Third, Hewson was a member of the Seven. He had been a regicide, like Barkstead, so it was certainly in his interests to see the King kept from the throne – as soon as Charles had been reinstated, Hewson had been condemned to death at a trial during his absence. He would have been terrified, and desperate to know what Kelyng had discovered about the Seven, so he had devised a plan to find out. He had been killed accidentally by Bennet, but had confided his real name to the man dispatched by Thurloe to retrieve a stolen satchel.
But how could Hewson have known that Chaloner was Thurloe’s man? Chaloner reflected, and saw the answer was obvious. Hewson would have guessed that Snow and Storey had been followed, and that it was an agent of Thurloe’s who grabbed the bag before it could be passed to Kelyng. But why had Hewson been taking the bag to Kelyng in the first place? The answer to that was obvious, too: Hewson had known there was nothing in it that could harm Thurloe. But that had another implication in its turn: it meant Hewson knew enough about Thurloe’s operations to make such an assumption, which led Chaloner to suspect that Thurloe had been aware of what Hewson was doing, too.
Chaloner thought about what had happened in Kelyng’s garden. The regicide had been confident and self-assured once the initial shock of being challenged had receded, and had known exactly what he was doing when he had whispered his last words. He had spoken his name, so Thurloe would know what had happened to him – a wise decision, since Kelyng had then burned the corpse to prevent identification – and ‘praise God’s one son’ had been another message. The more Chaloner pondered the phrase, the more certain he became that Thurloe knew what it meant. Should he ask him, or would that be dangerous?
Lastly, he considered the Seven. Barkstead and Hewson were dead, Livesay missing, and Thurloe and Dalton trying to stay one step ahead of Kelyng, although Dalton was crumbling under the strain. He thought about Lee’s parchment, and the ends of the words that had included reference to ‘seven’ and ‘praise God’. He smiled as something else became clear. The first few lines were the ends of names. He pulled the paper from his pocket and supplied the blanks:
e = Thurloe
d = Barkstead
y = Livesay
on = Hewson or Dalton
So, who were the last two? There had been a dozen executions since Charles’s coronation, so perhaps they were already dead, and Kelyng’s hunt was in vain. And perhaps ‘Swanson’ was sitting with his gold, enjoying the benefits of his betrayal. Did Thurloe have that sort of money? Chaloner supposed that if he did, he would be careful how he spent it. He was far too clever to make such an elementary mistake. And why had he sent Dalton to rescue Chaloner from Kelyng? Was it affection, as Dalton claimed? Chaloner did not think so. Thurloe had denied knowing about the Seven, and had virtually ordered Chaloner not to investigate Barkstead’s hoard. It had been self-preservation that had prompted Thurloe to arrange his old agent’s release, afraid he might have learned enough to be a liability. It was disappointing, but Chaloner supposed he should not be surprised that an ex-Spymaster still involved himself in plots and intrigues, despite his claims to the contrary.
There were no more answers, and the only thing of which Chaloner was certain was that he felt more vulnerable in London than he had ever done in Holland, an English spy in an enemy country. He stood and walked outside, watching Snow snap awake as he undid the door.
For some time, he had been aware of yells coming from the bailey, but since the open space was used for military drills, he had thought little of it. The hollering had faded, and there was now nothing but silence. It was deserted, too, without a person in sight. Chaloner started to walk across it, aiming for the gate. He was passing the White Tower when he heard an urgent shout. Wade was racing along the top of a nearby wall, gesticulating frantically, and when Chaloner followed the direction of his jabbing finger, he saw a pale brown shadow. Sonya was on the loose again.
Since the lion was between him and the barbican, Chaloner set off towards the Traitors’ Gate again, feeling uncomfortably exposed in the middle of such a large expanse of ground. He glanced behind him and saw he was not alone: Bennet was also out, sword drawn. Snow joined his colleague, and bellowed to catch the lion’s attention. Bennet then ran a few steps in Chaloner’s direction, urging Sonya to follow. Chaloner was puzzled, wondering what they intended to do.
‘Stop!’ yelled Wade in a hoarse scream. ‘Do not attract his attention. He has not been fed.’
Snow ignored him and broke into a sprint, while the lion trotted after him with its ears pricked, indicating it was interested. Meanwhile, Bennet circled behind it, shouting and slapping his sword on his boot. Gradually, both men and the lion came closer to Chaloner, who was walking steadily towards the gate, fighting the impulse to run. He glanced behind him and saw the lion veer to one side, but Bennet immediately drove it back on its original course. Chaloner tried to move faster.
Meanwhile, Wade was still atop the wall. He bent across it, exhorting them to leave Sonya’s capture to the keeper, who knew what he was doing. It had not occurred to him that Bennet and Snow were deliberately driving the beast towards a victim. When they failed to acknowledge him, he leaned out farther. Suddenly his legs flew up behind him and he cartwheeled to the ground. He landed so close to Chaloner that one of his flailing hands clipped the agent’s shoulder. When Chaloner glanced up at the wall-walk, he caught a glimpse of someone running away. Keeping a wary eye on the lion, he crouched next to Wade, although he could see there was nothing he could do: it had been a long drop and Wade had fallen awkwardly. Wade muttered something, then lay still.
‘God’s blood!’ exclaimed Snow, gazing upwards. ‘Did you see that? It was– Hey! Watch it!’
Sonya had swiped at him, and its claws were caught in his coat. The lion struggled to free itself, and Snow staggered away. Bennet raced forward and poked the animal with his sword, forcing Sonya away from Snow and towards Chaloner again. His face wore a triumphant grin.
‘This is not wise,’ called Chaloner. They were now in an elongated enclosure, with the Bloody Tower at one end, and Bennet, Snow and the lion at the other. Chaloner was in the middle. The gate through which he had escaped with Evett was blocked with a portcullis, presumably to confine Sonya to the bailey. ‘It is just as likely to attack you as me.’
‘But we have swords,’ Bennet pointed out. ‘And we know how to handle Sonya.’
‘Kelyng will not be pleased,’ warned Chaloner. ‘First, he has asked me to investigate something for him; and second, I do not think he would approve of you maltreating an animal.’
‘Kelyng is no longer important,’ said Bennet tautly. ‘He hunts the King’s enemies, but wants them tried in a court of law, when it is better to kill them. He has lost his way, but I have not. Besides, this beast escapes all the time, and it is unfortunate you will be savaged before it can be recaptured.’