‘This is my house,’ Josselin said, grimly. ‘I didn’t invite them, nor did my mother. They invited themselves.’
‘Arlington ordered them.’ I seized his collar. ‘Some of these men had wives and children,’ I said. ‘Do you not care?’
He placed a hand on my arm and gazed at me, brow furrowed and eyes moist. ‘More soldiers will arrive soon.’
I pushed him away. ‘Do you not understand what Arlington will do to your mother and betrothed? Have you no idea?’
‘He’ll do nothing to them,’ Josselin answered. He slipped back
into the shadows and headed in the direction of Leadenhall. ‘I will find him tonight and smite him down.’
‘Wait!’ I called after him.
‘Talk as we walk,’ Josselin replied, tossing me the bottle he held in his hand. ‘That is the only bottle I did not poison. Drink.’
He laughed loud as I held it at arm’s length between two fingers. ‘Tell me who killed Berkshire, and tell me about this letter. Give me something I can use.’
‘Tut-tut!’ he exclaimed.
I tugged at his coat, trying to slow him down as he hurried south, down Lime Street. ‘We went to Clarendon on your behalf. We rescued you from Thomas Elks.’
I heard footsteps and turned to see Dowling running behind, stumbling from foot to foot in strange gait, blowing hard.
‘You did that for yourselves,’ Josselin replied, following my gaze. ‘I am not responsible for your poor souls.’
Dowling caught up with us, red-faced, sweat soaking his chest. As we crossed Fenchurch Street, the wind caught me in a sudden gust, nearly knocking me off my feet.
‘What news?’ he panted, watching Josselin.
‘He just poisoned half a garrison.’
Dowling stared at Josselin’s back, like he would tear him apart. ‘Then we should seize him now. Hand him over to Arlington.’
It would be easy enough to attract the attention of spies and soldiers, I reflected.
Josselin laughed. ‘Arlington will thank you with the promise of an earldom then kill you for what you know.’ He stopped at the top of Red Rose Lane. ‘You are welcome to join me, gentlemen, for I think we are in the same predicament.’
Dowling hesitated.
‘There are no spies here,’ said Josselin. ‘They walk along Eastcheap or Thames Street, peer in, then keep walking. I have my own little place to stay.’
‘They will come after you,’ I said.
‘They will search, but not down here.’ He looked about quickly then slipped into the gloom. He led us halfway down the dark narrow street and stopped outside a crooked door. ‘Welcome to the house of Farynor.’
He pushed open the door and hurried us over the threshold. A low, squat oven sat to the left of the main fireplace. A bigger oven with smaller mouth sat to the right of it, burning low.
‘Where is Farynor?’ growled Dowling.
‘Upstairs.’ Josselin jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. ‘Farynor, his son and daughter. I will release them when I leave.’ He sat down, threw his legs forward and stretched out his arms. ‘Go see them if you wish.’
I stepped cautiously towards the narrow, winding staircase, wary in case he changed his mind, but he just watched, hands rested upon his belly, eyes half lidded. Dowling shuffled forwards, positioning his great bulk between Josselin and the stairs.
The staircase was narrow, wood-warped and twisted. Every board squeaked as I climbed, but upstairs was silent. An open door led to a square room overlooking the alley below. Three sets of eyes watched. A boy and girl huddled either side of a lean fellow with sculpted arms. All three chewed on gags. Their arms were tied behind their back, legs bound with rope, the skin about their ankles red and raw. I thought to pull the gags from their mouths, but to what end? Our need for refuge was equal to Josselin’s. I waved a hand and nodded my head in an assuring manner before returning downstairs.
Josselin still slumped in his chair. I stared at his long face, angular and chiselled. His lips were red and seemed to smile. Black hair fell across his forehead and cheeks.
‘What’s up there?’ Dowling demanded.
‘The Farynors,’ I replied. ‘Bound with rope.’
Dowling glowered at Josselin.
‘I haven’t hurt them,’ Josselin protested, pulling himself up straight. ‘I don’t hurt people.’ Which was a great lie. ‘But I need somewhere to hide from Arlington. I cannot hide with friends, nor seek lodgings with strangers. Is that not apparent?’
‘When were they last fed?’ Dowling demanded.
‘Fed and watered this morning,’ Josselin replied. ‘There is dried beef and ale in the kitchen. Feel free to tend to them if you’re worried. By all means remove their gags and attempt to have a conversation.’
Dowling strode to the kitchen to fetch provisions, then stomped loudly up the stairs.
‘They are not very interesting people,’ Josselin whispered. ‘But then neither is your friend. He is so terribly serious.’
‘What now, Josselin?’
‘We wait a few hours,’ he said. ‘The soldiers will swarm to Aldgate and I’ll catch a boat from the bridge to Whitehall.’
A precarious plan at best.
‘Arlington said he doesn’t want to meet you,’ I told him.
Josselin closed his eyes. ‘He will change his mind.’
‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked.
He looked up, surprised. ‘Clarendon told you that?’
‘One of his men. A strange man who insisted on touching me. He said he was a colleague of yours.’
‘Thomas Villiers,’ Josselin smiled. ‘You met Villiers.’
‘Why did you pass Arlington’s second letter to De Buat?’ I asked again.
He stared at the wall. ‘And while they abode in Galilee, Jesus said unto them, The Son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men.’
Did he compare himself to Jesus Christ?
‘Arlington destroyed any chance of peace,’ said Josselin. ‘The man is a beast and he knows I know it. Now I see he cannot harm me, even if he doesn’t recognise it yet.’
‘If he doesn’t recognise it, he will kill you.’
Cold vengeance clouded his eyes. ‘He will not get the chance.’
‘Nor will you,’ Dowling called, clumping down the stairs. ‘I think someone else betrayed you today. Two men just walked past in a hurry, peering through the window.’
Josselin jumped to his feet and hurried to the door. ‘God’s teeth,’ he muttered. ‘How did they find me?’
I shuffled uncomfortably. Our skills were less well developed than his. It was most likely we were followed, not he. The same thought must have occurred to him, for he turned to me with burning cheeks and jabbed a finger in the direction of the street. ‘Go and see what is happening.’
I opened my mouth then closed it again, for his eyes burnt too bright. I stepped to the door and opened it a crack. The street was empty. I opened it a little wider and stepped outside. The wind blew a gale down the narrow passage, pushing my breeches tight against my thighs. A small child stood to my left, face covered in dirt and mucus. His mother dashed out, grabbed him by the neck and was gone.
I held up a hand to protect my eyes from the savage dust, peering towards Thames Street. Four soldiers blocked the passage out. I stepped back quickly before they saw me and hurried up the hill until
I reached the turn into Eastcheap. More soldiers. I returned to the house, relieved to be out of the gale.
‘Why are there soldiers waiting at each end of the lane?’ I slammed the door closed. ‘Why do they not simply come down and fetch you?’
Josselin kicked the chair on which he had lounged so casually. ‘They will,’ he said, ‘after nightfall. If they come during the day they run the risk of inciting a riot.’
He paced the small room, as if scouring the emptiness for some magical instrument. With one eye he watched the sliver of sky visible betwixt the house tops. With the other he kept an eye on the baker’s oven, occasionally stirring from his stair to throw another log upon the fire. For what reason I couldn’t fathom, but by the time two hours passed, he stoked a blazing fire, into which he stared with gleaming dark eyes.