‘In which case,’ he said, ‘I shall be small loss. Indeed, there is no one to miss me. I am the perfect spearhead for any risky exploration.’
Tyballis shook her head. ‘We don’t need a sacrifice, Mister Switt. We need a strong united defence.’
Elizabeth was listening at the darkest window, furthest from the fire. She whispered, ‘I can hear voices. Listen, two men muttering whether this is the right house. Someone else says it is … and … Feayton – I heard one say Lord Feayton.’
‘Then it is clear they are not simply thieves,’ Tyballis whispered.
‘Let me at the buggers,’ growled Casper. ‘I’ll give ’em Feayton – I’ll give ’em cold steel up their arses.’
Ralph held Casper back. ‘We don’t know how many there are.’
‘Then better not let them know we have heard them,’ decided Mister Switt. ‘Guard the doors, but keep out of sight.’
In the darkness each rustling murmur of branch and leaf fed suspicion, and each passing flicker of starlight suggested movement, yet proved only breeze in the trees, the patter of busy rats or the flight of an owl. Then a scratch against the doorjamb startled everyone, staring white-faced as silence hung like the wood smoke from the hearth. The first sound was a wail of thwarted indignation from upstairs and a baby’s yowl. Then Casper dropped his knife back to mine clanged, and outside footsteps suddenly retreated.
‘Fool,’ objected Ralph, glaring at Casper.
Elizabeth raised a finger to her lips. Upstairs the children were quiet again. Downstairs only the fire spat and hissed. Tyballis tiptoed again to the window, listened a moment, then shook her head. Now everyone was at the doors, ears to the wood. Ralph and Casper gripped their metal. Tyballis and Elizabeth grasped knives from the table, holding their breath, staring out to the front gardens.
They came quietly, and they came from behind. Creeping through the kitchens, eight men entered the great hall from beneath the staircase and the pantry corridors. Their arrival was unheard and unexpected.
The sudden shout boomed out into the great quiet emptiness. ‘Drop your weapons and make no sudden moves. You are all under arrest by order of his royal highness the king. Where are the rest of you? Where is the Lord Feayton?’
Ralph whirled around. Casper leapt forwards but Ralph held him back. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘The king is sick, and you ain’t in no royal livery.’
Another man pushed forwards, his sword catching the firelight as if it too were burning. ‘Fools,’ he sneered. ‘You’re outnumbered two to one and you want to argue livery? Yes, the king’s sick and when he dies, you’ll be in Newgate, rubbing cracked skulls against your shackles.’
Casper shrugged Ralph off and raised both hands, two knives bright. ‘You ain’t royal nothings, not guards nor sheriff’s men. You’s nothing but ruffians, same as me, you buggers. I fights good enough for two. Come try me.’
Tyballis had edged back towards the hearth but Elizabeth stepped forwards. She shouted, ‘And I’ll stick the first bastard to touch me.’
‘I must inform you gentlemen,’ Mister Switt announced, ‘you are unwelcome and mistaken. Although you mention Lord Feayton, you have come to the house of Mister Andrew Cobham. Ask around the neighbourhood, and they’ll tell you, for Mister Cobham is a charitable gentleman and well liked. Cobham Hall, this is, and no lord lives here nor ever has that I know of. I’ve heard of Lord Feayton, since his notoriety is considerable in these parts. But he lives in a secret place close to the Aldgate, and we rarely see a shadow of the man.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ The ruffian’s leader stood brandishing his sword. ‘So, who’s this Andrew-fucking-Cobham then, with such a grand house to a name not never heard of? A house full of naught but a parcel of skulking fools, it seems. So, where’s he, then?’
‘Mister Cobham is not at home,’ replied Mister Switt. ‘He is a wealthy man, who often travels on business. We are his friends, guests and servants. And you have no right here. You must leave at once.’
The leader reached out and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm, whirling her around, her back against his chest and his sword across her belly. ‘Who’s this, then?’ he jeered. ‘Mistress Cobham, is it, in dirty old rags torn to the tits and scars to frighten her mirror? The lady of the house, is it? Or the whore from the gutters outside?’
Elizabeth wrestled, stabbing and punching. The man squeezed her knuckles until she dropped her knife, but she twisted and scratched at his eyes. The other seven men had moved around, facing Ralph, Casper and George Switt. One laughed. ‘Who’s ready, then? Which fucker wants his guts spilled first?’
Tyballis jumped from the shadows by the hearth, the torch she held blazing into sudden light. A branch from the fire was the brand she hurled at the back of the ruffians’ capes. One man’s cap flared scarlet and the straggle of hair beneath singed a smell of scorched oil. The man screamed, dropped his sword and grabbed his head as Ralph leapt onto him. Ralph’s sword went through doublet, chest and burning cape in one stroke as the squealing man whimpered into silence. Tyballis swung the torch, threatening men, clothes, cushions and tapestries. The flames roared, sweeping out like scarlet streamers through the air. Elizabeth broke free but was caught again and thrown down with a kick.
Casper launched, killing one man as he charged. Extracting his knife from one gulping throat, he waved it exultantly into the next. The man he threatened counter attacked, his sword knocking Casper’s knife away. At the same time Casper swung his second knife into his assailant’s kidneys, slamming the point deep home from the back. ‘Stoopid bugger,’ he remarked, wiping his blade on the man’s shoulder as he tumbled, spitting blood. ‘Ain’t never learned your moves around my streets, that I wager.’
In great flaming circles, Tyballis swept her burning torch. Leaving Elizabeth moaning on the ground, the ruffian’s leader strode to Tyballis, reached both hands through the swirling blaze and sliced his sword down through both torch and the hand that held it. Tyballis crumpled with a small sigh. The torch spun on alone, scattering splinters as it hurtled against the nearest window. The broken shutters caught the fire, crackled and then faded into spasmodic sparks. Casper leapt and kicked the stub of fallen torch away. Tyballis clambered to her knees, her hand badly scorched, as George Switt was knocked bleeding to the ground. Then another came thundering onto him, boots to his ribs. He groaned and collapsed. Elizabeth lay unconscious nearby. Ralph had lost his sword though Casper still clutched one blood-encrusted knife. They stood panting, faces grazed and clothes slashed, two men facing four. Three of the eight incomers were dead. One was dying. They lay where they had fallen, blood dark and sticky across floorboards. The remaining four ruffians were unhurt and well armed. The smell of scorched timbers, burnt flesh and sooty fumes filled the hall.
Ralph was yelling through the smoke. ‘You’ll pay for this, you bastards. Put us in Newgate, would you? When Drew marches home, he’ll have your heads, every last bugger. You’ll moulder in Newgate for the rest of your miserable lives.’
The leader sneered. ‘Then know this, fool. In an hour the king will be dead. It’s her highness will hold power in this city till Earl Rivers rides in. Then it’s the whole realm they’ll be leading in the name of the little prince, and Woodville enemies won’t last long enough to piss out their tears. So, shut your mouths now, or I’ll shut them forever.’
‘Kill ’em all, Murch,’ muttered another of the men. ‘Get it over with.’
The leader shook his head. ‘Not till that bastard Feayton shows his nose. Once we catch him you can kill the lot, but in the meantime I need hostages. When our replacements turn up with news of the king, then I’ll hand over and they can decide for themselves.’