There seemed little appropriate to reply and, indeed, the bored royal eyes were already looking past Campion to the next people being ushered forward. Campion backed away, uncertain whether she had been complimented or insulted.

Lady Margaret had no doubts. “We endure this monstrous crush of people to pay our respects and the man is rude! If he wasn’t God’s anointed I’m quite sure he wouldn’t be invited anywhere. The man has no conversation at all, none! Except with very dreary priests. He is Scottish, of course.” She sniffed imperiously, not caring who overheard her words. “Of course he’s a distinct improvement on his father. King James dribbled and he had the most disgusting table manners. I trust my grandchildren will have good table manners. There are few things more distressing than to watch a child playing with its food. Your husband played with his food, dear, but fortunately I rarely ate with him. Ah! There’s Lord Spears. He says he has a new method of grafting fruit trees. The man’s a fool, but he may be right. I shall find you!” With that she plunged into the throng.

Toby grinned at Campion. “What did you think of our all-wise monarch?”

“He’s not what I expected.” She looked at the small, bearded man who was giving a faint nod at a hugely fat man who had difficulty in bowing.

“I thought you were going to wet yourself.”

“Toby! Really!”

A voice interrupted them, a harsh voice from behind. “You must introduce me, Lady Lazender.” The voice seemed to mock her name.

She turned. Vavasour Devorax smiled sourly at her. His new beard was already an inch long. His clothes seemed as filthy as ever; still the same greasy, smelly leather jacket. He had cut his gray hair short, almost cropped like a Roundhead, and it gave his already scarred, ravaged face a more brutal look. She smiled, feeling immediately nervous. “Colonel Devorax. This is Sir Toby.”

The cold gray eyes appraised Toby. There was the slightest nod.

Toby smiled. “I have to thank you, sir, for my wife’s preservation.”

“True.” The tone was offhand.

Toby persisted. “Can we invite you to take supper with us?”

“You can, but I’ll refuse. Lady Lazender knows my tastes run lower than dinner in polite company.” The gray eyes went to Campion. “You have the seal?”

“Yes.” It was hidden about Toby’s neck.

“Are you at the same house?”

She felt nervous, bullied by his boorish manner. She glanced at Toby, then answered, “We are moving to Woodstock, sir.”

He grinned. “Don’t.”

A bishop tried to squeeze past them, seeking a place nearer the King, but Devorax growled at him, reminding Campion of Lopez’s description of the soldier as a wolfhound. The bishop, astonished and frightened, backed awkwardly away with muttered apologies.

Toby had been offended by Devorax’s rudeness. His voice was cold. “Why do you say ‘don’t’?”

“Because within days I expect you to travel to Amsterdam.”

“Days?” Campion had expected to wait much longer.