“It’s been a pleasure,” said Pickering’s voice from the kitchen door, “’av a good journey norf now, Sar’nt.”
Dodd nodded, took his hat off to Pickering, and was interested to see Pickering lifting his statute cap in return. Gabriel had already opened the courtyard gate.
Dodd came out of the gate with his remount trotting behind him, turned right to head west along Upper Ground to the horse-ferry for Westminster where he could pick up the Edgeware Road that led to Oxford. There was no point trying to cross London Bridge before the dawn broke when they would open the gates on the north side, and there was another hour to go at least.
Behind him he could now hear the outraged bawling of the new baby which was one of the happiest sounds in the world, he thought, even if it wasn’t his. That ball of rage had been cleared from his stomach by arranging for the blowing up one of Heneage’s houses, the burning and raiding of another, and reiving two good horses from him. Who knew what the court case might bring or what Sir Robert Cecil might do? So he laughed out loud, put his heels in, and cantered west along the south bank of the Thames, past the round wooden structure of the bear baiting and the scaffolding around another round building that was going up right next to it. Londoners were always building something new.
Behind him the sun rose.