Merivel A Man of His Time by Rose Tremain Read Free Book Online Page A

triplets thrust her shawl over the food basket, and the Landowner took a stuffed purse from his pocket and tried to slither it down into his boot, but his leg was a mite too fat and the neck of the purse stuck out at the top. The Priest snatched up the cross he wore round his neck, not to kiss it or to beg of it any Divine Help, but only to hide it beneath his robe, because it was made of silver.
    I now bethought myself of what I might do, to save what I had taken with me, but I had nothing much concealed about me, all my possessions (which included some fine new clothes I had had made in London) being inside two Valises mounted with all the other baggage on the roof of the coach. And I did not think that Highwaymen, needing to make swift their escapes, could often burden themselves with trunks and boxes. Their prime currency was Currency.
    The King’s Letter to Louis XIV, however, in the pocket of my coat, did cause me some concern, for without this I had no entrée into France – and I know that the King’s Signature and Seal may always fetch a goodly price, regardless of the document to which they are attached. I put my hand on the letter, as though putting my hand on my heart, yet at the same time found myself thinking, ‘if I cannot get to France, then I cannot, and there’s an end to it. And nothing matters to me in my life but the safety and happiness of Margaret, and to hear, from time to time, the approving laughter of my Sovereign.’ And, knowing that these thoughts were true beyond all doubt, I suddenly understood why I was not in the least afraid.
    Soon enough, the door of the coach was tugged open and a strange visage appeared, with a hat pulled low over its eyes and some foulard or muffler tied about its face, so that it seemed to be All Nose and nothing else.
    This Nose sniffed the noisome air of the interior where we sat, its helpless victims, then a gloved Hand reached in and the Hand held a Flintlock Pistol, which it pointed first at me, then at the Priest and lastly at the triplets, who, well-fortified with Ale and Pasties, strove to be brave and stifle their screams.
    Then a low Voice spoke: ‘I do humbly beg your pardons, Gents. Ladies, please accept my Apologies. But I am come to a bad pass and have no means to live and pay my debts, except to rob you. I trust you will pardon me.’
    ‘Ah,’ whispered I to the Priest, whose trembling I could feel all through my being, ‘a very polite and courteous Highwayman.’
    ‘What’s that? What’s that?’ said the Voice. ‘Who speaks? Is it you, Sir?’
    I said nothing, but saw the Flintlock pointed again at me.
    ‘’Tis no use to think you can escape me,’ said the Voice, and the Nose sniffed back and forth, perhaps smelling the roast Chicken or the fragrant pies. ‘Life deals its cards. I regret the inconvenience. Just give me all your money. That is all I ask. Then I shall be on my way. And you may carry on to Dover.’
    Nobody moved. I could still see the purse sticking out of the Landowner’s boot and, as my eyes went to it, so did the Nose move itself downwards and then another Hand appeared and snatched the purse away. The Landowner uttered a little cry of rage and the Priest, seeing that our Highwayman was in Earnest of his Profession, began to babble about being a Poor Man of God, who owned nothing.
    ‘I am sorry, Reverend,’ said the Voice, ‘I dislike drawing a man’s attention to any Error he may utter. I do not doubt that you strive to be honest in what you say, but I cannot admit that you own
nothing
. Have you not, for instance, a Cross hanging about your neck? And would you not prefer for me to take that Cross than for me to wind the chain on which it hangs about your throat and pull upon it till you breathe no more?’
    The Priest’s body, at my side, was now shaking so terribly, I could hear his bones rattling in their sockets and perhaps it was pity for him that caused me to announce: ‘I have a ring, Highwayman! It is a