen's wedding," he said leaning in and speaking softly.

Blair looked up at his lover. "You think there could be some other mischief involved?"

"I'm not sure. You talk to Edward..."

"While you talk to your father?"

Jem sighed. "Yes."

Blair grinned at Jem's discomfort. He bowed to William. "Your pardon, sir, I must excuse myself for a minute," he said in a normal tone of voice.

"That young fool, Edward, would have me postpone the wedding over some superstitious nonsense!" William declared as soon as Blair left, throwing down some papers he'd been looking at.

"I'm sure Edward has the family's best interests at heart, and two murders do not seem nonsense, Father."

William threw up his hands, pacing angrily. "But they are not related to our family! I admit we have crimes in Luton, mainly due to young fools and drunkenness, or some tom-foolery, but a night in the stocks usually sorts such things out." He hesitated. "Constable Lawson questioned you about the other incident, the one when you were but a boy, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"What did you say?" William looked at Jem intently.

"What could I say? I remember very little about it."

His father nodded. "Some things are best left forgotten and in the past."

Jem frowned. "Father..." he began.

There was a knock at the door and servant entered. "My apologies, Master, but there are some musicians in the yard. You sent for them?"

"Ah yes." William stood. "Forgive me, James, I must make sure they know what to play for the wedding. We want none of those vulgar ditties that are so popular these days." He put his hand on Jem's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, son," he said with a smile, then he turned and hurried after his servant leaving Jem alone sadly staring after him.

Blair found Edward outside, sorting out some wood for a fire. "It's Edward, isn't it? I thought that would be a servant's job?"

Edward shrugged. "I like to make myself useful, sir."

"Yes, of course." Blair leaned casually against the wall. "I've known a number of apprentices in London and they are often high spirited. I imagine sometimes they need to relieve some tension, having to live with their master's families for no pay, and having to work such long hours. It can not be easy, especially if your master is very strict and beats you."

"Not Master Ellison, sir. He's a very good, fair master. Those apprentices in London give the rest of us a bad name. We are not all troublemakers." Edward turned back to his work

Blair gave Edward a once over. The apprentice was young, skinny, with wispy blond hair and a pale complexion. A diffident youth perhaps, but is any man without passion? "Do you have a sweetheart, Edward?" Blair asked.

He saw rigidity appear in the man's body.

"No, sir."

"Shame, you could have escorted her to the wedding... It promises to be a fine affair.... Mistress Letita is an attractive woman, don't you agree?"

"It is not my place to notice such things."

Blair studied his nails. "And the Ellisons are very handsome. Of course, I am biased. Master James is my friend so I am bound to have a good opinion of his physique. He is taller than his brother, has a good color. I think he has a more muscular shape too. He has a good sense of humor, though he doesn't always show it, plus he has a fine sense of order and justice. Of the two brothers I would judge him the better."

Edward stood up abruptly. "There, sir, I believe you are mistaken! I do not know Master James, but I find that Master Stephen is handsomer. He has a keen mind and is skilled in bookkeeping. He does not need the muscles of a labourer. He has a gentle nature. He has a good complexion, the moles upon his face, as with his thick stock of hair, adding to rather than subtracting from his masculinity. His legs are muscular, but not overly so. He has a good heart and a very pleasing body!" Edward covered his mouth with his hand as he appeared to realize just how far over the line he'd stepped.

Ah! That's the way it is with you! Blair thought.

"I pray thee, sir, don't say anything, I didn't mean... I don't spy on Master Stephen, honest I don't!" Edward pleaded.

Blair stood straight. "Be easy, Edward. I didn't hear you say anything out of place. You are just being loyal to your master. Though, if there's any incident or mischief from you over the forthcoming festivities, I may remember differently, if you perceive my meaning."

Edward nodded, his eyes still wide with fear.

"How long before you serve out your apprenticeship?"

"Three years."

Blair stood away from the wall. "Keep your head until you are done, Edward. Then you can leave here and start anew and try to put all thoughts of Stephen Ellison from your mind."

Jem met Blair at the doorway. "Well?" he asked his lover.

"Edward is carrying a torch for your brother," Blair replied quietly.

"Ah, I see. That's the way of it, is it?" Jem nodded. "Well that does add up as to the why he doesn't want the marriage to go ahead. I doubt if Stephen knows or Father would dismiss the man."

Blair looked up at Jem. "Before his apprenticeship is finished? That would be unkind."

"What did you tell him?"

"To keep his head until he can leave the Ellison service. Unrequited love is torturous."

"Hmmm. So you think you talked him out of any mischief?"

"I believe so. I don't think he would hurt Stephen, and by extension, Letita."

"Then that is one avenue we do not have to do more about."

"What did your father say?"

Jem shook his head. "Not much. I asked if he knew of any connection with the murders, but apart from them both being merchants, he would tell me nought. He..." Jem cleared his throat. "He asked me what I told the constable about the previous murder. He said some things are better forgotten."

Blair's eyes were full of concern. "Do you believe that?"

Jem didn't answer and Blair could see the twitch in his lover's jaw.

"Jem, the experiences we have as children shape the men we are today, whether we remember them or not. I wish I could go back in time so I could help you, but then that could change who we are now and we would both be different people. I like the life we share now, don't you?" He smiled at Jem.

Jem relaxed. "Yes, I wouldn't be without you, for all your pushing and worrying over me," he said, smiling.

"I will take that as a compliment. Did your father tell you nothing else?"

Jem shook his head. "He's gone to attend to the musicians who will play for the wedding."

That night, Jem found himself once more dreaming.

Jem met his little brother in front of their house.

"Sara sent me to tell you to wash your hands for dinner," said Stephen.

Jem could hear his father inside. It sounded as though he was annoyed with something or someone. "Come on, then, race you to the well!" he said to distract his brother.

Around to the back of the house they ran. Jem pulled up the bucket from the house well and helped Stephen to rinse his hands in the cold water, all the while listening to his father inside the house.

William Ellison was looking for something, something he couldn't find. He was throwing things around in his search, slamming drawers, all the while muttering to himself. "Damn you, woman! You leave me on my own to take care of two boys! I have to run my business and organize the house. This is not man's work!" His voice dropped suddenly and Jem had to strain to hear him. "Every time I think I have things under control, something happens like this. Even after two whole years.... Why did you have to die and leave me thus? Why do I still feel so out of my depth?"

"What are you looking at?" Stephen asked jolting Jem. He realized he'd been staring blankly while listening to his father.

"I was just lost in thought. It's been a while since we had a snail race. What say you after dinner we find some and train them up?"

Stephen laughed. "Wager mine would beat yours any day!"

"Indeed? I bet mine would beat yours!"

Jem woke, staring at the ceiling above the bed, Stephen's laughter ringing in his head.

Careful not to wake his lover, Jem got up and washed his face with water from the ewer. Today was Stephen's big day. It wouldn't do to appear melancholy.

Despite the previous events, it was a loud, happy crowd that left the house for the church the next morning with Stephen and Lettyce leading the way, Lettyce wearing her best dress in dove grey, with a new petticoat in Coventry blue that matched the color of her shoes. She carried a small woven hoop of flowers—which she would wear as a headdress once the minister proclaimed her Stephen's wife.

Stephen had spared no expense in his clothes. He'd had a tailor from London fit him with a new grey doublet; one well cut to show off his broad shoulders and short enough to emphasis his legs which were clad in knitted nether-breeches. The buckles on his new shoes gleamed brightly in the sun.

The father of the groom walked proudly behind his youngest son. His merchant's gold chain clunked against the buttons of his knee-length surcoate as he followed.

Jem had flatly refused to buy anything new. He wore his tall crowned hat with the wide brim and a feather plume—held to the crown with the pin his majesty, the king, gave Jem—and a plain brown doublet with his favourite Venetian breeches. He'd trimmed his beard to a sharp, stylish point. Blair had to admit his lover looked very handsome, cool and comfortable. He, on the other hand, had bought a new hat, one with a wider brim to keep the sun from his face. He'd tied his hair back in an effort to keep cool. He'd opted for his best cherry red jerkin—the one with matching red breeches—to wear over the linen shirt with the wired collar, but even now the fabric was sticking to his skin—not that that would stop him from enjoying the day's celebrations.

The hired musicians and clowns danced and played along side, drawing the town's folk out to join in the celebrations. Some made bawdy jokes about the couple that made even Jem blush. He looked back to where Blair was laughing and jogging along with a drummer clad in very gaudy livery. Jem grinned as he caught Blair's eye. He had a slight sheen of sweat on his face, but his eyes were twinkling and he was obviously enjoying himself. Jem's smile softened as Blair's hand went to the ring in his ear. It was the one the king had given Blair, the same one that Jem had had altered into an earring. What others didn't know, and would have no cause to know, was that Jem had asked an engraver to incise his and Blair's initials inside the ring as a mark of their commitment. Blair touching it was his way of saying "I love you" when there was no way of saying the words out loud.

Little Jennet, attired in a dress made from one of her mother's cast-offs, ran in and out amongst the crowd; laughing and dancing with people she knew, all the while trying to keep her bride's-maid flowers intact, until William caught her eye and then she slowed and walked sedately for all of five minutes before something caught her eye and she was off and running again, full of excitement and joy.

At the back of the crowd walked Edward with Sara and some of the household servants. A young woman was excitedly chatting to him, but the young man just smiled sadly.

The merriment stopped as they got to the church and Reverend Davenport came out to meet the couple. The crowd lapsed into silence as he led bride and groom, with the congregation behind them, into the cool of the church for the nuptial blessing. These days there was no blessing of the ring in the church porch. Lettyce's brother took her hand and placed it in Stephen's at the altar. Linen coifs were placed on the couple's heads to protect them from demons as they knelt to take their vows before God and man, and then they formally signed the wedding register.

After the ceremony, the happy throng made its way back through the town to the Ellison house, Reverend Davenport joining them, where gifts were handed out to the guests and where they drank a toast to the newly married couple. Then the feasting began.

Jem lay with his head in Blair's lap, content and with a full belly. They'd escaped the loud, boisterous party and had found a quiet, secluded area of the orchard behind the house and across the road where they could relax. Their tunics hung on branches above their heads and they'd removed their shoes.

Blair half lay, his back against a tree, his legs outstretched. He was stroking Jem's hair absentmindedly. "Do you think we will be missed?"

"Doubt it. I saw others leave quietly before us. But they will be back for the bedding. Thank all the saints we are spared that spectacle!"

Blair chuckled. "Aye. There is something to be said for having a male lover!"

"Just one thing?" Jem strained his neck back to look at Blair.

"Fishing, are you? There are many worthy things." He bent to kiss Jim's forehead. "Many best saved for the bedchamber."

Jem smiled and shifted, his shirt riding up. He sighed contentedly and rested his hand on his stomach. "I am stuffed!" He belched loudly, putting his hand quickly to his mouth, a look of surprise on his face.

Blair laughed. "And that was a sign of appreciation, no doubt of the soup and pork!"

"No, more Lettyce's beer! She brews a fine drink, that one!" Jim belched again.

Blair laughed again, waving his hand in front of his face. "Now that's the onions that went with the pork!"

"My apologies if the smell offends thy sensitivities. They did Stephen proud, didn't they? Though I think that may be the last feast for a while to come if this hot spell continues. Food could well become scarcer. The rain we have had doesn't seem to have touched the soil. Another bad harvest like the last would wipe out small villages. I pray the town is big enough to survive." He let some of the earth run thought his fingers. Then he sighed. "But that's not the talk for today. I am too well fed to dwell on such things." He took Blair's hand and kissed the middle of his palm. "Have I told you I love thee lately?"

"Oh, not for a few hours." Blair turned his hand in Jem's and studied his lover's hand, running his fingers over Jem's ring finger. "Love is fix'd. I will not range. I like my choice, I will not change," he recited.

Jem turned his hand to hold Blair's bringing them both to his chest. "Here is my heart," he replied, "in faith forever and I will forsake thee never."

Blair smiled. "Your tutor was right about you and words. When you choose to use them, you do very well."

"As do you, my Professor." He looked back at his lover. "You sound grave. Was it my talk of drought that brought this serious mood?"

"No, we can do naught about the weather. That is in the hands of God." Blair leaned his head back against the tree trunk. "If I am truthful, which I always try to be..." he ignored the snort from Jem. "Back in London, our friends know I am thine and thee are mine, even if nothing is actually put into words; here today the matrons would insist on trying to foist their unmarried daughters onto you."

"Ah, is that what brought on this sombre mood? You were jealous."

"I was not jealous!" Blair declared.

Jem settled back, his head once again on his lover's lap, his fingers steepled over his chest. "You were most certainly jealous. Don't you trust me, even after all this time?" He craned his head once more to look at Blair with concern.

Blair flicked his fingers lightly against Jem's head. "You I trust! The matrons of this parish I do not!" he said.

Jem smiled smugly and relaxed. "If you had but listened you would have heard me tell them I already have a sweetheart!"

Blair chuckled. "That would explain why I was then approached and asked if you did have a true love and if so, how serious."

"And you said...?"

"Very serious and very possessive. Your true love would hardly allow you out of their sight." Blair paused. "And if you'd been listening, you would have heard those very same matrons then ask if I were betrothed to someone."

"As a matter of fact, I did hear that and I heard you say you were happily taken."

"Though I did not say how often!"

Jem chuckled. "True..." He suddenly sat up and looked towards the house. He quickly pulled on his shoes.

"What is it?" Blair turned his head to see what had put his partner on alert and saw a commotion issuing from the inner courtyard. Two men were all but dragging a protesting Stephen Ellison from the yard, followed by Constable Lawson who was being berated by the rest of the family, the wedding guests shouting and haranguing the men taking Stephen away, the children, wide-eyed and scared, hanging onto their mothers' skirts who like the bride, were wringing their hands and wailing.

"Hold!" said Jem as he and Blair hurried over carrying his shoes and their tunics. "What mischief is this?" Jem demanded.

"Your brother, sir, knew both victims," the constable answered, holding tightly onto Stephen's shoulder. "He was alone with both victims. Therefore..."

"Therefore nothing!" declared Stephen, struggling against his capturers. "I have killed no one!"

"Yet you admit you saw Robert McCain on the road," said the constable.

"How came you by this knowledge?" Jem demanded before his brother could reply.

"By an unsigned note pushed under my door."

"And did Mr. 'Unsigned' explain how he knew my brother was there?" Jem pressed.

"No, but it matters not. Your brother has admitted he met the victim."

"I admit that, yes. I wanted to ask him to make my sweetheart a gift, a locket. He was alive when we parted! God's truth! I swear it!"

"Stephen, were there any witnesses to this?" Jem asked. "Apart from the unsigned, of course?" He spared a glance for the constable.

"No, not that I saw." Stephen said reluctantly. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I met him in secret to discuss the design."

"Why did you not mention this before, Stephen?" his father asked.

"Because I feared this very thing!"

"Take him away," the constable ordered the men. "He can sit in the cellars below the town hall until we have proved either his innocence or guilt."

"I will summon our lawyer, Stephen," said William as he hurried inside the house.

The guests slowly dispersed, all merriment now evaporated, the men comforting their womenfolk.

The two men watched as Stephen was led away. "This is nonsense," Blair declared.

"Is it?"

Blair spun round. "Jem! You can not believe your brother is a murderer. What motive could he possibly have? He has so much here."

"Perhaps Robert knew something to threaten that."

Blair could see the muscle in Jem's jaw jumping; a sure sign of his lover's aggravation. "How likely is that?" he asked.

"If it were not my brother, would you be so sure of his innocence?" Jem shook his head. "There's something else here, some other motive. It feels as though I have all the answers, all the clues, in front of me, yet I cannot see the pattern they make."

"Perhaps your memories can assist?"

"I'm only seeing lightning flashes; myself running in the woods, falling over something; vague foggy images that make little sense ..."

"I think you need something else to jog those memories, something that will unite the pattern. Perhaps you should try to talk to your father again, Jem. He may remember something that helps."

A movement out of the corner of his eye distracted Jem from Blair's words. He turned to see a man watching the commotion from a short distance away down the road, a sneer upon his face. As though he felt himself watched, he turned, and saw Jem. The man at once began to run in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Jem shouted and started to run after him.

The fleeing individual was faster than Jem and had a head start. Jem chased him through the back streets of the town and into the town's livery stables. As Jem rounded the corner he saw the man duck in through the wide door of the building.

There was no one about and Jem crossed the yard to the open stable door swiftly but cautiously. He pulled his knife from his belt and edged up to the door. He could hear the horses moving about, clearly disturbed at having someone unknown in their midst. As he focused even more, he could hear their hearts racing, the hooves scraping the floor... then he heard the unmistakable sound of a man, his breathing laboured, his own heart beating fast.

Jem looked through a crack in the wood. He could see the stalls nearest the door.

Shafts of sunlight lit up areas of the building. Dust motes floated in the beams of light. All was light and shade.

Although the man was within, Jem couldn't see him.

Crouching low, Jem edged his way inside.

He could smell the warm hay and the equally warm horses as they snorted loudly and nervously stamped their feet. And there was something else, another scent that tickled his nose....

Suddenly he was back to being a boy, running through the woods and tripping over, finding his book as he did, brushing off the dirt as he straightened. Then he smelled blood. He wandered over to a pile of leaves under a tree. He kicked at them and revealed a body. He stepped back in horror. It was Hal's body...

Jem shook his head to clear his memory and quickly pulled back his sense of smell as the rich smell of dung started to assault his senses. Above his head, he could hear mice scratching around, their sounds too loud. Nevertheless he managed to tread carefully, one foot over the other, knife at the ready... A brief flash of a bright pebble made him look up as it sailed through the air and caught the light, just before it hit a pail with a loud clanging noise, which caused Jem to flinch and cover his ears with his hands.

He didn't see the shovel that impacted the side of his head and knocked him sideways.

By the time he got back to his feet, the villain had gone. He staggered to the door, his hand to his head, to see Blair arrive with the owner of the stables who went straight to check his animals.

"Did you see him? Did he pass you?"

"No, I saw no one." Blair replied, his eyes resting on the wound on Jem's head.

"Damn!"

"Sorry, Jem."

"Not your fault, Professor."

"Yours neither. This looks nasty." Blair examined the cut caused by the shovel.

Jem screwed up his eyes and tried not to flinch away from Blair's touch.

"Well he didn't take any of my horses," said the owner of the property as he exited the barn.

"No, so he couldn't have gone far," Jem answered, and he felt his legs buckle.

Blair caught him under his arm.

"Good sir," he said to the stable owner as he supported his lover. "May we have use of your kitchen? I believe my friend has need of some warmth and I should like to attend to his wound."

"Of course. I can ask my wife..."

"No need. I have some skill in matters physic," Blair smoothly obfuscated. "If we may have some water and some privacy?"

"You are very quiet. You've said nothing about my cosseting you." Blair had cleaned the wound and placed a linen cloth over it, tying a scarf borrowed from the goodwife over Jem's head to keep it on for a while until the wound closed.

"I was thinking," Jem said. "I should have put it all together before. Hal, short for Henry, Henry Heydash. It was Hal's body I found that day. I won a raft race and was awarded that book as a prize. Another boy—I believe his raft came second—he took it, and threw the book into the trees in a fit of pique. If I hadn't gone in search of it, I'd have never found the body... I had all the pieces, I just couldn't put it all together until now."

"It's not your fault. You found the body of a friend and mentor when you were only ten years of age. It's understandable that you pushed it from your mind."

"But if I forgot that, what else might I have forgotten?"

Blair stood up to throw the water he'd been using out into the yard. "Did you get a good look at the villain who did this?"

"Not when he tried to split my head open with that shovel, but before, yes."

"Then we should visit Reverend Davenport again. If anyone would know the people around here, it would be the parish priest."

"That sounds like Tom, Thomas Foster." The minister shook his head sadly. "A sad case. His grandfather, poor soul, was plagued by melancholy. He hanged himself when his wife, Thomas' grandmother, died. Tom's father, Michael, though, is a successful merchant in perfumes and scents, such as they use at court, I understand. He told me once that he had some powerful clients there. It does mean that he is away a lot, sometimes he has to journey to other countries. Tom has more or less run wild. The blacksmith's sister, Mistress Dobson, took him in. She kept house for Michael for a while, after his wife passed on." He indicated that they should sit on the bench he had in the small cottage he called home. "If it pleases you, take a seat. This is a long tale."

He poured a small beer for his guests before sitting upon a stool opposite them.

"Michael Foster had been in Warwickshire about a year ago, when that trouble started—do you remember? A dreadful insurrection, they called it, against our sovereign and his officers. Anyway Michael fled the shire as quickly as he could and thought to visit with his son.

"What Michael found when he reached home was not to his liking. Tom couldn't settle to anything, but lately, he'd developed a small skill in the making of the spurs for the cock-fighting. Sadly, it seems he spends all his hard earned money on drinking and whoring. When Michael had to return to London, he asked if I would keep a watchful eye on his son and alert him to any problems that might arise.

"It came to my attention that Tom was not attending church services. I didn't want him to get into trouble as a possible recusant. Unless he had a good reason the fine is very expensive and I'm sure he doesn't have that kind of money, so I felt it my duty to send for his father. I believed he returned a short time ago. I'm sure it was him I saw late one night riding through the town. He did not seem well..."

"Where is the Foster house?" Jem interrupted.

"It is a small cottage at the edge of town."

"We should summon the constable. We need to find Thomas Foster."

The reverend stood. "I will come with you. His father will need to be told what his son has been doing with his time."

The cottage was where the reverend had said, but it looked neglected and deserted. Nevertheless, Jem drew his sword and gestured for the others to keep behind him.

"What is it?" Blair asked softly, standing at Jem's shoulder.

"I'm not sure, but something isn't right." Jem gently pushed the door which opened with a creak, and stepped warily inside.

They found the decaying body of Michael Foster lying on a simple bed. Someone had laid him out with all due reverence and care. Burnt tallow candles sat around the bed. The heavy, lingering scent of incense hung in the air. But the body was badly bruised and there was a deep head wound that had been washed clean after death.

Jem noticed a raised flag stone near the hearth with dried blood and hair on it.

"What happened here?" asked the constable, looking around the one room. "A struggle, perhaps? But with whom? Not your brother?"

"No, as I said, Stephen has had no hand in this. I'm guessing Thomas Foster." Jem turned to the minister who had knelt and was saying a prayer over the body. "You said there was ill feeling between father and son?"

Reverend Davenport stood. "Aye, yet for Thomas to do this..." He shook his head sadly.

"I think they fought," said Jem, indicated the few possessions lying broken around the place. "The father fell, and broke his head here." He bent to point to the blood. "A head wound that deep...." He stood.

"I do not like this," said the constable frowning deeply. "It is a tangle. Too much of a tangle for this simple constable. Why would Tom murder these other merchants? Why fight with his father? What ties it all together and how does it connect with your family?"

"I wish I knew!" Jem answered, running his hand over his head.

"I do not understand this..." the minister waved his hand over the body and candles... "this blasphemy either. Why would Thomas do this?"

"Perhaps to avoid answering questions over the way his father died?" Jem suggested.

"Perhaps guilt over his father's death?" Blair added.

"We still need to find him. Do you have any idea, Reverend, where he might hide out?" Jem asked.

The minister shook his head. "Without a mother, or, God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, a father's discipline, Tom ran wild. He knows the woods and hollows around the town very well. To think I was glad he'd found a trade." He touched the cloths and instruments of Tom's spur trade delicately.

A long, thin coil of wire lay almost hidden on the bench. Blair was sure he could detect a red stain running along it. He shivered.

"Think, man," urged the constable. "Do you know of anyone he might go to for protection?"

"I know of no one, Ralph, God's truth! I'm afraid it was my summons that brought Michael Foster back."

"How did you contact him?" asked Jem.

"I have an address in London. Is it important?"

"It may be, Reverend."

"Then I will find it. I will send some men to remove Michael to the church." He hurried away.

The constable was frowning. "Do you suspect a contact in London?"

"It is straw grasping, I know, but it may provide a lead." Jem put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "Come, I need some fresh air."

"You were quiet in there," Jem said as they walked back towards the town. The air had once again become sticky and heavy. Sure sign another storm was on its way.

"I was thinking on what connects the murders with Cecil," Blair replied.

"We have no evidence that there is such a connection."

"No, but we are all careful not to leave such evidence when we do such work for him."

Jem acknowledge that truth with a grim nod.

"And I can't help but wonder who Michael Foster's powerful clients at court may be."

"I think I may have known Thomas," Jem said. "You remember I told you about the boat race and the boy who threw my book?"

"The book found on the body?"

"The very same. I remember Hal was there during the start of the race, then he disappeared. That boy, the one who snatched that book from my hands and threw it into the woods?"

Blair's mouth fell open. "You think that could be this Tom?"

Jem nodded grimly. "There's more," he said. "I believe I saw Hal's murderer. It was Michael Foster. I saw him running away with blood on his clothes. I tried to tell my father, but he never believed me."

"So Michael Foster killed your friend, Hal Heydash? What of the other murders? Did he also do them?"

"That I do not know. But perhaps at last John Hollow's name can be cleared."

Blair looked down at the earth, kicking at the surface. "Could you track Tom with your abilities?"

Jem shook his head. "No, even with the rain we've had, the ground's too hard to show any tracks, and, Professor, I cannot turn back time to see where..."

"James! James!" William Ellison was hurrying towards them. "They told me that you had been injured chasing someone. Stephen locked up on his wedding day, you injured... What madness is all this?" He stared at Jem's head where Jem still wore the gentlewoman's scarf over his wound.

"If it is madness, Father, then there is a reason to it. I will try to explain what I can." Jem put his hand on his father's shoulder and gently steered him away, Blair following behind.

"We were at the courthouse with our family lawyer when a boy came for the constable and told us of your attack, Jem." William sounded anxious, his words coming out in a rush. "Sara took Jane home, while I came to find you. Poor Letita is waiting with Stephen at the courthouse.

"I can't believe all this is happening... And that book...I am sorry, James, about it leading to you being involved. When we extended the house, we threw some old items out. That must have been amongst them."

"That is of no importance, Father."

But William wasn't finished. "But someone thinks it is or they would not have placed it on the body. Someone wants our family implicated in the murder and I don't understand why that would be the case?"

"Father, Hal's murder?" Jem interrupted. "I saw his murderer. I know you thought I was making up some childish conceit, but I was telling the truth that day. I saw a man running away, blood on his clothes and it wasn't John Hollow." Jem paced a little away from his father to gather his thoughts.

"Jem..."

"It was what Hal tried to tell me. It's what Blair tells me," Jem continued over his father's voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"I held back, I still do." Jem turned towards his father. "I don't follow my instincts. But you had me believing there was something wrong with me. You see, Father, I have a gift. Sometimes I don't see it as a gift, more like a burden, but it's who I am."

William looked down and sighed. "I know, son."

Jem looked at his father in confusion. "You know? How could you know? What do you mean, you know?"

"I know what you can do, what you could do."

Jem was shaking his head, refusing to believe his father's words. "You don't know, you can't know."

William put his hands on Jem's arms. "I was trying to protect you. I believed no one would understand you. They would think you were different and harm you. I didn't want anything to hurt you. You are my son, James."

"You... knew?"

William heaved a heavy sigh, his hands dropping to his sides. "Yes. I wish I could go back and change things. I didn't want you branded a witch or even thought of as being possessed by witchcraft. When I was a lad myself, I saw them drag poor old Nan out of her house, dunk her and then bury her on Galley Hill." He stared off into the distance, seeing things beyond even Jem's sight. "She was a harmless soul," he continued, "rambling away to herself and her cats. She did naught to anyone, yet someone took against her. And then there was an aunt of my father's... The idea that my son could be treated that way..." William paused and hung his head. Then he looked up at Jem "Do you think this new evidence will get your brother released?"

Jem was frowning, still trying to accept his father's words. "It does cast doubt on his guilt, but for the moment, that depends on Lawson's good will. However it may catch the killer."

Just then the minister and Constable Lawson returned. Blair came forward to hear what they had to say.

"We have removed Michael Foster's body to the church," Lawson said.

The minister was holding a piece of paper. "I don't see how this can help you. I told you Michael asked if I could keep an eye on his son. He gave me this address in London where he could be contacted." The minister smiled sadly at his audience. "Even though his son is a grown man, paternal ties can still hold strong."

"As you are familiar with London, gentlemen, perhaps this address means something to you." The constable passed the paper to Jem who glanced at it before handing it to Blair.

"It's an inn, not far from the docks. That's all I know." Blair handed it back to the constable.

Jem nodded. "Yes. I had hoped we could provide some insight, but it appears we are also at a loss. I'm sorry, Constable Lawson, that we can't be of more help."

The constable nodded slowly. "Pity." He turned to William. "I think, under the circumstances, we can release your son to your care, Master Ellison, with the provision that he remains under house arrest and does not stray."

William nodded. "Thank you, Ralph," he said, distractedly.

"We will see you later, Father. There is something I wish to take another look at."

"This is Constable Lawson's investigation, James."

"I know that, Father."

Blair laid a hand on Jem's arm. "We have some experience of dealing with murder in London, sir," he said carefully, to William. "We don't mean to ruffle any feathers, just to see if we can help with the investigation."

"And I am glad of any help. Is it something I need to know about?" asked Lawson.

"I'm not sure," Jem said. "I just feel we are missing something."

"Very well, but remember you have sworn to tell me if you find anything."

"Of course."

Once alone, Blair looked at Jem. "Why would this merchant use one of the addresses that Cecil uses as a dropping place for correspondence from his agents?" he whispered. "Could it be another coincidence? Or was Foster actually working for Cecil?"

"I don't know, Professor, but I damn well will find out! We need to retrace our steps."

It was growing dark as they returned to Tom's small hovel. Blair lit a lamp. Jem may not need it but he did.

Not that there was much to see in the room. Not much for a man's life, Blair thought as he looked around.

Jem picked up a small miniature that lay on the chest. It was an image of the younger, but still wealthy, merchant wearing a dark hat and a coat with a fur collar with a woman beside him. The painting was crude, but the man was recognizable; it was a portrait of a younger Michael Foster with his wife. Jem passed it over to Blair and carried on searching for clues.

Blair squinted as he tried to look at the picture bathed in the light of the lamp. Jem shook his head at Blair's obvious struggle. He reached into the pocket on Blair's doublet, pulling out spectacles.

Blair rolled his eyes in irritation. "I know I need them, but they feel as though I am putting on another mask."

"You said they made things clearer, brought things into focus."

"They do, and I am grateful that you found that Moor in Ludgate Street who was able to create these... barnacles," he said, swinging the spectacles around before putting them to his face, "yet..."

Whatever Blair was about to say was lost as he glanced down at the miniature. His vision blurred. He felt as though the air and light had been sucked, suddenly, out of the room. The smell of sea-coal, damp, clammy timber, ale and stale cooked food, along with the scent of arousal smothered him. He swayed on his feet... and then Jem was there.

"Easy, be easy." He had his arm around Blair's waist, supporting him. "When did you last eat? Here, let us go outside and get you some water."

He sat Blair on the stone in front of a well and pulled up the water bucket.

Blair sat with his head down, trying to recover his senses. Now he was in the air again he felt better, though still dizzy. Jem's words came as though through a fog and he saw a jug in front of him. He took it with shaking hands and drank.

"Better?"

Blair wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. "I'm not sure what caused that." He looked up into Jem's concerned face. "Perhaps it were the hot weather."

"Perhaps." Jem didn't look convinced. "You should return to the inn and rest. I'll finish here and..."

"And lose yourself to one of your 'spells'? I don't think so." Blair put down the jug and stood, steadying himself against the side of the well for a moment as he found his feet again. "I'll rest later. Now we have work to do."

"Must you be so stubborn?"

"Prechance it could be due to the influence of the company I keep?"

"You do keep company with some disreputable actors, that is true."

Blair slapped Jem's shoulder. "Acting is a noble profession. We entertain all from the low born to the highest powers. And I was talking about my more intimate company."

"Then you would be suggesting that I also am stubborn?"

"Jem! As if I would even say such a thing—though I may think it."

"Huh! Very well. We see what can be seen within the house, but then we return to the inn and you will rest."

Blair bowed. "As you say, Master Ellison! As long as you take your rest with me."

"We still need to find Thomas."

"Yes, but you need to rest too, Jem. A good night's rest will do us both all manner of good." Blair saw Jem about to protest. "Trust me, Jem, you need to rest your senses. Please," he pleaded.

"Very well."

"Good, and maybe for a short while we can forget this misery."

Jem awoke before his lover and smiled. Blair was correct. A good night's sleep had helped. He did feel refreshed and he could smell one of his favourite scents; Blair touched by that warm bed smell. It never failed to arouse Jem and this morning was no exception. He lifted Blair's hair away from the back of his neck and placed a soft kiss just above the collar line. Blair mumbled something in his sleep, but as it wasn't "no" or "stop", Jem allowed his hand to wander down, gently easing up Blair's slop shirt and caressing Blair's arse. Blair moaned. Jem smiled. He licked his finger, leaving it wet, and then slid it between Blair's arse cheeks—only for Blair to scrabble out of the bed and stand, shivering, staring down at the bed with wide eyes.

Jem sat up, distress on his face. "Blair, I'm sorry. I thought..."

"Jem?" Blair looked lost and confused. "Oh God!" He grabbed the jorden and vomited into it.

Jem quickly climbed off the bed and held Blair's hair out of the way, and then he poured some water from the ewer into a cup and gave it to his lover to swill his mouth out. He wrapped a blanket around Blair and waited, tense worry in all his actions.

"I'm all right, Jem, at least...." Blair scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what happened. I was dreaming... No." He hesitated. "It felt too real to be a dream."

"That was when I touched you..." began Jem.

"No, no it wasn't what you were doing, at least it was, but it wasn't because of you..."

"Then pray," Jem beseeched, "help me to understand why you jumped from the bed as if Old Nick himself were after you!"

"I'll try." Blair sat on the bed, pulling the blanket around him. Jem sat at the bottom against the bed post, giving his friend some space.

Blair looked down at his hands, not really seeing them. "I had flashes of images, smells, sounds that had a dream-like quality—rather like you when you have your sense-memories, and I know these weren't just dreams. These were real... very real."

Blair smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "I was sitting by the Pool of London. Mother was earning money in a borrowed room. Children of 'geese' learn early to make themselves scarce at such moments and how to entertain themselves. I was looking up at all the ships, at the masts reaching up to Heaven, like a forest of trees. Instead of leaves, they had cobwebs of rigging, so far away, they could have been as fragile." Blair looked at Jem. "I was so interested by it all. The languages the sailors spoke, from so many different lands so strange and foreign, the noise, the smells....It was so different and exciting. I made up stories about where the ships were going after they reached the sea; what lands they visited; what cargo they carried, from whence they'd come..."

"How old were you?"

"Young enough to be unaware of danger. There was a large cargo being loaded onboard a ship. The over-full net was being hoisted up by a crane, only the netting snapped and the load came crashing down to the dock. One poor soul got crushed under the load. I was lucky it wasn't near me, but there but by the Grace of God... I must have lived a charmed life for I can't remember anything really bad... although I may have put it out of my thoughts as I did with this...."

Blair swallowed. "There was a withered whore by the docks," he said. "She must have been desperate for money because I never saw any man take an interest in her. I doubt she could even earn any money in Gropecunt Lane, she was that wretched! I know she watched me. I thought it was because she knew Naomi. Many of the women kept an eye out for each other and their children. I wasn't frightened. I didn't understand enough to be frightened. Because she was watching me, this merchant must have come to the assumption that I belonged to her. He approached her—I think that's why I marked it, because no man had even looked at her before—and she, well, she sold me to him."

Jem sucked in his breath.

Blair noticed and tried to rationalize what happened. "When you have nothing else to sell," he said, "you sell your body, and once these women became too diseased and withered to sell that, and do not have the business skills to become a bawd or anything else, some then sell their children. And then there's the threat of punishment at Bridewell... I know I wasn't her child..."

He sat forward intently. "A lot of these women live in abject poverty, Jem. Hunger drives people to do terrible, cruel things. And sex is always required. Some men believe that a young child can cure you of the clap; some debased individuals enjoy using children for sex. I dare say it has always been thus. God help us, it may always be so! Don't get me wrong; I'm not condoning or excusing it, by any means. It is very sick and evil, but it is an ugly reality of life. I look at some of the young brides from wealthy families, and they are no more than children themselves; girls of thirteen married to men old enough to be their grandfathers, who are taken from this world at fourteen years of age in birthing their own children, and that is approved of by those above us..." He shook his head sadly.

"I was lucky that Naomi and I were never that hungry, although there was this one time when the pestilence drove us out of London and we lived on poor-man's bread and spring water for a week..."

"Blair, if this is too painful for you, I understand," Jem stopped the flow of Blair's words.

Blair smiled sadly. "I'm procrastinating, aren't I." He pulled back his shoulders. "No, I need to tell this, if you will listen?"

"I will listen. I may not like what I hear, but I will listen to whatever you can tell me for as long as it takes for the telling."

"You are a good man, Jem Ellison. I am blessed to have you in my life."

Blair took a deep breath and unclenched hands he hadn't been aware of clenching.

"As I recollect, a man came over to the bollard where I was sitting. He chatted to me, told me tales of his adventures." Blair's smile turned sickly. "Merchants, like sailors, can spin tall tales, and I was hungry for stories as much as for food. He asked if I would join him for a meal. I think he said something about not wanting to eat alone. While we dined, he stroked my hair, squeezed my hand, put his hand on my knee. I remember feeling ill at ease and wanting to leave, but he said he knew my mother and she wanted me to stay with him for a while. So I stayed. I presume he slipped something in my food because I don't remember much more, just a burning pain at my arse-hole and then the noise and confusion of Naomi and her friend breaking down the door. I think they put the fear of God into him, because I never saw him again. I know the old whore didn't walk right ever again after my mother had a chat with her."

Jem lifted Blair's chin with the end of a finger. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know that. You didn't do anything to attract that man."

Blair's smile was a bit brighter though still strained. "Thank you for believing me. I wasn't sure..."

"That I would believe you? What made you think such a thing? You have stretched the truth many times, but to my knowledge you have never deliberately lied to me and I know you, you would not make something like this up. Is that why you didn't tell me before, fear of not being believed? Or was it fear that I wouldn't desire you after you'd told me? Or perhaps that I would somehow be ashamed of you? Because I can tell you now, that will never happen."

Blair shook his head. "I didn't even remember that it happened. It was only when I saw that painting of Foster."

"Foster was the merchant who...?"

Blair nodded. "Yes, I didn't recognize his body as we found it, but that painting of a younger man..."

"It drew out something from deep within your memories, something that came forth while you were sleeping, and to make it worst, I assaulted you in your sleep."

"You didn't assault me! You did what you have done many, many times, you tried to give me a pleasant awakening."

"Call it what you will, it scared the living daylights out of you!"

"I felt... odd when I looked at that painting. I didn't know why... until now. I wonder how I could forget such a thing."

"There are some things we have in common."

Blair looked up at Jem then down again. "It does explain some of my actions, I think."

"Such as the way you take control when we make love?"

"I don't! Not always...." Blair faltered, and then raised his eyes to meet Jem's in challenge. "You've never complained before!"

"And I'm not complaining now. I enjoy having someone take care of my needs."

"I didn't take care of them this time," Blair said quietly.

Jem shook his head. "No need. My ardour has cooled somewhat."

"I'm sor..."

Jem put his finger to Blair's lips. "Don't. There is no need for you to say that."

Blair gently removed Jem's hand. "Maybe I feel I do." He wiped his hand over his face. "Just as I felt I had to forget about such an... unpleasant experience."

"Unpleasant isn't strong enough a word, Blair. The man raped you."

Blair shook his head quickly in denial. "I don't think he penetrated me with anything larger than his finger. Oh I am sure that was his intention, I believe he was stretching me ready to take him."

Blair could almost hear Jem grinding his teeth. He laid a hand on Jem's arm, desperate to reassure his friend.

"It's over, in the past, my friend. The man is dead. He can no longer hurt me. You can not kill him again."

"I wish I could!" Jem declared vehemently. "He deserves to roast slowly and painfully in the deepest, darkest hell!" He paused. "Is the crone still alive?"

Blair smiled a little. He knew that Jem would seek out anyone who had harmed him. "I expect she is long dead and buried in St. Saviour's churchyard along with all the other lost souls."

Jem cleared his throat. "Do you think having such a monster for a father, made the son the monster he is?"

"I am only guessing, but maybe I wasn't the only boy the father abused. Perhaps his son wasn't as lucky as me."

Jem stood up and began to get dressed. "I do not call what happened to you, 'lucky'!" He turned to Blair. "You know I have to go and search for him."

Blair began to gather up his own clothes. "We have to search, Jem. Do I really need to remind you that we are a team? Do you think I would let you go on alone because of this? We go together. So, where shall we start?"

"He appears to have a grudge against my family. I'd like to make sure they are alert and put a guard on his father's body. Tom seems to be riddled with guilt over his death."

Blair nodded. "First, then, your father's house, and after we start the search from the church outwards?"

Jem nodded grimly. "That seems as good a place as any."

The journey from the church to the mill was tortuous. Heavy black clouds had begun to form and the air was clammy, dank and ominous.

Thomas forced William to push the handcart through furrowed fields, gaps in hedgerows, quiet places where people were less likely to travel very often. The cart kept getting stuck in ruts, and Tom was fast losing his temper with his hostages.

It had seemed like a good idea; a morning walk to the church in between services to search for his granddaughter's mislaid shoes; just himself, Jane and the maid, Sara, thereby giving Stephen and his new wife a chance to recover. The reverend had been called away to give comfort to some poor soul so the church was, for the moment, empty. But then Tom had burst in.... The rest had been a blur, Sara and Jane crying, Sara shoved and locked up in the church vestry... Jane tied up.... Tom demanding to know where his father's body was and then, once he'd been told, dragging both William and Jane over to the charnel house.

At first, William thought they'd all be safe once Tom had gotten what he wanted, but Tom ordered him to help lift Michael's body into the hand cart and then he'd threatened to kill the child if William didn't help him transport the body elsewhere.

"Will you keep going, old man!"

William struggled to push the heavy hand cart along. "It's too heavy! There is no path!" The cart creaked ominously. As William struggled to push it, one of the wheels slipped down into a ridge. The body within shifted, fingers with long fingernails appeared from the edge of the poorly sewn shroud.

"No, you are too lazy! Make more of an effort or I will hurt the child." Tom had slung Jane over his shoulder with a rag stuffed in her mouth. Now he moved forward and dumped her, heavily, on the cart beside his father's body.

William took a quiet intake of breath, fearing for his step-granddaughter.

Jane, her eyes wide with fear, tried to squirm away from the corpse. Tom took no notice of her. He took up his father's exposed limb and with tenderness, gently tucked it back inside the cloth.

He then put his shoulder to the cart, grunting as he pushed it back on a more level stretch of track. Then he picked the child up again as though she were but a sack of coal, and swung her back over his shoulder with barely a grunt.

Jane cried out through her gag in pain.

Tom ignored her. "Now, move!" he ordered William, pushing the merchant back in place between the handles of the cart.

William gritted his teeth and prayed Jane didn't struggle for fear Tom would hit her to make her pass out, or worse, carry out his threat to kill her. If they survived this, he hoped she was still young enough to forget it all.

"Why remove your father's body from the church?" he asked heavily, hoping to distract Tom from the child as he put all his strength into keeping the cart straight.

Tom heaved her further up his back, wrapping her skirts around her legs to give him a better hold on her. "If people ever discovered that my father was a murderer, they would bury him at a crossroads, probably with a piece of wood through his body to hold him down! He may have been many bad things, but he was still my father."

William stopped in shock. "A murderer?"

"You didn't know my father very well did you, 'though I suppose you thought you did, being as you both were merchants and merchants tend to stick together," Tom said.

"Michael Foster was a murderer and worse," he continued, flatly.

"Worse? What could be worse?"

"I said keep going! There are many things worse than murder," he added quietly.

William's words dried up in his throat as he tried not to imagine what could be worse that murder.

"Father took Jane, and Sara, to the church for a walk." Stephen smiled uncertainly. "That child has the child's habit of kicking off her shoes at the drop of a hat and then forgetting where she lost them."

"Stephen is still under house arrest so we could not take her ourselves." Lettyce frowned up at Jem. "Why, brother-in-law? Should we be concerned about them?"

"I believe Tom resents our family for some reason. I feel it would be wise to be on our guard. Blair and I will go and make sure all is well."

"So you are worried then?" asked Stephen.

"I would feel easier in my bones, if they were safe at home."

Stephen stood. "I should come with you."

"No, you stay." Jem ventured a smile. "House arrest, remember?"

Once out of the house Jem hurried Blair along.

"Are you sensing something, Jem?"

"No, not really.... I just feel the need to see that they are all right."

As they approached the church, Jem heard a low groan.

"Come on!" he said, taking off at a run around the side of the church to where the small charnel-house stood.

The reverend was assisting a dazed constable to sit against the wall. Lawson had blood running from his mouth and his eye was beginning to swell.

"What the hell has happened here?" demanded Jem.

"Tom—that bastard!" Lawson exclaimed and tried to stand only to groan and sink back.

"There! What did I tell you! You are an idiot, Ralph Lawson. Now be still for a moment and let your head settle!"

Reverend Davenport turned to Jem. "I was comforting Daniel's mother. The poor woman nearly collapsed during the service today. I don't know what she will do if Daniel isn't found soon. When I returned I saw the charnel door open, the hand-cart gone and along with it Michael's body. Then I found Ralph lying here."

"How long ago was that?"

"I don't know! When you are giving a dubbing you tend to lose track of bloody time!" Ralph wiped the blood from his mouth with his thumb. "When I get my hands on that Tom..."

Jem was looking around. "Have you seen my father and Jennet?"

Robert Davenport shook his head.

"They must still be in the church..." Jem turned and ran towards the building, Blair following.

Jem pushed the church door open and stopped, Blair nearly running into him. He moved carefully up the aisle, searching, listening. Blair knew what his lover was doing and he followed, hardly daring to breathe, in case it broke his sentinel's concentration.

Suddenly Jem squatted at the rood screen. He turned to Blair and showed him the small child's slipper he'd discovered, then he took off again, pushing at the door of the vestry with his shoulder.

"Wait, wait." Reverend Davenport came running forward. "You will do yourself an injury. I have a spare key." He pulled the key from his pocket and had barely even unlocked the door before Jem pushed passed him and raced to the chest within, yanking the lid open and lifting the maid, Sara, out.

"She's still breathing," Jem said, laying her down on the floor. He patted her face. "Come on, Sara, come on, take a deep breath of God's good air..."

"It's an old chest," said the reverend to Blair. "The popish images were chipped away, leaving holes in the side and top. I kept meaning to have them stopped up to stop the moths getting in and eating the vestments..."

Sara suddenly coughed and heaved.

"That's it," Jem said. "Good girl."

Blair smiled and let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank the Lord," whispered Reverend Davenport.

Sara grabbed Jem's arms to steady herself as she tried to sit up.

"Steady." Jem helped her up. "Is there something here for her to drink?"

The reverend found a jug of small beer, and Jem assisted Sara to take a slip.

"Is the master here? Where is Miss Jane? Are they safe, Master James, please tell me!" she pleaded as soon as she could talk.

"Miss Jane had kicked off her shoes at the wedding in the church. No one noticed. She often runs around barefoot despite instructions to the contrary. So the master and I brought her back to search for them. We thought Master Stephen and his new bride needed some time... alone, if you see what I mean."

Sara looked embarrassed but she carried on.

"And then this young man came in all riled up. He grabbed the child, held a knife to her throat, forcing me to climb into the chest and then, just before the lid closed, I heard him demand Master William's help in moving his father's body. When it went quiet, I started calling and calling, but no one heard me... until you, Master James. I thought I was going to die unshriven in there."

"You're safe, now, Sara. Any idea where he would have taken them?"

"No, no, sir. Oh, Master James... I know of nowhere that Tom would take them, or even why he should. They could be anywhere!" She lost her composure and began to cry.

"Shhh." Jem tried to comfort her. "We'll find them. Tom would go to ground, somewhere no one visits or only rarely..."

Blair chewed his lip, thinking. "Do you think... the old water mill? It could be a good hiding place."

Jem nodded slowly. "Everyone avoids it because they think it's haunted. It's worth checking." He turned to Blair. "Get the constable and call for the hue and cry." Then he ran out.

Blair shook his head in exasperation. "Reverend, can you look after Mistress Sara here, and alert Constable Lawson, if he's on his feet yet? I have to go after Jem. He tends to run where angels fear!" He handed Sara off to the priest and raced after his lover. "Jem! Wait!"

The rain was now pouring in torrents, making visibility difficult. The sky was a lurid shade of dark, yellowy-green. The ground was becoming slimy and treacherous. Rivulets of water cascaded from Blair's hair, blinding him even more. He cursed Jem's long legs and better eyesight as he stumbled in the half light caused by the storm. A flash of lightning dazzled him briefly, leaving spots before his eyes, but in the flash he thought he'd caught sight of Jem so Blair ran forward... only to fall head first to the ground. He hesitantly felt around to see what had tripped him up, and pulled back quickly as he realized just what he'd uncovered. It was a body, a small body, that of a child, washed loose from the soil by the pelting rain. Blair swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. He stood quickly and looked around for Jem. Another blast of lightning and he was again running to where Jem was standing, close by the old mill.

The area was alight with tallow candles, generating heat as well as light. What could have been salvaged from the mill had long gone and all that remained was broken timber and bits of stone. Tom had put together a makeshift bier in the one area of the mill that was somewhat solid and had laid his father out. The stink of rotting flesh hung in the air. But the young man who stood beside the body didn't appear to notice.

"What now Tom? What do you plan to do with us?"

William was tied, hands and feet together, on the floor. Jane, her face lined with tear stains, her clothes grubby and wet, was beside him, the poor child trying to get as close as she could to him to hide or to try and find comfort; it was hard to know which.

"I had it planned. A burning, like they said the ancient ones had, and I would kill myself and burn with him. But your son found Father's body. It's all gone wrong. Now I have to think what next to do."

William shivered. "Your father lies there dead. He can no longer be harmed. But Jane.... Do you want to be a child killer, Thomas? Do you wish to go to Hell?"

"I'm already a child killer, Ellison!" Tom's voice was loud in the confined space. "And as for Hell, I've lived there so long, would I notice any difference? But let me tell you about my father."

Tom squatted down in front of William. "When I was small, after mother died, an old sop would sometimes come to our house at night after our housekeep had left. Father had partitioned the back off with a curtain to create an extra room. This pickled old crow would bring a child, usually a boy, and a bottle, and Father would lead the child behind the partition." Tom looked around at his father's body. "I learnt to cover my ears against the noise coming from that space." He turned back, his eyes boring into William's. "The old woman would sit and drink, all the while just staring into the fire. She never said a word to me, I'm not sure she even noticed I was there, or that she heard the cries and pleading from the child with my father...."

He stood up. "After a while Father would come out, adjusting his clothes and give the woman some money. Then she would fetch the child."

William couldn't disguise his horror. "Alive?"

"Yes... usually she carried them out moaning or sobbing, wrapped up in her shawl. Then she stopped coming. I don't know what happened to her, the plague perhaps, or a drunken fall.... At first I thought my father would cease, but then he brought home a boy from the church." Tom sat down, grasping his knees to his chest, a picture of abject misery.

"He was slightly older than the others and when Father tried to... satisfy his needs, the boy broke free and ran to where I sat. Father got hold of him, but he struggled and Father, Father slapped him, slapped him so hard, he fell and his neck snapped. I can still see the way his head lay back at such an odd angle.... I had to help bury his body in the woods. Again I was sure Father would stop, but he was a weak man and the next child he brought home he'd drugged, but after Father had... satisfied his lust, the boy wouldn't wake up! Perhaps Father had given him too much, or Father was too rough. So we buried him, as we had before, near the first. I was sure this time it would be enough, but no. Father took a liking to your son, Stephen. He wanted me to bring your precious Stephen here to this mill."

William's mouth fell open in horror.

Tom grinned nastily. "Yes, old man. Your son was to be my father's next quarry. I refused to help and returned to the river for the race, but later Father told me what happened. He was out of his mind when he spilled it out, wandering up and down our small home, wringing his hands.

"He was here, with Stephen. I don't know how he got him here, bribed him, or told him one of his tall tales to bait him. My father was fond of spinning tall tales. He thought that this time he had the right amount of the sleeping potion to be able to make use of your boy without him struggling too much or worse, killing him. He had it all ready in a drugged drink. But somehow Heydash found out, or perhaps he followed them here. I don't know. Anyway, the teacher got all noble and stood between my father and your son. He told Stephen to leave and then attacked my father. But desperation makes men strong and Heydash died. Father carted his body to the wood intending to bury him later, but because I... I was jealous that James won that cursed raft race I threw the book into the trees. James went looking for it and by pure misfortune, he found the body and undoubtedly noticed my father fleeing."

Tom chuckled cruelly. "Luckily the blame was put on the village idiot... but Father knew then that he had to leave. He didn't want to risk being found out as a sodomite. For years after I saw him only briefly when he deemed to remember that he had a son. I received letters or some money through the priest. Then one day Father returned home. I thought he'd changed, that things would be different for us. He'd grown old, seemed frail and ill. But then I saw him lure a boy from the church and I knew..."

Tom ducked his head and William had to strain to hear him.

"I'd had enough. I didn't want to cover my ears any more."

He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "We fought over him, my father and I, and Father fell and hit his head. That child was whining and crying, and I knew he'd tell on me, on us, so I had to shut him up!" Tom's voice broke and he hid his face in his arms, sobbing quietly.

William shifted, trying to ease both his physical discomfort and his revulsion at Tom's words. "Thomas, we can help you, lad. Just release us," he said, trying to placate his captor.

Tom's head jerked up. "Help me, old man? You have nothing to offer me. You with your two handsome sons!" He snorted. "I wonder if James' employers in London know just how close Jem Ellison is with his 'companion'! And your other son, marrying into money so you can live in luxury in your doldrums!"

"Thomas, whatever you think of my family, we have power to help you, or to damn you to Hell. Release us, or at least release the child, she has done you no harm."

Tom stood and walked over to his father's body. "She is part of your family now, Ellison. She carries the same brand as you," he said, with a sudden unnatural calmness.

"She is naught but a child! Do with me what you will, but let her go."

"Never!"

Jane whimpered in fear and tried to edge even nearer to William.

William cleared his throat. "Why did you kill the other merchants, Tom?" he asked evenly.

Tom kept his eyes on his father's body. "McCain came to the house. Like your James, he saw Father's body. I knew I had to kill him. The other man..." Tom shrugged. "I thought by killing him the constable would deduce that someone was just killing merchants." He paused, then turned to face William, his eyes cold. "I thought it would divert attention, but then your son got himself involved. So I had to find another way to send the hounds elsewhere." He paused. "You have it all, you know that, don't you."

William shook his head. "I lost my wife as you lost your mother."

Tom frowned. "I don't remember your wife..." He looked up to the rafters. "Hell's Teeth! I don't even remember what my own mother looked like!" He looked down at his father. "Oh, Father... what a mess you've left me with!"

Outside, Jem was listening at the door. Blair came close, longing to tell Jem just what he'd found, but knowing that it would have to wait.

Jem put a finger to his lips; an unnecessary signal for Blair to keep quiet. Blair could just about make out voices inside. The rain pelting down blocked out the meaning of the words. Instinct made him place his hand on Jem's back. "Focus, Jem. Shut out the rain and everything else. Just listen past them to the voices inside," he whispered.

Jem automatically did as Blair instructed and the voices became clearer.

"If you had only kept your... vice inside our house. I could have supplied your," Tom swallowed loudly, "your needs, but oh no, you would not sully your hands by using my body. You would rather use an outsider... Why? You never noticed me. Was I that unattractive? Or too much like mother? I will never know now, will I."

"Stay here," Jem whispered to Blair.

As quietly as he could Jem made his way to the side of the mill where the wall had crumbled, leaving a gap. He squeezed through, halting as some of the mortar dislodged and fell.

From within, Tom was talking to his captives, apparently not having heard the noise. "I thought if I took you as a bargaining piece, I could escape into the woods, become an outlaw...If I can hide out somewhere..."

Jem continued in, carefully stepping over rubble, stopping once he had a good sight of his quarry, then loading his small crossbow he took aim at Tom's back.

"Let them go, Tom," he ordered.

Tom stiffened and then looked over his shoulder. "You won't kill me, James! You're too much of a gentleman to shoot a man in the back." All the same, Tom slowly moved to one side, putting one of the timber frames of the building between him and Jem.

Then with a sudden spurt of speed, he grabbed a hold of William, putting his knife, a nasty looking stiletto with a bone handle, to the bound man's throat.

"You hurt my father, and I swear to God, I will kill you, Tom," Jem said, slowly manoeuvring around to get a clear shot.

"You are in no position to threaten me! Lower your weapon."

Jane was watching with large, frightened eyes.

"All right." Jem slowly bent to place his crossbow on the floor and held up both his hands. "You are in charge. Just leave my father out of this."

"And your knife, if you will."

Jem did as he was told.

"You may have ruined my plans for my father's funeral, but I'll be damned if I allow you the satisfaction of taking me tonight. I go in my own time, not by your choosing!" Tom pushed William forward, causing the man to fall.

Jem leap forward to catch his father. But Tom had climbed up an old rope to the top of the building and was crawling out onto the mill wheel. Once there he could slide down the slates and escape.

Jem turned to find that his lover had crept in behind him.

"Blair," Jem said, "help my father and the child." Pausing only to retrieve his dagger, Jem followed Tom.

"Jem, for God's sake, be careful!" Blair whispered to Jem's retreating back and he began to untie William and Jane.

As Jem climbed up to the hatchway to the mill wheel he was listening. Large rain drops had started to fall, hitting the rotting wood, and he could hear Tom breathing heavily, but there was no sound of movement save the complaining of the planks at carrying extra weight. Jem looked out.

Tom was standing, hesitating, near the top of the wheel. Below on the path beside the mill stood Edward, a vicious looking pitchfork in his hands, his eyes trained on Tom, daring him to take that leap down.

The rain was thundering down around them.

"It's over, Tom. Give it up," Jem said, carefully climbing out onto the wheel.

"Aye, maybe it is." Tom angrily flicked back his fair hair, drops of water spraying out. "But I'll not have it the same way as my grandfather." He pulled his knife from his belt. "I saw his death. It was not a pleasant one. I'll not go like that, James Ellison," and he lunged at Jem.

Jem stepped back and down onto another board which creaked ominously. "I'll not kill you," he said, putting his dagger away while trying to keep his balance, with both his hands held up in a gesture of compliance. He could see the mad desperation in Tom's eyes. He knew there would be no reasoning with the man.

"Why not?" Tom tossed his knife from hand to hand, deftly catching it even though his hands were wet. "My blood not good enough to stain your blade?"

Tom recklessly jumped down to where Jem stood, the wood cracking under the weight, but Jem was one step ahead and grabbed a-hold of the edge of the wheel—which protested the two men's movements with loud groans and shakes—with the aim of pulling himself up above Tom.

The rain was soaking both men to the skin, their feet becoming more and more traitorous on the rotten timber.

Tom swore and stabbed at Jem, catching his bicep a passing blow. But Jem carried on moving, trying to watch both his feet and Tom.

Tom thrust again... but only succeeded in embedding his knife in the wood.

Jem was above him now, swaying slightly as he tried to get his balance.

Below Tom let loose a string of curses as he fought to free his knife.

"Tom, surrender. Mayhap we can find someone who will give you a degree of leniency."

"You sound just like your sodding father!" Tom was getting more and more desperate at retrieving his knife and Jem could hear the wood begin to give. It was only a matter of time...

Tom finally yanked his knife out triumphantly, but the wood splintered under his foot, he moved his feet to get a better footing... then he slipped on a wet patch, his arms swinging wildly... and fell, Jem almost falling with him as he reached to grab his assailant... and failed.

For a moment he remembered another killer and other rotten boards....

He waited to hear a splash....

"Jem? Ye, God, man! Jem, you're bleeding."

Blair was pulling at him, trying to pull him up and inside the mill house.

"Edward?" Jem roused himself to call down to the young apprentice, still standing in the pouring rain, with his pitchfork at the ready.

"Aye?"

"Can you see him? Did you see him hit the water?"

Edward scrubbed his hand over his face. "No. In this rain, I can see little, but he can't still be alive, can he?"

Others had gathered now beside the mill.

"I'll come down and help you look," said Jim.

"Like Hell you will!" declared Blair and William Ellison together as Blair pulled Jem back to an area of relative dryness inside.

Jem looked from his lover to his father, two such different men, both concerned for him, both caring about his welfare, and he laughed out loud.

William helped manhandle Jem down so Blair could take a look at his lover's arm.

"Did he always find odd things amusing as a child?" asked Blair.

Jem was still smiling as he watched his lover tying a piece of ripped cloth around the wound to stop it bleeding.

William was grinning in relief. "Yes, he always did have a strange sense of the ridiculous."

They sat in the parlour close to the fire, needing the comfort of it even with it being humid weather. The wooden panelling on the walls glowed in the gently dancing candlelight. Outside the thunder rumbled quietly, the storm slowly moving away as it lost it strength. Rain fell softly running down the outside of the windows. Inside all was quiet and still save for the noise of the fire.

Jane had been given a hot bath and now lay, sleeping on her mother's lap, in her nightgown, Stephen was holding Lettyce to him, as she held her daughter.

"At least the river didn't break its banks," he said as he gently stroked his step-daughter's hair.

Jem and Blair had changed into borrowed dry clothes and were nursing hot drinks in their hands. The soft, warm light of the fire cast shadows on their faces, highlighting the fatigue they all felt.

"Aye." William roused himself long enough to answer his youngest son. "That is one thing to be thankful for." He looked around as if surprised to see them all there. "Where's Edward? He should be with us in the parlour. He's part of the family. He's a good lad," he added.

"I believe he wanted to stay on and help search for Tom's body. I don't think he can be sure Tom's dead until it's found. One of the bargees has offered him a bunk for the night on his boat," Jem replied. Now that all the excitement was over, he felt drained and tired. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep, with Blair safe beside him.

William nodded absentmindedly. "As long as he is safe and someone is taking care of him."

"That body you found, Blair," began Lettyce, "are you... do you think it could be Daniel's?"

"I don't know. I've never seen the child. Decay hadn't really set in...it's possible his mother..." Blair didn't finish his sentence and the silence again hung heavy over them. Blair was desperately trying to think of a way of excusing both him and Jem and getting Jem alone somewhere horizontal, warping himself around his lover and holding him tight all night.

"This rain may well expose the other... remains," Jem said, quietly. "If not, then at least the constable will have an idea of where now to look. Those innocents should be laid to rest, decently."

Sara bustled in with some blankets. "That man, Foster, always made me feel uncomfortable," she said, softly so as not to disturb Jane. "He seemed to appear whenever Master Stephen was playing outside and no one else was near by. I remember long ago. Master Stephen was very young. You had shown him how to spin a top, Master James, and he was determined to show you he could do it himself. He was sitting on the steps, practicing while I was hanging some washing and that merchant came up to him. I was watching from the yard. He said something to Master Stephen, then he squatted down so he was at the same level. I can see him now. He touched Stephen's hair, almost caressing it. I don't know why, but it looked somewhat odd, the way he ran his hand over the young master's head. I went out there and pulled Stephen away, brought him back inside the house."

Stephen blinked up at her. "I don't remember that."

"You were young, Master Stephen."

"You never mentioned it, before, Sara," William said.

"I wasn't sure how to broach the subject, sir. He was a man of substance, a rich man, and I was a young servant maid. I had no proof of any wrong dealings, just a sense of something being rotten about him." She turned to Jem and Blair. "I have had a bed made up for you both, in one of the smaller rooms, sirs. I'm afraid there isn't room for two beds, or even a bed and a truckle, so I hope you don't mind sharing...."

Jim shook his head. "We can return to the inn..."

Blair interrupted with a smile. "I'm sure that's fine, Sara. I think we are too tired to even walk that far tonight."

That night they held each other, Blair's head on Jem's chest, Jem playing with Blair's hair.

"Blair," Jem began quietly, "where are actors buried?"

Blair looked up.

"Jewish actors," Jem emphasised.

"I've never given it much thought. Why?"

"Both Master Shakespeare and my father have already planned where they wish to be buried. Shakespeare talks of putting a curse on anyone who would move his bones into the charnel-house. I should like to know if your beliefs have room for me to lie with you. I don't care where they bury me as long as I know sometime in the future you would join me."

Jem half expected Blair to laugh, but he didn't. He sat up, fixing Jem with eyes full of concern. "I am praying that neither of us will go anywhere without the other for a good while yet. And if anyone thinks of splitting us up when we do, then you can be sure a curse will be the least of their worries! I would fight Old Nick himself to be with you. But what brought this on? You aren't sick are you? No sweating sickness in this heat? You were soaked through out there. You could have caught a chill or some such. And your head wound, the cut you received from Tom's knife... I should double check both make sure there's no disease. I remember the other month when you caught that bad cold. You were like a bear with a sore head!"

"I felt like a bear with a sore head with that stuff you insisted I take."

"It got rid of it, didn't it? And a lot quicker than calling for a quack-doctor who would have bled you within an inch of your life, pushed some gunk inside of your arse to clear out the poison and then change you a small fortune for the experience!" Blair took a breath. "Do you feel all right? Are you ill?" he repeated slowly.

"No, I'm not ill, no, there's no heat from either wound. I know what to look for. You worry too much."

"But you would tell me if you were?"

"For God's sake, Blair, of course I would! It's just that..." Jem took a deep breath. "You talked about lost souls in St. Saviour's graveyard and I wondered."

Some of the tension left Blair's body. "You wondered if I'd given any thought to my final resting place. Jem, we both know how fragile and brief life is. We've talked about that. I can't, I won't, imagine life without you! My soul will not rest if it is not with yours, you can be sure of that."

He paused and swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat.

"Fie! This is gloomy talk for bedtime," he said. "Let me distract you from such thoughts, let my fingers, mouth and cock cheer you with other diversions."

"Are you sure? You leapt from the bed..."

Blair shook his head, smiling softly. "I was dreaming about the past, and was still lost in that nightmare when you touched me. Now I am very awake and very aware."

He tried to leer but then turned serious. "It may be a while before I can fully send those memories back where they belong and they may still ensnare me sometimes, but now we both know the why, we will be able to deal with them. Won't we?"

Blair sounded so uncertain Jem took his hand and gave it a gently squeeze. "We will go slowly. There will be no rush in our love-making until you have banished your demons."

"And if I wish to go faster?"

Jem chuckled. "Did you run before you crawled as a baby? You can set the pace. We will do as much or as little as you want."

Blair frowned. "That does not seem fair. You have needs and desires too." He brushed his hair back from his face. "It may be best for you to be sure I am awake before we... before you..."

Jem nodded gravely. "Yes, I understand."

"Do you? I wish I did!" Blair pulled at his hair. "I like to have clear thoughts, now they are all a jumble!"

Jem took his lover's hands and gently pulled them down. "Blair..." He waited until Blair looked at him. "Tell me, what would you say to me if our positions were reversed, if it were me who had this experience?"

Blair looked sick. "Heaven forbid! But... I would say... have patience—something I know is not easy for you—that our relationship is strong, that as long as we talk to one another and share our thoughts..." The corners of Blair's mouth twitched as he struggled not to laugh. "You know, you have a very wise lover to come up with all that."

Jem smiled. "I have often thought so. But I hesitate to tell him."

"It wouldn't do to swell his head with compliments."

"Indeed."

"My own pace, eh? Then come here, my own wise lover." He kissed Jem lovingly. "We will have to be quiet tonight. But once back in London, I fully intend to make you scream in ecstasy."

"I shall look forward, eagerly, to that."

If anyone heard any muffled sounds of completion that night, they chose to ignore it.

They found Tom at first light, his body trapped under the wheel due to the rising water level during the storm. The evidence seemed to point to him hitting his head on the side of the building as he fell, there was blood and matter on the stone. His foot was caught in one of the wheel's broken planks, but his head was under water. Whether the blow killed him or he drowned, no one could be sure.

They buried him with his father at a crossroads that same night, face down in their shrouds—to stop their souls from finding their way back to the town, a stake of wood struck though their bodies, and finally, just in case all these precautions failed, a heavy slab of rock was placed on the top to stop their bodies from leaving their resting place.

"Just as Tom said..." Jem whispered as he and Blair stood side by side, witnessing the burial.

"What?"

Jem shook his head. "Nothing. Just superstitious nonsense," he replied.

"I don't know that it is," Blair said quietly. "For myself, I prefer to think of some villains as buried deep with stakes and rocks piled high on their bodies. We have seen some things which deny logic. At least this gives the town folk peace of mind. That in itself is a blessing."

Jem's face softened as he looked at his lover. "Indeed," he said. "Maybe my father was correct. Some memories are better left forgotten."

The priest sprinkled the coffins with holy water and instructed the grave diggers to fill in the grave.

Jem and Blair turned to walk away.

"In one way, I wish I could bury my memory as deep and as secure as those two bodies, yet in another way, now I know what happened, perhaps I can put them in the past and, with your help, accept them as part of my life. If you had never remembered Hal, just think of how much of your youth would still be lost to you," Blair said, softly.

Jem swung his arm over Blair's shoulder. "You are always trying to see the good in life, aren't you, Professor."

"One of us has to," Blair grinned.

They returned to the Ellison house. Earlier they'd settled their account at the inn and their horses were now stabled at the merchant's house. They were planning to leave early the next morning.

The storm had cleared away most of the heat and the town awoke to a bright, blessedly cooler day.

As the family and Blair broke their fast, William asked if he could talk to Jem alone before the two men left for London.

Blair went to pack their panniers with the cold meat and beer that Lettyce and Sara insisted he take with him, to give Jem time with his father.

"I know you find it hard to forgive me, James. I know you feel I did wrong in the way I raised you both. Would you let me try and explain?"

"There's no need, Father."

"No, James. There's every need." William took a deep breath and began. "Like my father before me I taught your mother all about the business. I relied on her to understand the bookwork, to be my helpmate as I believed a good wife should be. Grace was a remarkable woman. I'd go so far as to say she was unique. She could read and write, handle the household accounts like no other and kept an account book to her own system. She took care of you boys, and of me. However I relied on her skills too much. When she died I felt as if I was a boat and my anchor was gone. I couldn't read her writing or work out her system. Things seemed to go wrong. And I needed someone to blame and Grace wasn't here so, God forgive me, I blamed her for my troubles."

He looked down at his clasped hands. "I know that was wrong of me. Perhaps I should have taken another wife. Many daughters and sisters of town folk were offered, but I knew I couldn't just replace your mother.... And I grew a-feared that you and your brother would be taken from me as easily as your mother had, so I held you both at arm's length, fearing that if I became too close to you, the pain of either of you dying would kill me too. I should have gathered you to me instead of which I encouraged you both to be independent. I felt I had to be hard on you, especially you, James, with your... special talents. I didn't realize how far I'd pushed you until you left."

"I'm here now, Father."

"Yes, thank the Lord, you are. Poor Tom. I wish I could have done something for him while he was a child."

"Like what, for instance?"

"I don't know, taken him in perhaps? But then I wasn't that good at raising you boys..."

"Life is full of regrets, Father, and the past always seems clearer from the present."

"Poetry, James?"

Jem chuckled. "I have been living with an actor too long."

William smiled indulgently. "He is good for you, a good friend to watch your back."

"I think so."

"You are still to return to London? I can't persuade you to remain here?"

"No. We have commitments there. My skills are needed more in London."

"I would argue that, but I sense it would do no good."

"Father..."

"No, I understand, James. You have a life that suits you, that gives you pleasure. What more could I wish for my son? I know now that the coat of a merchant would never have fitted you. I see that. I suspect that you would have tolerated it for a while longer, had you not met Mr. Sands, but it would have chafed."

"I'm sorry..."

William shook his head and smiled sadly. "There is no reason to be. You are right. Remember you and Mr. Sands are always welcome here." He patted Jem on the shoulder and left, smiling at Blair as he returned.

"Do you think Stephen and Lettyce's marriage will survive all this?"

"If it's strong even now... you know what they say; more belongs to marriage than four bare legs in a bed." Jim paused. "I think my father has given us his taciturn blessing."

"What! You didn't tell him..."

"No! What do you take me for? He said that you are a good friend."

"That's nice to know."

"He also said that you are good for me."

"I agree with him there."

"Then three of us are in accord." Jem reached out and tucked a curl behind Blair's ear.

"I think you are good for me also," Blair said, looking up at Jem, unable or unwilling to hide the love in his eyes.

Jem leaned towards his lover. "I love you too," he whispered.

Blair smiled brightly and then realising where they were, he looked around the garden. He cleared his throat. "So," he said, "who is it with the green thumb in this garden?"

"I think Father has a gardener. Why? We don't have time or space for a garden even one of medicinal herbs."

"Maybe not." Blair fingered some of the herbs. "But it would be useful to know someone who could grow plants to aid your senses. Herbs in London can be very expensive. A ready supply sent from Luton.... You know, I should talk to this man. Stay here, I'll be right back!"

"We were going to have an early start!" Jem called to Blair's retreating back.

"I won't be long!"

Jem shook his head and chuckled as his lover ran back towards the servant's rooms. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, just to experience the garden. He had a feeling someone was watching when his ears caught the sound of silk rustling and a conversation begin inside the house.

Stephen was standing in front of the window that over looked the garden. He thought he was alone with his thoughts when his new wife came up and startled him.

"What are you looking at, my love?"

"Oh, just spying on my brother and Mr. Sands."

"Spying? Let me see..." She strained her neck to see out of the window. "Oh, they do seem very close friends," she said, guardedly.

Stephen chuckled. "Yes, indeed, as close as David and Jonathan perhaps. It made me remember something that happened when we were young."

"Tell me?"

Stephen turned towards his wife. "It's a long story, my love, and doesn't paint me in a good light. Are you sure you wish to hear it?"

"Stephen, I married you for good or ill, of course I wish to hear about this dark side of you!" There was a sense of teasing in Lettyce's voice.

"Very well, pray sit and I will tell you as I remember it."

Lettyce's gown rustled as she sat and turned her face up to listen to her husband.

"You remember I told you how it was with James and me when we were young?" Stephen began.

"Yes."

"I always looked up to him. He protected me, helped teach me things. I admired him, wanted to emulate him, yet at the same time, I'm ashamed to say I was jealous of him. There is something about James. People see he is capable, that he can be trusted, that he means what he says and says what he means. I wanted to be like that."

"You are, Stephen, all those things," Lettyce assured him.

"Bless you. If I am, it is due to James' influence. There is one thing, however, that James didn't have and I did, and that was Sara. To him she was a much loved servant; to me... she was a mother to me, the first woman I ever loved."

Lettyce tensed up.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, my sweet. I was but a child. You need not worry on that account.

"Sara was always there, comforting me when I fell, brushing my hair, even giving me lessons in how to behave towards a lady. She never knew, at least I hope she never discovered my childish conceit!" Stephen chuckled.

"Sometimes," he began again, "when Father was away on business, Sara would suggest that we should go for a picnic or simply for a walk. She would tell us tales of her home in Wales. James would talk to her of things that didn't include Latin or Greek, the language of a scholar, nor weights and measures—the tools of a merchant, things I didn't then understand. And she would listen to him. I admit I was jealous of how she would give him her attention.

"I remember that particular summer because James broke his arm and it was my fault. My brother was nearly thirteen and I... perhaps seven. I remember it all very vividly."

Stephen turned again to the window. "It was the feast day of St. John the Baptist. Father was delayed in London awaiting payment of a large consignment of goods. My teacher had a bad summer cold, so James and I were allowed a holiday.

"I pleaded to go into town and see the Midsummer celebrations. Sara agreed to go with us. I remember she was wearing her straw hat to shield her face from the glory of the sun." Stephen smiled at the memory.

"She had purchased a red ribbon to tie around the crown and had made a daisy chain to sit a-top of the ribbon. She placed it on my head in jest, but I tore it off, saying 'Fie! No gentleman would wear such a hat decorated with daisies.' Children can be very callous," he said, regret in his voice.

"As I tossed it into the air, the wind rose and it carried the hat away, depositing it in the branches of a tall tree.

"Sara cried out and James leapt to his feet, running for the tree before we realised what he meant to do.

"My brother was then tall and lanky. He had no fear of heights. He climbed that tree as though he were a cat. In no time he had the hat and was descending again, his prize in his teeth so as to allow him to hold onto the tree with both hands.

"Sara was overjoyed and embraced him, praising him to all Heaven.

"I can now admit that I was aggrieved at all the attention she bestowed on him. I desperately wanted to show her that I was fearless too though I had no idea how.

"We joined the revellers in the town square. There was all manner of people out to part the good folk of Luton from their money—Mummers, tumblers, gypsies—and the town's people wanted to spend.

"While James and Sara were watching a group of acrobats performing, I stole away. I'd seen a horse tied by a wall. I had a plan. I would say that the horse had slipped its tether but I had seen it escape, manage to catch it and brought it back. The follies of youth, Lettyce! I was truly convinced my elders would believe me!" Stephen shook his head.

"Suffice to say, once I'd untied the horse, it wouldn't shift, so I climbed the wall and then leapt onto the horse's back in order to make it move.

"And move it did! It began to buck, with me holding on for dear life!

"James must have heard my yells because suddenly he was there in front of the horse, grabbing the reins and quieting the animal.

"I was lifted down from the beast by the owner, but as James handed over the reins, some children ran by blowing loudly on their new flutes and James suddenly fell to his knees, groaning and covering his ears with his hands. What happened next happened so quickly. The horse reared up, James tried to move away, but he fell... awkwardly...breaking his arm—as it later proved—just below the elbow.

"He was deathly still..." Stephen's voice dropped. "I was sure he'd died, but he was lost in one of his dazes and didn't make a sound... and then Father came rushing up. By pure luck, he'd arrived in the town just as a cry of 'Horse loose!' went up but, until that moment, had not been aware who was involved.

"I tried to explain about the horse escaping, but no one was listening. They carried James into a nearby stable where they placed a stick in his slack mouth. Two men held him and then Father pulled James' arm straight with a quick, sharp precision, which made my eyes water in sympathy.

"I heard a loud 'snap' which made me flinch, and then James began screaming and screaming around the gag. He wouldn't stop. It was frightening." Stephen cleared his throat. "Finally Father struck him, hard, with his fist, and James lapsed into silence.

"Father arranged for a cart to take us back to the house while he soothed the ruffled feathers of the horse's owner. I fell into an exhausted sleep as the cart rattled its way back.

"Once at home, Father demanded to know what had happened. I told my poor tissue of lies—and Father accepted it. He threatened to dismiss Sara, but she—and I—pleaded with him and, in the end, he docked her a month's pay instead. I don't really think Father wanted to let her go.

"James was placed in his bed and given something to help him sleep, but he was restless during the night and asking for me. I was allowed to sleep with him, as long as I didn't jostle his arm, which was held firm between two pieces of wood.

"I awoke during the night to find James' eyes upon me, puzzlement within their depths.

"'Stephen? What...' he said, and then, as if he suddenly became aware of the pain, I remember he groaned. 'Ohh, God, hurts....' I can still hear his voice and the agony in it. It still makes me shiver. He was so pale...

"He went to clutch at his arm. I grabbed his hand, stopping him from undoing what Father had done. I remember falling over my words as I tried to get James to agree with my version of what had happened. But my brother saw right through me even then.

"'Shhh, little brother. I remember,' he said. 'You don't have to be scared.' Even then he was trying to ease my misery at the cost of his own."

Stephen sighed deeply. "It took a long time but, thankfully, as you see he recovered, and he took full responsibility for our trip into town, and for my own foolhardiness. He even said it was upon his orders that Sara accompanied us, and I let him take the blame." Stephen's head dropped. "I even let him take the thrashing Father issued, to my shame.

"Oh my love..."

"Hush, wife. Let me continue, please. I need you to hear this.

"It was much, much later, that I understood how James had choked back his hurt to help me, and how many times he tried to help protect me or shield me from harm, how many times he covered for me. I saw how selfish I was, but that was many years later, after I lost my brother to our father's schemes of pitting us against one another, thereby trying to make successful merchants of us."

Stephen squatted down in front of his wife and took her hands. "Lettyce, I allowed my brother to become an outsider, shunned by his family because he was different, because he could hear things better than others—how else could he have heard my cry over the noise and hullabaloo that day? And there were other times, other incidents; times when I'm sure I was a burden to him instead of helping him. I wish I could turn the clock back somehow, undo my sins against him."

"Oh, Stephen..." Lettyce said again, gently. She stroked his face. "I've seen the way you are together. If there is one good thing that has come from this... terrible, horrible time, it is that you are your brother have found each other again."

"Yes, that is true. We are both different men. He's... I don't know.... He's changed... no. That's not the right word..."

"He knows who he is and where he should be and he's content, even happy, with that," Lettyce suggested. "And Blair... he feels as though he is a part of the family too. Do you not see that?

"Yes, yes, that's it. You see, I was wise to choose you as my wife." Stephen kissed the palm of her hand. "It seems to me that Mr. Sands is the best thing that has happened to Jem. At one time, I may have been a little envious of them, of their friendship, that closeness. Now though, I have you, my sweet. I'm glad Jem has at last found someone to trust and rely on." He stood and held out his hand to Lettyce to help her to her feet. "Come, now. I think it is time to say our fond farewells."

Jem opened moist eyes and cleared his throat.

"Done," said Blair rubbing his hands together. He looked at Jem's face and frowned. "Are you all right? You look troubled."

Jem pulled Blair to him and ruffled his hair. "I'm afraid I was eavesdropping."

"Oh." Blair leaned closer. "Anything good?"

"Very good." Jem smiled. "I will tell you when we are alone. Come, we have delayed our journey long enough."

He put his hand on his lover's shoulder and steered him towards the courtyard at the back of the building where their horses and Jem's family were waiting.

Stephen stood with his wife and daughter. He clasped Jem's hand. "Don't leave it so long next time, James."

Jem smiled. "Perhaps if you are in London on business, you will seek me out? If you ask for Blair at the Globe they will know where to find me. Where his is, I undoubtedly am."

"Two peas in a pod, eh, James?"

"Something like that."

"I will. I promise."

Jem turned to Lettyce, taking her hand. "Sister, may I suggest that if Jane wants to talk to you about her... experience, you allow her to do so? Don't permit her to go quiet about it. It will always be there for her, preying on her like some dark shadow, otherwise. If it's out in the open, perhaps her nightmares will be less."

Lettyce squeezed his hand. "I will think on it, dear brother. Thank you."

Jem turned to wave at his family from his horse.

My family, he thought. I never thought I'd have a smile on my face at those words! He looked at his lover. And so much of that is thanks to one Blair Sands. You will never know just how much I do love you, Blair. I can never tell you enough. There are not enough hours of the day to tell you. You are more than mere family to me.

He cleared his throat around the lump that formed there. "You know," he said to Blair as they rode out of the town, "the next time you suggest a holiday, I will choose the destination!"

"I wasn't to know that our esteemed employer would land us with another case!"

"No, but I should like to go somewhere where his influence is slight."

"And just where would that be? The man has long arms."

"Perhaps a catholic monastery overseas?"

"Where we would get flogged for sharing a cot? And you would have to watch where you used your senses? Not much of a rest there!"

Jem grimaced. "No, you are right, not a monastery then."

"Beside, I expect Cecil has spies even in the most staunch Catholic enclaves."

"Aye, that wouldn't surprise me!" Thoughts of Cecil made Jem pause. That was one person he felt the need to confront. And that would not be an easy conversation.

"So did Sara pack some pies in your bags too?"

Jem laughed. "She thinks we are too thin, methinks."

"Aye." Blair laughed in turn. "It does give us a reason to stop at midday and eat."

"Just eat?"

"I have no tests in mind..."

"Then I do believe a stop at the middle of the day may be just what will be required."

"Jem and I stood witness to both the burials. Next day we returned to London." Blair concluded.

The two men were standing in Cecil's office giving their report to Sir Robert who sat, his hands laced in front of him, behind his desk.

"Very good, gentlemen."

He looked at the man busy writing at a small portable desk. "Have you done?"

The man looked over his work and nodded. "Yes, my Lord."

"Then gentlemen, you are dismissed for the moment."

Blair glanced at his lover.

"Sir Robert, may I have a moment of your time, alone?" Jem asked.

Cecil's eyebrow rose at his agent's request. "Very well."

They both waited until the secretary and Blair had left the room.

"You knew all about Michael Foster's little... peccadilloes." Jem spat the word out with disgust.

"Master Ellison," Cecil placed his hands flat on his desk and half rose, his sharp eyes coldly glaring at Jem. "I make it my business to know what my agents have hidden away. I know just where, when and why the skeletons are buried. I do not like surprises."

"And so you did nothing."

"What I did or didn't do is not your concern."

Cecil finally dropped his eyes and returned his attention to the papers on his desk. "Now I have work to do. My secretary will send for you when you are needed."

Jem scowled, but then he became aware of something different about their employer. His frown deepened.

Cecil looked up with a thinly disguised air of 'are you still here?' "Well?"

Jem blinked. "Nothing, my Lord."

He turned after giving a bow and went to leave the room.

"Ellison."

Jem turned back.

Cecil had sat back down. He sighed and clasped his hands together on the desk. "Not that it's any of your business, Ellison, but I was assured by Foster that he had his... vice under control and he would not endanger his position by any more... debased conduct. Perhaps foolishly, I believed him. However, I did assign someone to keep him under observation and report on any... misdeeds. Unfortunately the man I assigned became sick and died just before the priest's summons came for Foster. I didn't have time to put someone else on that duty. I had no option other than to allow him an unfettered leave of absence. When he didn't return to London, I sent Master Robert to find out why. You know his end. I did not have a hand in sending you to Luton. That was a coincidence, nothing more, nothing less."

Jem nodded, distractedly. "I understand. Thank you, my Lord."

He bowed once more and left the room.

Blair was waiting for him outside. "Well? What did he say?"

"Hmm?"

"About... you know."

"Oh. That we will be sent for when we are needed."

"And that's it?"

The frown was back on Jem's face. "There was something wrong with him. He smelled... odd."

"Odd?"

Jem shook his head. "I can not describe the smell. Ill, maybe?"

"Ill? You can smell that he is ill?" Blair's eyes opened wide. "In what way? Can you tell if it is the pox, or something much worse?"

"I don't know, Sands! I'm not a John Dee! I didn't ask him to piss into a bowl that I might examine it!" He sighed with frustration. "Mayhap my senses are playing tricks on me."

"I don't know, Jem. I'd wager money on your senses being right with most things."

Jem shook his head. "Then you would lose yourself a pretty penny, my friend. Come, I'm sure it's nothing."

"All the same... should you not mention it to Sir Robert?"

"What, that he smells ill? I can see where that conversation would go!" Jem sighed again, stroking his beard. "I'm sure if he is ill, he already knows and would not welcome our involvement."

"Perhaps not." Blair frowned. "But if he is ill, if he has to retire from his post, who will take his place? There is," he looked around and dropped his voice still lower... "no one who is as, God help us, as competent as Sir Robert in his field, no one else could deal with the king as well. And what of our future? Will his successor look kindly on our relationship or your special skills? Will he, whom ever he may be, deal with us fairly?" Blair paused. "Maybe we should start looking for that bolt hole we discussed before."

Jem nodded grimly. "As we know, Cecil has long arms. What if it means we leave this country, Blair? All that we have known? We may have to go and live with the savages in the jungles."

"If it puts you... us, in danger, aye, I'd leave in a hare's breath! If someone came for you, I'd fight the devil himself." Blair looked down at his feet. "We have to look after our own interests, Jem. It will not be a simple matter of buying two places on a ship bound for the New World though. We would have to rely on your senses and our wits to gain our freedom. It would not be easy, Jem, but if the alternative is death..." He let his words hang.

Jem nodded. "While Cecil lives, he will know if we try anything like that and we could end our days locked up in the tower instead of in a jungle! We will have to bide our time and pray that we don't leave it too late." He put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "For the moment let us not worry worry. I seem to remember you made me a promise."

"I did?" Blair raised puzzled eyes to Jem.

"You did." Jem leaned into Blair's space. "Something about making me scream in pleasure?" he said, his voice low and husky.

Blair's face flushed as Jem's tone went straight to his cock. He cleared his throat. "I remember something along those lines. We should return to our lodgings then straight way."

Jem placed his hand on his lover's shoulder. "That sounds to me like an excellent idea."

Author's notes: Dinner in these times was eaten at midday. People often rose at day break, worked for a couple of hours, and then had breakfast. Supper was taken at around 6pm.

A 'nubbing-cove' was slang for hangman. 'Barnacles' as you may have gathered was slang for spectacles.

'Gropecunt Lane' really did exist. It was a place where men could pay a tiny amount for a feel up a whore's skirts. It had a reputation of being a place where the very poor and wretched creatures could earn some money. It became 'Grape Street' and later 'Grub Street', home of the 'literary hack'.

For those who might be interested, there was also a 'Codpiece Lane'—which became 'Coppice Lane', and the charmingly named, 'Slut's Hole' which after changing its name to 'Slut's Well' disappeared from London's street names.

Jem's expression "Let us not worry worry' is an old saying. The full, modern version is 'Don't worry worry till worry worries you.' In other words; don't worry about something before it happens!

Just to remind you, dear reader, prostitutes in the London borough of Southwark were known as 'Winchester Geese', as they were, until 1608 when the crown took over the land, charged rent by the Bishop of Winchester.

And a 'jordon' was the term used for a chamber pot, or 'push me under'. Given only to guests at inns where they paid to stable their horses. If, like Jem and Blair, you arrived at the inn with a horse, then you just paid for your horse's care; your bed and the jordon came free.

Finally, the chapter headings all come from Hamlet.