the opportunity to patch things up as best he could. "I'm sorry that I was never honest with you, and I'm sorry for what has happened these past two days. I wish to God I could go back and make it all up to you."
"I'm sorry too, father," she replied. She allowed her beautiful emerald eyes to meet his. "I know you have all of our best interests at heart. But from now on, I want you to be honest with me."
Davenant nodded firmly. "Of course I will, I promise."
"And I want you to tell me all your stories about Will Shakespeare."
"Some other time," replied Davenant, smiling tenderly.
Suddenly, he was struck by a figure running madly across the adjoining field and straight towards them.
"Unless I'm very much mistaken," he said, "that is young Master Betterton heading this way."
Elizabeth bolted to her feet and waved her arms to catch his attention. Davenant glanced over to Turnbull, Middleton and Charles who were all alive to the situation. He could see that the three men were caressing their weapons, tucked conspicuously in their belts. He almost felt sorry for the young scamp, for the brutal interrogation he was about to receive.
As Betterton moved rapidly closer, his shouted words became audible upon the wind. "The dead are coming!"
"What did he say?" said Davenant, looking in Charles' direction.
Underhill's face lit up when he spied Betterton galloping towards them. "It's Thomas! He's come back!"
Davenant sidled up to Middleton. "What do you think we should do with him?"
"Let's see what the wee shite has to say first, shall we?"
Betterton was only a couple of hundred yards away now and Davenant could clearly make out the lines of fear etched upon his face. "This doesn't look good," he whispered under his breath.
And then it came again. "The dead are coming!"
This time everyone heard his declaration. As the group all turned to one another in bewilderment, Betterton followed his latest yell with a series of deranged hand signals which made no sense to anyone whatsoever - apart from to Mary.
She turned mockingly to Davenant. "I told you they were coming, didn't I?"
Davenant decided to ignore her and focused his attention on Betterton, who had pulled up, fatigued and exhausted. He leant against a tree as he gasped for air.
"Have you alerted Cromwell's men to our whereabouts?" Davenant snapped.
Betterton looked up fearfully. He gave a sad little nod of his head as his eyes filled.
As Davenant stepped forward to pass Betterton his water skin, Middleton thumped him hard across the face, sending him tumbling to the floor. Elizabeth screamed out in anguish as Underhill struggled to restrain her.
"Consider yourself lucky you didn't receive a worse punishment." Middleton spat at him.
Betterton ran his hand over his swollen cheek and bloodied nose. All from one punch, Davenant noted.
"I am truly sorry for my actions, but there is no time for that now," Betterton said. "You must listen to me, all of you. I have been in grip of the Devil. Look at my hands! They're covered in blood."
"No sob story will get you out of this! Do you have any idea what you've done?" barked Charles, his eyes wild with rage.
"No, no, I - I don't. But I'm telling the truth. I've seen the..."
"I say we hang the bastard!" Charles interrupted.
Davenant felt as though he was in some kind of deranged, surreal daydream. He could hear Elizabeth sobbing uncontrollably behind him. "Perhaps we should hear him out? He looks like he's telling us the truth."
"He's an actor. You're as good as lying when you're on the stage!" spat Charles.
As Davenant listened to the flood of accusations, Mary took a hesitant step forward and knelt down beside Betterton. "He is telling the truth. The dead walk, I've seen them too."
Just as Davenant was about to open his mouth to deride her, several mounted soldiers surged forward into their camp. They quickly encircled the group with a ferocious clatter of hooves - their vast horses with their immaculate coats just as
"I'm sorry too, father," she replied. She allowed her beautiful emerald eyes to meet his. "I know you have all of our best interests at heart. But from now on, I want you to be honest with me."
Davenant nodded firmly. "Of course I will, I promise."
"And I want you to tell me all your stories about Will Shakespeare."
"Some other time," replied Davenant, smiling tenderly.
Suddenly, he was struck by a figure running madly across the adjoining field and straight towards them.
"Unless I'm very much mistaken," he said, "that is young Master Betterton heading this way."
Elizabeth bolted to her feet and waved her arms to catch his attention. Davenant glanced over to Turnbull, Middleton and Charles who were all alive to the situation. He could see that the three men were caressing their weapons, tucked conspicuously in their belts. He almost felt sorry for the young scamp, for the brutal interrogation he was about to receive.
As Betterton moved rapidly closer, his shouted words became audible upon the wind. "The dead are coming!"
"What did he say?" said Davenant, looking in Charles' direction.
Underhill's face lit up when he spied Betterton galloping towards them. "It's Thomas! He's come back!"
Davenant sidled up to Middleton. "What do you think we should do with him?"
"Let's see what the wee shite has to say first, shall we?"
Betterton was only a couple of hundred yards away now and Davenant could clearly make out the lines of fear etched upon his face. "This doesn't look good," he whispered under his breath.
And then it came again. "The dead are coming!"
This time everyone heard his declaration. As the group all turned to one another in bewilderment, Betterton followed his latest yell with a series of deranged hand signals which made no sense to anyone whatsoever - apart from to Mary.
She turned mockingly to Davenant. "I told you they were coming, didn't I?"
Davenant decided to ignore her and focused his attention on Betterton, who had pulled up, fatigued and exhausted. He leant against a tree as he gasped for air.
"Have you alerted Cromwell's men to our whereabouts?" Davenant snapped.
Betterton looked up fearfully. He gave a sad little nod of his head as his eyes filled.
As Davenant stepped forward to pass Betterton his water skin, Middleton thumped him hard across the face, sending him tumbling to the floor. Elizabeth screamed out in anguish as Underhill struggled to restrain her.
"Consider yourself lucky you didn't receive a worse punishment." Middleton spat at him.
Betterton ran his hand over his swollen cheek and bloodied nose. All from one punch, Davenant noted.
"I am truly sorry for my actions, but there is no time for that now," Betterton said. "You must listen to me, all of you. I have been in grip of the Devil. Look at my hands! They're covered in blood."
"No sob story will get you out of this! Do you have any idea what you've done?" barked Charles, his eyes wild with rage.
"No, no, I - I don't. But I'm telling the truth. I've seen the..."
"I say we hang the bastard!" Charles interrupted.
Davenant felt as though he was in some kind of deranged, surreal daydream. He could hear Elizabeth sobbing uncontrollably behind him. "Perhaps we should hear him out? He looks like he's telling us the truth."
"He's an actor. You're as good as lying when you're on the stage!" spat Charles.
As Davenant listened to the flood of accusations, Mary took a hesitant step forward and knelt down beside Betterton. "He is telling the truth. The dead walk, I've seen them too."
Just as Davenant was about to open his mouth to deride her, several mounted soldiers surged forward into their camp. They quickly encircled the group with a ferocious clatter of hooves - their vast horses with their immaculate coats just as
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