I nodded.
‘And how do I know it’s not yours?’ he asked.
‘You could see which one of us is carrying powder and shot,’ I suggested.
He gave the order and the Italian and I were searched. From a pouch still slung round Il Ombra’s neck one of the soldiers produced a powder horn and a handful of lead pellets.
‘Right,’ said the captain, ‘I’m not going to sort all this out. I’m taking you to the guard room.’
‘Of course,’ I said, getting painfully to my feet. ‘But you should know that I was on my way to an appointment with Lord Cromwell. This rogue was determined to stop me. It might be in your interest to inform His Lordship that you have taken me into custody.’
We made our way back to the palace. The captain led, followed by Il Ombra slung over one of the horses, then me on Golding and the other king’s men, one on foot. We were taken straight to the guard room where I was placed for safe keeping in the captain’s own quarters. The Italian was laid on a pallet in one of the cells and a physician was called to examine him. I was glad to lie down on the truckle bed and ease my sore, pummelled body. I was bruised and aching all over and my limbs trembled uncontrollably. It was some time before I was able to think clearly about the afternoon’s events. Then I remembered Ned’s warning about Hugh Seagrave. He had been right. Nathaniel’s brother had plotted my death and, despite his father’s supposed falling out with Doggett, had managed to secure the service of Il Ombra. Did that mean that he had also been responsible for the attack at Hampstead? Had I been wrong to blame John Incent? I was still exploring these disjointed thoughts when I fell into an exhausted sleep.
I was woken by one of the king’s guard. ‘Up you get,’ he said. ‘Lord Cromwell has sent for you.’
‘Gone six of the clock,’ the man replied. ‘You’d better smarten up.’ He indicated a towel and a bowl of water on the table.
I looked at my image in a small square of polished tin hanging beside the door. My face was streaked with blood and grime and fronds of grass still stuck to my hair. I cleaned myself as best as I could and brushed most of the dirt from my clothes. When I asked for my bonnet the soldier shrugged and shook his head. I realised I must have lost it in the fight. When I had done the best I could to make myself presentable, I signalled my guardian that I was ready to be escorted to Master Secretary’s quarters. Many were the curious looks I attracted as I was marched through the palace but when we reached Cromwell’s antechamber the room was empty apart from the halberdier standing guard. After a word from my escort the inner door was opened for me.
Cromwell was standing before the fire, reading a book by the light of a lamp hanging from a high bracket. He set the volume aside as I made my obeisance. ‘Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, you seem to have a positive genius for getting into trouble,’ he said, seating himself and motioning me to a chair on the other side of the hearth.
‘’Twas none of my doing,’ I protested. ‘The villainous Seagraves — ’
‘Yes, yes,’ he interrupted. ‘We’ll come to that in a moment. First, I want to continue our earlier discussion. We were talking about Gabriel Donne. Have you met him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you familiar with the family?’
‘I know his father and uncle by sight. They are leading members of the Grocers’ Company but I have never had any dealings with them.’
‘Very well and there’s nothing more you can tell me about Robert’s last trip to the Netherlands?’
I considered the question carefully before replying. ‘No, My Lord. I believe he carried out his commission faithfully and was bitterly disappointed that it did not succeed in achieving Tyndale’s release. If there was any other reason for his murder perhaps you will discover it by interrogating Il Ombra.’
Cromwell’s eyebrows rose slightly at mention of the name. ‘Are you sure about the identity of this assailant? How is that?’
‘After my conversation with Doggett, it was not very difficult to recognise the man employed by the Seagraves in their trap. A foreigner, expert in the very latest firearm technology — it had to be Il Ombra.’
‘Then your quest is ended,’ Cromwell observed quietly.
‘Almost, My Lord. Only two things now remain.’
‘And they are?’
‘To see justice done upon the assassin and to have his paymasters unmasked.’
Cromwell tapped his nose thoughtfully with the small book he was carrying. ‘As to the first, I can satisfy you immediately: Il Ombra is dead.’
I was stunned by the news. ‘Dead? But his injuries did not seem… I was sure I had not killed him… Does this mean I’m to be charged…’
He looked at me with a quizzical, cynical smile. ‘You? Charged? What with?’ The smile vanished to be replaced by a concentrated stare. ‘Whatever occurred here this afternoon did not involve you.’
My obvious bewilderment must have appeared comical, for Cromwell laughed. ‘Let me describe to you the unfortunate incident that occurred at Greenwich on the Feast of St Stephen in this year of our Lord, 1536. Princes, as you know, always have to be on their guard against assassination attempts. Regrettably, there are always madmen, fanatics and agents of foreign powers whose twisted thinking convinces them that the violent removal of a head of state will make the world a better place. Our gracious sovereign lord is no less a potential target than other kings and, like other kings, takes careful precautions for the safety of his person, especially in these troubled days. The palace grounds here are kept under constant surveillance by royal guards. This afternoon such a patrol came upon an armed desperado, skulking in the woods not far from where His Majesty was hunting. When challenged, this villain discharged his firearm at the king’s men. There was a struggle in which the evil interloper was killed. The king was saved. The executioner was spared a job. All in all, a satisfactory outcome, would you not agree?’
I sat back with a gasp. ‘This is what the king believes?’
‘This is what the king wishes to believe and it is, therefore, true. Were the story any more complicated it might give rise to speculation, and, in politics, speculation should whenever possible be avoided. Such incidents as this have to be dealt with swiftly and decisively. Then no awkward questions can be asked.’
I felt… well, truly, I know not what I felt — outrage, relief, disappointment, distaste. I could only stare gloomily into the fire. ‘Doubtless, that story will please the Seagraves,’ I muttered.
‘Ah, the Seagraves.’ Cromwell nodded. ‘I suppose you would like to see them dragged into the law courts and made to pay for their murderous attempts on your life.’
‘I would like to see justice done, My Lord. I am a simple man and I hold to the simple man’s conviction that law and justice bind a kingdom together. Without them…’ I shrugged.
‘Without them,’ Cromwell said, in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘we have politics. It may not be as stout a cord as law and justice but when it is all we have, we would be wrong not to use it. Take the Seagraves, for example. A trial would have brought numerous facts to light that many people, perhaps including yourself but certainly including the king, would prefer to keep hidden. As it is, Sir Harry and his brainless son are now tight fastened by political shackles. They know that I have information against them that I can use at any time. Should they ever behave in a way harmful to His Majesty and the realm my sword of Damocles will fall.’
‘They are close to the Duke of Norfolk, are they not?’
Cromwell looked up sharply. ‘Why do you say so?’
‘The brainless son boasted of it this afternoon and told me many things because he was sure I would not live to repeat his indiscretions.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘He warned me not to become too closely involved with Your Lordship. He hinted that one day you would fall and that then the duke and his supporters would take control.’