Dodd decided he fancied some height, so despite his lack of breath, he swung himself up on the lattices and hoisted himself to the join with another shingled roof, prayed devoutly that it wouldn’t collapse nor slip, and eased himself to a squatting position at the corner. Trying to control his ridiculous puffing, he aimed his crossbow carefully for the black-bearded man. Am I ill, Dodd wondered anxiously, och God, I must be. His heart was pounding, his breath so short that his hands wobbled on the stock of the bow, and he couldn’t get a clean shot. Ah Jesu, maybe it was plague?
Marlowe had broken from the shelter of his conduit for the Hunsdon liverymen, and he and Carey were now invisible in the mass of them. There was a thud of hooves on the mud behind the Hunsdon party and two horses skidded to a halt. The foremost was being ridden by a broad grey-haired man in clothes that glinted with gold brocade.
The black-bearded pursuivant was staring in rage and horror, himself panting and leaning on his sword. His mob of bullyboys were close-packed and yet he had a gap around him Dodd noted, which would be helpful for a killing shot if only his own breathing would quiet.
Lord Hunsdon sent his horse through his men who parted for him and up alongside the black-bearded man. He had his white staff of office as the Queen’s Chamberlain under his arm.
“What the devil do you think you’re playing at, Mr. Topcliffe? What is the meaning of this outrage?” rumbled Carey’s father.
Topcliffe’s face drained of blood, making his face and beard more like a balladsheet woodcut than ever. He had forgotten to dye his eyebrows which were grey. The mouth moved but no words came out. Dodd squinted in the darkness and saw that the rider of the second horse was his puny lawyer, riding a little better than he ran at least.
“I am…arresting…some notable Papist priests,” panted Topcliffe’s voice in a blustering tone.
“You were attempting to arrest me, Mr. Topcliffe, with no warrant,” called Carey’s voice reproachfully.
“If you had nothing to hide, why did you run?” said Topcliffe insinuatingly. “My lord, it’s a wise father that knows all his son may…”
“I had a fancy to keep my balls,” called Carey, “I’ve got more use for ‘em than Papist priests do. Or you.”
“My lord, the Queen’s grace must be protected from the Jesuitical plots…”
“Good God almighty,” said Hunsdon in disgust. “Mr. Topcliffe, shut up. You may not be aware of it but my youngest son is possibly the least likely candidate for the Roman Catholic priesthood since the death of my revered and worshipful natural father, King Henry the Eighth of that name. And my half-sister, Her Majesty the Queen, knows it and has a considerable liking to him.”
There was a silence in which Dodd could actually hear Topcliffe swallowing stickily.
“A…a…mistake, my lord,” stammered Topcliffe, “A case of…mistaken identity. We are seeking one Father Gerard who is…well-known…to go about dressed as a gentleman.”
“Is he?” said Hunsdon, heavily. “My lord Burghley told me the man was in Worcestershire.”
“Quite so,” said Topcliffe, “We had the word of an informant…clearly wrong.”
“Clearly.”
“I shall reprimand him. Many…many apologies, my lord, Sir Robert,” gabbled Topcliffe, “I…I shall continue the search.”
“Excellent.”
Out of sight there was a loud clanging of a bell and the shout of fire at the Mermaid. Dodd winced. He had forgotten about that. Ah well, it would teach the innkeeper better manners than to help set up ambushes for his regulars.
Topcliffe turned and walked with some dignity towards Ludgate Hill, past the wreckage of Heneage’s expensive coach. His men gathered round him but the coachman seemed to have run.
Carey was at his father’s stirrup, talking fast, Marlowe not far behind. Dodd saw the flash of Hunsdon’s teeth as he sat back in the saddle and grinned.
“Sergeant Dodd?” called Lord Hunsdon, looking around him. The City Watch shambled into view at last, with their lanterns, rattle, and bells, cautiously peering around to make sure that the trouble was truly over. One of them went over to the coach and picked up a broken bit of door, tutting.
“Ay,” said Dodd, raising an arm, “up here, my lord.”
Hunsdon contemplated him for a second, taking in the crossbow in his right hand.
“There you are, of course,” he said. “By God, I do like having a Dodd on my side again.”
He nodded at Carey who came over with a self-satisfied look on his face to help Dodd down from his narrow perch.
***
The Watch wandered away again with a couple of shillings each to help them forget all about the exciting events they had just missed and Hunsdon’s small war party went back in the direction of Somerset House. The local urchins, whores, and beggars were already gathered around the coach looting it for firewood, saleable bits of metal, cushions, and leather. By the morning it would probably be completely gone. Dodd allowed himself a satisfied smile. One to me, he thought.
“Your mother was furious when Mr. Enys brought the news,” Hunsdon said conversationally as Carey walked at his stirrup.
“Oh Jesu.”
Hunsdon was thoughtful. “Very sharp-tempered she is at the moment, my lady wife,” he rumbled. “Took a lot to stop her coming out with me along with her entire crew of Cornish cut-throats.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Carey with feeling.
“Don’t thank me, lad, I can’t have your mother loose in London in the temper she’s in. Richard Tregian is still…unaccounted for.”
Dodd heard the intake of breath from the lawyer whose horse was right behind him and gave the man a sharp look. Enys caught this and smiled a sickly smile.
Somerset House was ablaze with torches, intense activity on the boat-landing at the end of the gardens. Lady Hunsdon was standing in the doorway to the marbled hall, fists on her hips and two Cornishmen on either side of her with torches. She looked terrifying.
Carey stepped up to her swiftly and bowed. “Madam,” he began, but his mother stood on her tiptoes and boxed his ears violently.
“That’s for falling into a trap as clear as the nose on your face,” shouted Lady Hunsdon while Carey scuttled crabwise away from the backswing. “What were you using for brains, boy?”
“Mother!” he roared, ducking another blow. Lord Hunsdon had dismounted and was very busy thanking and dismissing his men, half of whom were trying not to grin.
Lady Hunsdon swung on Marlowe who was watching the scene between mother and son with a supercilious expression. “As for you, you goddamn sodomite, how dare you come into my lord’s house after what you…”
Carey had edged closer to his enraged mother, caught her elbow, and was whispering urgently into her ear. Lady Hunsdon listened and her jaw set.
“Is that a fact?” she sniffed, “Well, I’ll leave it for now if my son says you helped him, but you watch out, boy.” This was snarled at Marlowe. “If you try one of your games, I’ll have you. I don’t like you nor I don’t trust you.”
Marlowe bowed in his superior way. “Likewise, madame, I’m sure.”
Lady Hunsdon paused and like a witch shape-shifting was suddenly the haughty Court lady again. “Oh, very smart, aren’t we, young Mr. Marlowe, who spied for Walsingham all those years for money and a crumb of silence about his boy punks and now thinks Heneage and Topcliffe are his friends. Pah!”
She turned her back on him with the finality of an offended lioness and hooked her arm through Hunsdon’s.
“Mr. Bellamy, see to Mr. Marlowe and Mr. Enys, they will be our guests…” said Hunsdon.
Enys was pale again and came anxiously up to Hunsdon. “Sir, my lord, I…I must get back to my chambers in case…”
“Nobody is leaving Somerset House until the morning,” said Hunsdon flatly. “As for your chambers, Mr. Enys, I think you can assume that they will be ransacked tonight and there is nothing whatever you could do about it even if you were there. Best not to be there.”