They had reached Oxford city gate after it opened and joined the queue of farmer’s wives laden with produce to sell, some nasty covert looks from them as well. Dodd was comfortable on the bare back of the mare he had part-ridden from London, bandages round his feet, Harry Hunks’ large buffcoat making him a bit more respectable and his recovered hat on his head. And he had his sword at his side and his own boots in the cart next to Kat.
He didn’t dismount to talk to the sheriff’s man at the gate, noticing a couple of the Queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners of the Guard behind him. He did strain his Adam’s apple to talk Southern.
“Ay’ve the baggage train sent up from London by may lord Baron Hunsdon that wis waylaid by sturdy beggars. These men helped me get it back.”
“And you are?”
The goats at the back being led by the youngest man, rightly suspecting something was up, started making a racket and trying to escape. The gateman was eyeing him with distaste.
“And you are?” he repeated.
Dodd drew himself up to his full height and glared down at the man. He knew the black eye and bruising that flowered green and yellow on his face and nose were hardly helping him but why should he care?
“Ma name is…” he started, then caught himself. “Ach…Mr. Colin Elliot, Sir Robert Carey’s man.”
Now that got a reaction. The gateman turned and shouted at one of the lads quietly collecting weapons from the men wanting to come into the town. The boy touched his forehead and pelted off and Dodd and his party were waved aside into the space by the gatehouse, where another merchant was protesting about paying so much tax.
Dodd sat back and tried not to doze. It was hard work being a captain, that was sure, especially when you had no wife to threaten people with. And his belly was rumbling too-when was the last time he had a decent meal, he wondered. Saturday?
There was a stir and a shout: Carey was riding through the crowds at a trot, followed by four mounted liverymen of his father’s, his face full of delight. Dodd was appalled to find that he was glad to see the courtier too, so he scowled and his mouth turned down with the effort of not smiling back.
“By God!” shouted Carey, “Mr. Elliot, I’m very happy to see you at last. That wicked man Dodd is safely locked up in the town jail. Now is that the baggage train my brother so carelessly lost?”
“Ay, sir, I think it is, there’s a bit left o’the supplies.”
“Do you know who took it?”
Dodd was trying to communicate urgently without words. Carey’s eyes passed over the men behind him who were looking self-conscious.
“Nay sir, but these lads helped me…ehm…get the supplies back.”
Eyebrows up, a look of perfect comprehension on Carey’s face.
“Spendid, splendid! My lord father’s in Trinity College and my brother will be very happy to hear that at least some of the train is here. Do you know what happened to the carters bringing it?”
“Ah think they went back tae London, I dinna think they was killed.”
“That’s a relief. Perhaps they’ll turn up again at Somerset House. Now then, gentlemen, I think I recognise some of you from France.”
Dodd made a few introductions, ending with the Spaniard who swept off his hat in an accomplished Court bow. “Don Jeronimo de la Quadra de Jimena,” he said.
Dodd hadn’t often seen Carey do a double take. “Indeed?” he said, responding with a fractionally shallower bow. “The musician?”
Something in Jeronimo’s lean weary face settled and hardened. “Si, Senor,” he said, “El musico.”
“Ehm…” Dodd put in with a clearing of his throat. With great reluctance he slid down from his horse and hobbled into a corner of the yard, beckoning Carey to follow him.
“What happened to your feet, Sergeant?” Carey asked, looking at the rags Dodd had wrapped around them.
“Ah’ll tell y the whole of it over a meal, sir, but first I want ye tae arrest Don Jeronimo and keep him safe.”
“Why?”
“He’s asked for a meeting wi’ the Queen…”
“He has?”
“And he says she’ll grant it.”
Carey’s eyes narrowed and he took breath to shout an order. “Take him quietly,” Dodd put in, “so the lads arenae upset by it.”
Both of them moved toward where Jeronimo was waiting, his back set against the guardhouse wall, eyes hooded.
“He helped me for nae reason but that he wanted tae talk to ye. I think he was the one convinced Captain Leigh to come this way in the first place and I seen him at the inn the night before the bastards took me and robbed me in the forest.”
“Of course they’re the sturdy beggars who have been making the Oxford road so dangerous.”
“Ay, sir, I wis careless and they had me easy an’ ma suit and horse and ma boots and sword. They’re wanting their pay fra the Earl of Essex and had nae ither way of making a living. I cannae say I wouldna do the like in their place, though I’d do it better, I hope.” He vaulted back onto the mare to save his feet again and scowled at them.
Back with the little knot of worried looking men, Carey went over to Jeronimo, leaning on his wall, and made himself extremely affable, speaking French to the man. That was ama-zing, in Dodd’s opinion, how Carey could suddenly switch into speaking foreign, easy as you like. Mind, when you looked at Jeronimo carefully, you could see he was hollow-eyed and often drank his medicine now. Perhaps it was true he had a canker.
They walked their horses together up a street with a roof over it that was high enough so they didn’t need to dismount. They were tactfully escorted by Hunsdon’s liverymen, to Trinity College whatever that was, tucked away on the other side of a wide street that must be taking the place of a moat for opposite was the patched and pierced old northern wall of the city. Oxford was an interesting place, full of huge archways and pictures made of canvas and behind them were good sturdy houses and a number of places that looked like monasteries with high walls and gatehouses like mansions. Quite defensible, for a wonder. However, now that he’d seen London, Dodd wasn’t easily impressed.
As they went past the gate into the courtyard, Carey spoke quietly to the porter and Dodd heard the sound of the gate they had come through being locked and barred. Jeronimo looked up at him. “Do not arrest me when the men can see,” he said quietly. “Wait, settle them. I give you and Don Roberto my parole that I will not try escape until I have seen the Queen.”
The business was done quickly. The other men were shown into the college hall to eat a late breakfast from the remains left by Hunsdon’s servants. Jeronimo waited as four large liverymen appeared and surrounded him.
He deftly unbuckled his swordbelt one-handed and handed it to Dodd who took it grimly.
“I surrender to you, Senor Dodd,” he said. “I ask only that I may speak to the Queen.”
“With all due respect, Don Jeronimo,” Carey said, “I don’t think she will agree.”
“She will, Senor,” said Jeronimo, reaching with his only hand into his doublet pocket and taking out something quite small, wrapped in old linen. Carey took it and opened it. Dodd could just glimpse it was a richly embroidered woman’s kid glove, badly stained with brown and with one of the fingers cut off. He could also see the breath stop in Carey’s throat as he took it.
Carey’s eyes were a bright cold blue as he stared straight at Jeronimo for a long silent minute.
Jeronimo inclined his head. “If you give her that, Senor, she will see me. If you do not…” He shrugged elaborately. “I will die soon in any case and then she will never…know something she has wanted to know for many years.” He smiled gently, his dark hawk of a face as arrogant as Carey’s. “In the end, it will not matter, all will be as God decides.”
Carey tucked the little package into his own doublet pocket, holding the Spaniard’s gaze for another minute, something unseen in the air between them. Then Carey turned and issued a blizzard of orders.