She nodded, “Yes.”

“It stinks when you’re inside.” He laughed, showing his big yellow teeth. “Come on!”

He produced a paper that took them easily past the guardposts where the road went through the huge earthen wall. Guns pointed outward from stone platforms dug into the walls’ tops. They came to a second guardpost at the edge of the city proper, and again Devorax’s paper drew respect from the sentries. An officer looked at Campion. “Who’s she?”

“The damned Queen of Sheba. Mind your own business.”

Once inside the city, Campion understood why Devorax said it stank. It did. It was horribly crowded, the streets seemingly busier than London. It was a university city still, though many of the colleges, Devorax said, had been taken over by the court or by the King’s army. The royal court was based here, with all its servants, courtiers and hangers-on; the placemen who followed kings as gulls followed a boat. The city garrison was huge, many of the men had brought their wives with them, and the streets seemed impossibly full. There were refugees, too, people like Lady Margaret and Toby. Devorax spoke of them, his tone managing to subtly denigrate them. “Your friends are lucky.”

“Why?”

“The good citizens of Oxford, in their love for the King, have doubled, re-doubled, and doubled again the cost of a room. However it seems that Lord Tallis has given Lady Margaret Lazender a lavish part of his house. This way.”

He knew his way about Oxford, leading her confidently to a narrow street near the city center. Mason pointed to a house and Devorax stopped outside. “Put her baggage down.” He looked at her. “This is it.” He leaned from the saddle and thumped on the door.

Campion was excited, barely able to contain her joy at the reunion. She waited for the door to open.

Devorax scowled and knocked again.

The door opened and a maidservant looked timidly at the tall, grim soldier. “Sir?”

“Were you asleep, girl?”

“No, sir.”

“Is Sir Toby Lazender here?”

“He’s out, sir. Lady Margaret’s here, sir.”

Devorax nodded down at Campion’s baggage, then spoke again to the maid. “Take it inside, girl. Hurry!” He looked at Campion, standing by the door. “In you go.”

“Aren’t you coming in?”

“What for? You think I want to make polite conversation?”

She shook her head, made to feel uncomfortable again. “I must thank you, sir.”

“True. Have you got the seal?”

“Yes.”

“Look after it.” He gathered his reins and turned his horse. “I’ll send you a message when I need you. Don’t expect anything to happen soon.”

She tossed her head, offended by his offhand manner. “I don’t expect anything, sir.”

“Good girl!” He laughed. “Never expect anything! Then you’ll never be disappointed.” He seemed pleased. “And one last piece of advice.”

“Sir?”

“Stay away from the damned Puritans. They hate beauty.” With that he rowelled his horse, the hooves sparked on the cobbles, and he was gone. Campion was astonished, staring after the retreating troop. Had that been a compliment from Vavasour Devorax?