Andrew said, ‘Your horse is a miserable bags of bones, Harold, and about as uncomfortable to ride as a lame donkey. You may have it back. But I am, of course, enchanted to find you at home. It would certainly have been far more wearisome if forced to sail to Venice just to have the pleasure of speaking with you.’
Throckmorton’s face flushed the same shade as his hair and doublet. ‘You! That is, I’m exceedingly pleased to have the opportunity to … explain. But Feayton, indeed, not knowing where you live – a matter you have always kept so unnecessarily secretive. But now unfortunately I am in a great hurry, sir, and must leave at once. Perhaps another time?’
‘Oh, I think now will do very well,’ smiled Andrew. ‘I’m sure your appointment can wait. No doubt Marrott’s men will manage to keep their swords in their scabbards a little longer.’ He stood blocking Throckmorton’s way out.
The baron snatched off his hat and flounced back to the small solar, Andrew at his heels. ‘A few minutes, sir, if you must,’ Throckmorton said. ‘The fact is, I had every intention of escaping the country and was most obliged to you for arranging it for me. I was on board speaking to the captain, and on the point of handing over the price of my fare, when the ship was boarded. I was not pleased, as you can imagine. In fact, the captain was furious. But four armed men, very large men, took hold of me. Loudly asserting I was a criminal wanted by the king’s men – terrible lies they told the captain – they dragged me off to a horrid little rowing boat they had waiting in the water below. I was taken to shore, and forced to ride back to London in their company.’
‘And then?’ Andrew smiled. He was standing, the closed door solid behind him.
The baron paused, eyeing the unreachable door. ‘Very well, I shall tell you. They threatened me, of course. Marrott’s men, as I’m sure you guessed, sir. They’ve instructed me to renew their – supplies – as previously required. Naturally I’ve promised to do so, though the next shipment will not come until after Easter. The Venetian galley – April perhaps if the weather turns fair – and then –’
‘My dear Harold,’ Andrew said, ‘I am not at all in the mood for games. When did you deliver the arsenic, how did you get it and who took possession of it?’
Throckmorton blanched. ‘No one – not yet – I have none to sell, my lord. My agent informed me weeks ago that you took the last packet yourself, and I know full well you did not deliver a single grain of it. The subsequent packet, well, you squandered it, sir, throwing it into the river. You told me so yourself. Where would I have found any other supply? You are unjust, my lord.’
‘Invariably, it seems.’ Andrew remained a moment looking down at the baron. Then he smiled. ‘Very well, Harold. I choose to believe you. But one warning, before I go.’ Throckmorton stood at once, preparing to hurry out. Andrew turned slowly and opened the door, moving aside to leave the doorway free. ‘Just this,’ he raised a finger. ‘You should know that the poison you’ve been ordered to deliver to Marrott’s agent is to be used for just one purpose. You may have already guessed, you may know full well or you may have no idea. Indeed, you probably do not care. But it’s the king’s death they plan, and although your family were once Lancastrians, will you now risk the cost of high treason? Think about it, Harold, before you persist on this course.’
Throckmorton marched past him, heading quickly for the main doors. ‘I’ve no interest in this vain and paltry king,’ he muttered, pulling his hat back over his ears. ‘He’s the traitor, since he usurped the crown from the true monarch more than twenty years ago. So, now let him pay with his own miserable life. It’s nothing to me.’
Andrew stood within the corridor shadows, his suspicions answered as he watched the baron hurry out into daylight. Then he left the house and strode quickly in the opposite direction.
The heavy rain persisted. It also served him well. He doubled back to the corner of Bradstrete, and nodded quickly to the sodden figure waiting there. Casper hurried over. ‘All done, sir?’ Receiving no answer, he grinned, and proceeded to follow Mister Cobham, trotting several paces behind.
Both men walked briskly, first to the junction of Cornhill, and then into The Poultry towards the great conduit. Andrew immediately headed due west but Casper hovered at the stocks, as if waiting for someone. When a horse appeared at a slow and desultory plod, its hooves splashing through the deepening puddles, Casper followed it at a distance. The horseman did not ride west through The Poultry, but made a dejected path south past the Walbrook and into the narrow lanes around Bucklesbury and Penrith. The weather and its own disinclination kept the horse’s pace slow, and Casper, slouching close to the shadowed walls, kept easily within sight.
It was at Sopars Lane that Nat took over. As Nat then trailed the horseman, Casper moved further south into Watling Street. From there he hurried into a dry but temporary seclusion within St Paul’s.
The shops were shutting, for no one braved the storm-sluiced streets. As the shopkeepers raised their counters and padlocked their shutters, so the city emptied. No wind interrupted the pounding rain but sudden lightning fizzled, almost hidden behind the clouds as the thunder rolled.
Andrew meanwhile, his grand velvets soaked and his boots leaking, neared the Ludgate.
Lounging against the old wall just before the gate, a man in a well-oiled cape was waiting. And here, out of sight of the gatekeeper who was keeping his bones as warm and dry as he might, the horseman emerged from the lanes south of the cathedral. As he aimed for the way out of the city, the solitary waiting man stood forwards, as if expecting him. They were immediately joined by another man, previously hidden beneath the shadows of the gate. The two men on foot quickly converged on the horseman, but within cover of rain were as yet unnoticed. The horseman slouched in the saddle, peering around under the brim of his hat. He seemed nervous. His horse, its neck bent low, was clearly unwilling to travel any further from its warm stable.
As the two waiting men moved into position, so someone else appeared briskly from the small lanes and the deepening shadows. He was massive-shouldered and very tall, with hands like carved marble slabs. It seemed he had also been waiting, and as the other two men moved, so did he. Rivulets of water drained from his cloak into his boots. And behind him, up Bower Row, loped Nat. They came together within sight of the London wall. Disguised by rain, each figure knew his own intentions, but only one seemed immediately aware of the others.
As Andrew strode down Ave Maria Alley, he saw what he had long expected. The attack came almost at once.
The two men waiting near the Ludgate came running. Their long knives caught a sudden crack of lightning and lit silver. The horseman turned, startled, cried, ‘Ambush!’ And clamped his spurs hard to his horse’s sides. But Nat already had the horse by its bridle, holding it firm. Confused and frightened, it reared and bucked. Its rider was hurled to the streaming cobbles but Casper quickly, helped him back to his feet. The two armed men stopped short, clutching their knives and looking around. They stared up at the giant; his enormous fists upraised, and called urgently through the muffling rain. At that same moment, Andrew strolled up Bower Row, brushing the rain from his sleeves. And close behind him on the other of Throckmorton’s horses, rode Ralph.
Two other men had answered their companions’ shout, racing up Bower Row towards the growing melee. One yelled, ‘Grab the baron, you buggers. Leave the rest.’ Four of them now, each with knife or sword drawn, pounding towards the fallen horseman. Nat pulled the riderless horse to the side of the road and held its reins firm, calming it.