The Parliament House

    'Look at the fellow,' said Sir Julius. 'He's full of himself.'

    'Give him the chance to make an apology,' suggested Polegate.

    'He can have it engraved on his tomb, Francis.'

    'There's still time to abandon this folly.'

    'I'd not even consider it.'

    Sir Julius turned round so that Polegate could help him off with his coat. Christopher was more interested in the people who had come into the garden with the earl. Like Sir Julius, he had brought a surgeon in case he sustained a wound but it was one of the seconds that made Christopher start. The man was wearing dark apparel and a wide-brimmed black hat pulled down over his face, but his gait was unmistakable. Incredible as it might seem, it was his brother, Henry. Christopher had never felt such a burning sense of betrayal. Knowing that Stoneleigh was under suspicion for instigating a murder, Henry was actually helping the man in his long-standing quarrel with Sir Julius Cheever. The sight of his brother sickened Christopher.

    'Let's get on with it,' said Sir Julius, impatiently.

    'Ready when you are,' called Stoneleigh with a grin.

    'Stand back.'

    Christopher and Polegate moved away so that Sir Julius could practise a few lunges in the air. The earl and his supporters gave him an ironic cheer. Christopher was relieved to see that his brother did not join in, but his outrage at Henry remained. The two men were eventually called to the mark and reminded of the strict rules that governed such a duel. They then separated and, on a signal, the bout started. Christopher glanced at his brother but Henry was still hiding beneath his hat, determined not to acknowledge him. Both of them watched the contest with interest.

    Sir Julius was the first to attack, circling his man before lungeing at him. Stoneleigh parried the stroke with ease and did exactly the same when his opponent slashed wildly at him. He was in no hurry to attack, content simply to use his superior footwork and his deft control of his blade to ward off any danger. Sir Julius's lunges grew ever more desperate and he was soon starting to pant. The earl, by contrast, was fit and nimble, showing a speed of movement that belied his age. Christopher could see that he was playing with Sir Julius, wearing him down before moving in for the kill. To show that he had the upper hand, Stoneleigh suddenly feinted, went down on one knee and thrust hard. Sir Julius's waistcoat was sliced open and some of the buttons tumbled on to the grass.

    There was laughter from the earl's friends but Sir Julius was not deterred and he was still strong. Breathing heavily, he continued to advance and lunge at his opponent. Christopher could hardly bear to look any more. When the earl parried a thrust and flicked his blade with precision, he drew a first spurt of blood from Sir Julius's wrist. Since it was from his sword arm, he was halted in his tracks for a few seconds, using his other hand to wipe away the blood. It was a moment when he was completely off guard but the earl did not seize his advantage. Instead, he raised his sword and stood back.

    'Hold there!' cried a voice. 'Stop - in the name of the law!'

    A strapping man in uniform was striding across the grass with six officers at his back. He made straight for Sir Julius, bringing the duel to an end by standing between him and the earl. The officers quickly surrounded Sir Julius and he was forced to surrender his weapon. The burly man produced a document from his pocket.

    'I am James Beck, sergeant-at-arms at the Tower,' he declared, 'and I have a warrant for the arrest of Sir Julius Cheever.'

    'On what charge?' asked Christopher.

    'If you arrest Sir Julius,' argued Polegate, you must surely take the earl into custody as well.'

    'No, sir,' said Beck.

    'Both are guilty of taking part in a duel.'

    'There's no mention of a duel in this warrant. Sir Julius is being arrested in compliance with a statute that was passed in reign of King Henry VII - to whit, that it is a felony for any to conspire the death of a Privy Councillor.'

    'Such as myself,' said the earl, hand to his chest.

    'I'll not be held on such a dubious warrant,' roared Sir Julius.

    'You have no choice,' said Beck. 'Seize the prisoner.'

    Before he could move, Sir Julius was grabbed by the officers and swiftly pinioned. He protested loudly but in vain. Christopher now understood why Stoneleigh had not tried to inflict a mortal wound on his opponent. The earl had obviously known that the interruption would come and that, as a Privy Councillor, he would be exempt from blame. The playwright had stage managed the whole event. Instead of killing his opponent, he was having him immured in the Tower.

    'What's the punishment for this offence?' said Christopher.

    'The decision lies with His Majesty,' replied Beck.

    'And what is the usual sentence?'

    'Death.'

    Christopher saw all the fight drain out of Sir Julius. Far from wreaking his revenge on a hated enemy, he would be hauled off to face the possibility of a death penalty that was legally enforced. The earl did not need to hire another assassin. Sir Julius Cheever could be dispatched with the aid of a long-forgotten Tudor statute. Beck gave a command and the prisoner was hustled off, much to the amusement of Stoneleigh and his supporters. Things had gone exactly to plan.

    Convinced that his friend was going off to certain execution, Francis Polegate was grief-stricken. Christopher was dumbstruck. The outcome could not have been worse had Sir Julius been killed in the duel. If he were sentenced to death, his family would bear the stigma forever. Christopher wondered what he could possibly say to Susan or to her sister and brother-in-law. They would hate him for what he had done. Dorothy Kitson, close friend to Sir Julius, would doubtless add her rebuke, and there would be political allies of Sir Julius to face as well. Christopher was jolted.

    Then he remembered that his brother had had a significant role to play that morning and been guilty of the most blatant treachery. Christopher swung round to confront him but to no avail.

    Henry Redmayne had vanished from the garden.

      When he entered the brewery, Jonathan Bale found the compound of smells quite overwhelming. He could not understand how anyone could work in such a hot, fetid, oppressive atmosphere. Shown into Erasmus Howletts office, he had a partial escape from the all-pervading odour. The brewer smiled.

    'One soon gets used to it,' he said.

    'I'm not sure that I would, Mr Howlett.'

    'What you think of as a noisome stink is really the pleasing aroma of money. I could inhale it all day.'

    'Well, I could not.'

    'Then it is as well you do not work in the leather trade or as a butcher, for they have to endure far worse stenches. However,' said Howlett, hands twitching throughout, 'you did not come here simply to catch a whiff of my beer.'

    'No, sir. I came out of courtesy.'

    'That's something in rather short supply these days.'

    'Since I questioned you earlier, I thought you would like to know that the man who shot Bernard Everett has been found.'

    'Congratulations, Mr Bale!'

    'Unfortunately, we did not take him alive.'

    He explained how they had tracked the killer to Smithfield then on to his lodging in Old Street. The brewer was fascinated to hear how they had caught up with the killer and he plied Bale with endless questions. He was particularly interested to hear of the contribution made by Christopher Redmayne.