Miriam Bibby - Mistress Meg 02 - Mistress Meg and the Silver Bell
Page 27
He started to creep away and was just wondering which way to go when a voice behind him said: “John Parkins? I must ask you to accompany me.”
Clink swung round.
Sir George Paston was standing behind him with an almost apologetic look on his face. Beside him was a lad holding three horses. Sir George indicated the smallest of the three and then spoke to the lad.
“Hal, help this man onto the horse.”
Clink mounted the horse in a stupefied manner. What was happening?
“And - ” said George warningly, ” - do not plan on escape. We will leave your hands untied, but mark well - we are both armed. Hal, lead the horse. I will ride behind you both.”
The three of them set off towards the Marcaster Road. They were well on the way before Clink dared to speak.
“Where - where are ye takin’ me? Where are we headed?”
“Guildern,” said George, shortly. “For questioning.”
“Y’can’t try me for the purse!” said Clink. “I’ve stood trial for that. Never called me back, did ‘e, the judge? Said ‘e would, but ‘e didn’t …”
“No,” said George. “It’s not for that. There are other matters; such as breaking out of custody.”
Clink thought hard and then decided staying silent was the best option. The others said nothing more and so the silence continued as they rode westwards. Clink was thinking about Ruby and the others and wondering where they were. George was considering, very grimly, the cost of the jail charges he had paid to have Clink released. He felt he had little choice in the matter. Judge Selby had shrewdly realised that if George did not voluntarily take responsibility for Clink, the Marcaster justices - with the full support of the undersheriff - would simply send him back to Guildern anyway. There was not a parish in the land that would voluntarily take responsibility for the cost of dealing with a rogue or vagrant if they could pass it on elsewhere.
A stench blew towards them as they rode along Gibbet Hill towards the Marcaster Road and the three of them covered their faces briefly to avoid breathing the contaminated air. The further they went, the further Clink felt he was riding away from everything and everyone that he knew. He glanced back at Sir George, whose air was slightly preoccupied.
George was studiously trying to ignore something. At first he had thought it was simply his imagination, or perhaps a buckle making that faint, light jingling sound that seemed to come from his saddlebag. Impossible; but then he heard it again, a mocking, bright sound, that made him recall Meg’s voice at the inn. “The bell should have been yours …”
“Don’t look back,” he said to Clink, more sharply than he had intended. Clink quickly turned his eyes on the road ahead. Scattered to the four winds, when he and his companions might meet again, only God - or the devil - knew.