The Earl grimaced. ‘You are spiteful and vindictive, but that was not what I meant. A man cannot believe everything he reads, and I do not see why Livesay should trust you to accommodate him. You arrested three of his fellow regicides, and consigned them to a dreadful death. I am simply not convinced that Livesay would choose you as a means to help him.’
Downing was horrified. ‘But it is true, My Lord, and if you ignore my warning, the King will be in grave danger. Then it will be you enduring a dreadful death – for treason.’
Clarendon’s eyes glittered. ‘Watch what you say – it is not wise to clamour treason against the King’s chief advisor. But I shall keep this letter and consider its claims. You may leave.’
‘Leave?’ spluttered Downing. ‘Is that all you have to say? I risked a great deal to bring you this information. For all his shorn powers, Thurloe still has claws, and I have just been obliged to stab his favourite spy. My life will be in danger if you allow him to remain free.’
Clarendon regarded him in distaste. ‘You killed a man?’
‘On my way to see you. It is only a matter of time before Thurloe learns that Chaloner’s nephew and I left North’s house together, and within moments one of us was dead. He will guess what happened, and I do not want him coming after me with one of his damned fireballs.’
‘You killed Thomas Chaloner?’ asked Clarendon, aghast. ‘Then you are in trouble indeed. He was working for me.’
‘He never left Thurloe,’ said Downing, unable to keep the contempt from his voice. ‘What did you ask him to do? I will wager anything he did not succeed – not because he could not, but because it is in Thurloe’s interests to thwart everything the King’s ministers do.’
The Earl waved the satchel, and there was no mistaking his fury. ‘You are wrong. I asked him to locate a missing seven thousand pounds and, just moments ago, I received this.’ He groped inside the bag and produced a block of gleaming yellow metal. ‘It is part of a hoard I ordered him to find, and Buckingham tells me it is worth a thousand pounds. Chaloner wrote to say he is hot on the trail of the other six, and now you have killed him?’
Downing gazed at the gold bar in horror. ‘My Lord! I did not know–’
‘You know nothing,’ snarled Clarendon, white-faced with rage. ‘You come with tales of treachery, but offer no evidence to back them up, and now you kill a man who was about to provide the King with a fortune. And you call me a traitor? I should have your head for this!’
‘But Chaloner’s uncle was–’
‘His uncle’s crimes are not his own, and he has demonstrated his allegiance to the King with this gift. It represents a good deal of money to a penniless spy, and he could have made off with it. But he chose to be honest. I need men like him and I do not need men like you. You are dismissed.’
Downing was livid. ‘I know a lot about this Court. Do not make an enemy of me.’
The Earl looked bored, and waved a hand to indicate Downing should go. There was no more to be said, so the diplomat turned and stalked out, almost knocking Evett from his feet as he did so. The captain had obviously been waiting outside, listening.
Chaloner tried to assemble his tumbling thoughts, recognising the satchel as the one Kelyng had tried to steal from Thurloe. But how had Thurloe come by a bar of gold? There could not be many such items in existence, and he could only assume – as the Earl had done – that it was one of the seven that had been paid to Praisegod. Did this mean Thurloe had taken it after Barkstead had killed Praisegod and buried his body in the Tower? But why would he send it to the Lord Chancellor? Chaloner was so engrossed in trying to see sense that he almost did not notice what was happening in the undercroft, not registering the fact that Evett had locked the door and drawn his sword.
‘That ingot, sir,’ he said, moving towards the Earl. ‘Where did Chaloner find it?’
‘He did not say,’ said Clarendon. ‘Damn that meddling Downing!’
‘He must have said something,’ said Evett, continuing his advance.
‘Just that he hoped to find the others. What are you–?’
‘That gold does not belong to you,’ said Evett, gripping his sword in readiness for a lunge. ‘It belongs to another man, and I intend to take it to him. Stand still, or your end will be a painful one.’
Chaloner eliminated the chaos of questions from his mind, and concentrated on the situation that was unravelling in front of him: the Lord Chancellor backed against the wall, his face a combination of alarm and disbelief, and Evett with a sword in one hand, and a long knife in the other. Chaloner had a single dagger. He leaned down and removed it from his boot, then stepped from behind the benches and took aim. Unfortunately, it flew from his hand at the same time that the Earl lashed out with the satchel, and when Evett ducked away from the bag, the dagger embedded itself in the wall behind him. The captain gaped in astonishment.
‘I thought you were dead!’ cried the Earl, equally startled. ‘Downing just said–’
‘Downing is a poor judge of corpses.’ Chaloner backed away, as Evett, seeing he carried no sword, prepared to make an end of the threat he represented.
Clarendon bustled forward. ‘I do not know what game you two are playing, with drawn weapons and tales of false deaths, but I do not like it. Have you lost your senses?’
Evett swung around so fast that the Earl jerked backwards and almost fell. ‘I have gained them, My Lord Chancellor!’ he spat. ‘I have been in your service for ten years, and what am I? An aide! A servant, dispatched to hunt murderers like a parish constable. I thought my future lay with you, but I was wrong. It is time I took matters into my own hands.’
‘Who has been filling your mind with this nonsense, Philip?’ demanded Clarendon impatiently. ‘Sheath your sword, and let us talk. What do you want? A larger salary? A different title?’
Evett’s eyes glittered. ‘Even now you do not understand. I want to be Lord High Admiral.’
‘Do you?’ asked the Earl, amazed. ‘I thought you were jesting! I often claim that I would like to be Archbishop of Canterbury – to sort out the Church – but I do not actually mean it.’
‘Well, I do,’ said Evett, while Chaloner assessed his chances of reaching the door before the captain speared him. They were slim. ‘But it does not matter what you think. I have met a man who appreciates my talents, and who will help me to greater things. Ironically, I met him through the Brotherhood – the organisation you made me join when you tried to turn me from soldier to spy.’
‘The Brotherhood?’ asked Clarendon, bewildered. ‘It corrupted you?’
‘It opened my eyes,’ corrected Evett.
‘Enough!’ snapped the Earl, his confusion giving way to anger at last. ‘Put down that weapon immediately, before someone is hurt.’
‘Someone will be hurt, all right,’ muttered Evett. ‘But it will not be me.’
‘It might,’ said Chaloner, taking several steps away as Evett advanced on him. The captain was wisely concentrating on the opponent he considered the more dangerous. ‘There are two of us.’
‘An old man and an unarmed spy,’ sneered Evett. ‘Against a soldier.’
‘A soldier who has never seen a battle,’ countered Chaloner, trying to undermine his confidence. ‘And one who is frightened of the pheasants in Hyde Park with their “nasty, slashing beaks”.’
‘You are the coward,’ snarled Evett. ‘I sensed, the day we met, that you would be a nuisance, so I tried to entice you down an alley where my soldiers were waiting. But you were afraid of the dark and refused to follow.’