‘I shall charge the lot of you with unbecoming conduct,’ he snapped, furious with them. ‘And it will be up to your respective masters how they will deal with you.’
Willys tried to free himself, but the guards held him too tightly, so he settled for sneering instead. ‘When Bristol hears how you deceived me, he will dispatch you himself, Heyden.’
‘It is Heyden,’ said one of the soldiers, hauling off the wig that hid the spy’s brown hair. ‘Look!’
Holles regarded Chaloner with unfriendly eyes. ‘I did not imagine you were the type to brawl in the King’s palace. I thought you knew how to behave.’
‘It was not his fault,’ objected the equerry, while Wiseman nodded earnest agreement. ‘He ordered May and Willys to desist, and drew his weapon only to protect himself.’
‘It takes two sides to make a quarrel,’ replied Holles coldly. He turned to his prisoners. ‘You will be taken to the guardhouse, where you will remain until your masters come to claim you. And my dag is reloaded, so do not try my patience by persisting with this spat.’
Chaloner did not think he had ever seen the colonel so angry. He said nothing as he was escorted to the palace gaol, where he and the others were given separate cells in which to wait. The doors were not locked, but there was no point in trying to escape, even so.
Spymaster Williamson arrived almost immediately, but neither he nor May spoke until they were well away. Through the bars in his window, Chaloner watched the two men stride across the yard, May speaking and Williamson nodding. Then all was quiet, because either Clarendon and Bristol could not be found, or they declined to release their recalcitrant retainers until a more convenient time.
A while later, there was a furious commotion in the yard outside, as a horse, saddled and ready for riding, bucked and cavorted like a wild thing. Soldiers rushed towards it, making it even more agitated, and there were shouts of horror when a flailing hoof caught one man on the temple with a sickening thud. In the next room, Chaloner heard Willys snigger at the spectacle, although the laughter stopped abruptly when Wiseman hurried to help the fallen man, then stepped back shaking his head. Blood began to pool on the cobbles, and Chaloner went to sit on the bench again, not wanting to see more.
Not long after, he heard murmuring in Willys’s room and supposed Bristol had arrived. There was a thump, followed by footsteps moving across floorboards that creaked like a rusty hinge, then peace again. Eventually, there were more voices as a crowd of people clattered into the prison. They burst into Willys’s room, and there was a short silence, followed by an ear-splitting howl of outrage. Then the door to Chaloner’s room was hurled open and Bristol stood there, quaking in fury.
‘You killed him!’ he yelled. ‘You murdered Willys!’
Chaloner regarded Bristol in astonishment, wondering whether the man had been drinking. Behind him, other courtiers were pushing their way forward, and among them was May. The odour of sweat, onions, horse and French perfume wafted into the small chamber as more and more people crammed themselves inside, eager to miss nothing of the brewing confrontation.
‘Willys is dead,’ said May, fingering the dagger he carried in his belt. ‘Stabbed. You and he were alone in this part of the building, so you had better start explaining yourself.’
‘Someone came to release him,’ said Chaloner, keeping his voice steady so as not to reveal his growing alarm. ‘I heard them talking together.’
But he had also heard a thump and retreating footsteps, and if it had not been Bristol coming to retrieve his aide, then it had been Willys’s murderer. But why would anyone want to kill Willys? With a sinking feeling, Chaloner saw the man with the obvious motive was himself – he and Willys had quarrelled publicly, and then they had been left alone in adjoining rooms while the horse had distracted the guards. To the dispassionate observer, it would look as though Chaloner had seized an opportunity to dispatch his enemy.
‘Liar!’ fumed Bristol. He drew his sword and began to advance. ‘You slipped into his room when he was watching the escapade with the nag, and you stabbed him in the back.’
‘Wait, My Lord!’ cried Holles, stepping between Chaloner and the enraged noble. ‘If Heyden has committed a crime, we shall go through the proper procedures. We do not dispense justice ourselves.’
‘Why not?’ demanded May. ‘Heyden is the only one who could have killed Willys, and his guilt is obvious. Besides, you were willing to shoot him earlier.’
‘That was when he was armed,’ argued Holles. ‘He is not armed now, and we do not want folk thinking we go around skewering people whenever we feel like it. Put up your sword, My Lord. It is for the best.’
May was disgusted. ‘I am just grateful Williamson rescued me straight away, or Heyden would have slaughtered me, too. The horse’s antics were just what he needed – they lured the guards outside, and let him get Willys alone.’
‘My men did go to help with the horse,’ admitted Holles, regarding Chaloner uneasily. An expression of relief crossed his face as something occurred to him. ‘But Heyden cannot be the killer. We disarmed him – we disarmed all of you. He had nothing to use on Willys.’
‘In Ireland, he carried additional weapons in his sleeve and boot,’ said May. He grinned in triumph when Holles’s second search revealed the knife he had missed the first time, and turned to Bristol. ‘You should kill him while you can, My Lord, or Clarendon will find a way to inveigle him a pardon.’
Bristol stared at Chaloner for a long time before sheathing his sword. May gaped at him in dismay.
‘No,’ said Bristol quietly, his temper now under control. ‘I do not want the Lord Chancellor complaining that we killed his henchman in cold blood. It is better to drag Heyden through the public courts – and Clarendon will be mired with him.’
‘I have just inspected Willys, My Lord,’ announced Wiseman, pushing his way through the assembled courtiers like a stately galleon through a flotilla of barges. ‘As a surgeon, I have seen more cadavers than you could dream about. Come, and I shall show you something important.’
Bristol baulked at being issued an order, but his curiosity and Wiseman’s brash confidence prompted him to do as he was told. Willys was lying near the window, blood seeping from a wound in his back. When everyone, including Chaloner, had entered the cell, the medic began to hold forth.
‘The fact that Willys received a blade between his shoulders means he knew his killer,’ he declared, speaking as though his conclusions were fact, not opinion. ‘And he trusted him. Willys was not a complete imbecile, and would never have turned his back on Heyden, given what had happened earlier today. Ergo, Heyden is not the killer.’
‘Rubbish!’ shouted May, appalled to see Chaloner exonerated with such ease. ‘He sneaked in when Willys was preoccupied with watching the horse, and took him unawares.’
‘I had not finished what I was going to say,’ said Wiseman haughtily. ‘However, I shall interrupt my erudite analysis to refute your asinine theory, if that is what you want. These floorboards creak, as you can see for yourself, and Willys would have heard Heyden coming – even above the racket emanating from the yard. So, your assertion, Mr May, is both erroneous and foolish.’
‘How dare you–’ began May, but Bristol held up his hand and nodded for Wiseman to continue.
‘My next conclusion pertains to the wound.’ The surgeon pulled the clothes away from the injury and took from Holles the dagger that had been in Chaloner’s boot. ‘Even the most ignorant of us’ – here he looked pointedly at May – ‘will see that this broad-bladed weapon cannot possibly have made this tiny round hole.’