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of their craft. We also serve the big houses.' He smiled at Matthew Slythe. 'We built a barge for my Lord of Essex.'
    Matthew Slythe grunted. He did not seem over-impressed that Samuel Scammell did business with the general of Parliament's armies.
    There was a silence, except for the scraping of Scammell's knife on his plate. Campion pushed the stringy chicken to one side, trying to hide it under the dry pie crust. She knew she was being rude and she sought desperately for something to say to their guest. 'Do you have a boat yourself, Mr Scammell?'
    'Indeed and indeed!' He seemed to find that funny, too, for he laughed. Some of the pastry scraps fell down his ample stomach. 'Yet I fear I am a bad sailor, Miss Slythe, indeed and indeed, yes. If I must travel upon the water then I pray as our Dear Lord did for the waves to be stilled.' This was evidently a joke also, for the hairs in his capacious nostrils quivered with snuffled laughter.
    Campion smiled dutifully. Her brother's feet scraped on the boards of the floor.
    Her father looked from Campion to Scammell and there was a small, secret smile on his heavy face. Campion knew that smile and in her mind it was associated with cruelty. Her father was a cruel man, though he believed cruelty to be kindness for he believed a child must be forced into God's grace.
    Matthew Slythe, embarrassed by the new silence, turned to his guest. 'I hear the city is much blessed by God, brother.'
    'Indeed and indeed.' Scammell nodded dutifully. 'The Lord is working great things in London, Miss Slythe.' Again he turned to her and she listened with pretended interest as he told her what had happened in London since the King had left and the rebellious Parliament had taken over the city's government. The Sabbath, he said, was being properly observed, the playhouses had been closed down, as had the bear gardens and pleasure gardens. A mighty harvest of souls, Scammell declared, was being reaped for the Lord.
    'Amen and amen,' said Matthew Slythe.
    'Praise His name,' said Ebenezer.
    'And wickedness is being uprooted!' Scammell raised his eyebrows to emphasise his words. He told of two Roman Catholic priests discovered, men who had stolen into London from the Continent to minister to the tiny, secret community of Catholics. They had been tortured, then hanged. 'A good crowd of Saints watched!'
    'Amen!' said Matthew Slythe.
    'Indeed and indeed.' Samuel Scammell nodded his head ponderously. 'And I too was an instrument in uprooting wickedness.'
    He waited for some interest. Ebenezer asked the required question and Scammell again addressed the answer to Campion. 'It was the wife of one of my own workmen. A slatternly woman, a washer of clothes, and I had cause to visit the house and what do you think I found?'
    She shook her head. 'I don't know.'
    'A portrait of William Laud!' Scammell said it dramatically. Ebenezer tutted. William Laud was the imprisoned Archbishop of Canterbury, hated by the Puritans for the beauty with which he decorated churches and his devotion to the high ritual which they said aped Rome. Scammell said the portrait had been lit by two candles. He had asked her if she knew who the picture represented, and she did, and what is more had declared Laud to be a good man!
    'What did you do, brother?' Ebenezer asked.
    'Her tongue was bored with a red hot iron and she was put in the stocks for a day.'
    'Praise the Lord,' Ebenezer said.
    Goodwife entered and put a great dish on the table. 'Apple pie, master!'
    'Ah! Apple pie.' Matthew Slythe smiled at Goodwife.
    'Apple pie!' Samuel Scammell linked his hands, smiled, then cracked his knuckles. 'I like apple pie, indeed and indeed!'
    'Dorcas?' Her father indicated that she should serve. She gave herself a tiny sliver that brought a sniff of disapproval from Goodwife who was bringing lit candles to the table.
    Samuel Scammell made short work of two helpings, gobbling the food as though he had not eaten in a week, and swilling it down with the