“It didn’t seem bad at the time.” Devorax drank water and made a grimace. “I’m getting too damned old for it. So, what’s to be done?”

Lopez sipped at a dish of tea. It was a luxury he could not do without. “I want a message taken to Oxford. Can one of your men do it?”

“They do it all the time. What’s it for?”

Lopez told Devorax of Sir Toby Lazender and the soldier seemed to disapprove of what he heard.

“You think she’ll go to him?”

“If he wants her.” Lopez blew on his tea. “If I were a wagering man I’d say she’ll be Lady Lazender before winter.”

Devorax waited as Marta Renselinck brought food. When the housekeeper had gone he spoke savagely. “She’s a fool! She should go to Amsterdam! She’d be safe there.”

“She’ll go to Oxford.” Lopez picked a tealeaf from his dish with a delicate forefinger. “Can you get her there?”

“You pull the strings, Mordecai, and I’ll dance round the damned world for you. I suppose you’ll go back to Amsterdam?”

“When she’s gone. Yes.”

“And leave me here.” Devorax sounded morose. He stabbed into a fried egg and watched the yolk run over the pewter plate, then scowled at Lopez’s tea. “I don’t know how you drink that muck.” He scooped a mess of egg on to a piece of bread. “So I’m to gather the seals, eh?”

“If you can.”

“I can, Mordecai, I can. It’ll take time, but I can.” The ravaged face smiled a bitter, secret smile, as bitter as the plans he had for the jewels of the Covenant. Vavasour Devorax was going to war.

Sir Grenville Cony yelped with pain.

“Sir Grenville! Still! I beg you, sir, still!” The doctor pressed down with his lancet and watched the blood flow into the silver cup. When bleeding his rich patients he always used a silver cup; it reassured them that, even in sickness, they received only the finest treatment. Doctor Chandler shook his head. “It’s thick, Sir Grenville, very thick.”

“It hurts!” Sir Grenville groaned.

“Not for long, Sir Grenville, not for long.” Chandler gave a reassuring smile. “And it’s a lovely day, Sir Grenville, a wonderful day. A boat ride, perhaps, will revive you?”

“You’re a fool, Chandler, a damned fool.”

“Whatever you say, Sir Grenville, whatever you say.” The doctor wiped blood from the wound.

The door opened and Ebenezer Slythe came in. His dark, expressionless eyes looked at Sir Grenville. “Cottjens sends his apologies.”

“Cottjens is a dungheap. Stop hovering, man!” This last was shouted at the doctor who tried to wipe more blood from the cut on Sir Grenville’s upper arm. Sir Grenville pulled up his shirt and jacket, swung his legs to the floor, and groaned. His belly was in agony, had been ever since the girl had escaped from the Tower. “So?”

Ebenezer shrugged. “It seems Lopez is not ill. Nor is he at home.” He smiled sardonically. “Cottjens says the bribe it took for that information will not be rendered on your account.”