Ebenezer kept his voice mild. “You say the Jew saved your life?”

“Christ on the cross!” Devorax spat into the mud. “He took me from the galleys, that’s all. I wasn’t nailed to a damned tree, puking out my lungs. So he saved me from a slow death in a galley. So? Do you know how many mens’ lives I’ve saved, Mr. Slythe? I’m a real soldier, not one of these pretty boys prancing around in a meadow squeaking ‘King Charles! King Charles!’ Christ! I’ve seen battlefields so thick with blood that it made puddles! I’ve had this sword crusted to my hand with blood at the end of a day, and then slept in the open so my hair froze to the blood puddles! Jesus! I’ve saved mens’ lives, but I don’t expect a lifetime of gratitude from them. A drink or two, maybe, but not eternal worship.” He tipped the bottle again, his saddle creaking as he moved. When he spoke again his voice was grudging. “I’m not saying he hasn’t treated me fair, Mr. Slythe, but I can’t go on forever. Do you know what the Jew paid me for getting the girl out of the Tower?” Ebenezer shook his head. Devorax laughed. “Fifteen gold pieces between all of us! Do you know how hard it is to get someone out of the Tower?” He shook his savage head broodily. “I expected more, I deserved more.”

Ebenezer smiled. Something in him responded to Vavasour Devorax. Perhaps, he thought, it was the sheer, animal strength of the soldier, a strength that Ebenezer knew could never be his. Or perhaps it was the stories of a sword crusted to a man’s hand, of fields of blood, stories that stirred Ebenezer. “So what are you offering, Devorax?”

Devorax smiled. The rain had plastered his short hair to his skull, giving him a malevolent, even more brutal look. “I’ll give you the seal of St. Luke, plus the girl. I assume you don’t want her to live to twenty-five?” He lifted the rum to his lips, then paused. “You can have her damned husband, too, if you want him.”

Ebenezer nodded. “You’ll bring the seal from Amsterdam?”

“No! It’s in Oxford.” Devorax laughed. “I stole the impressions from her. The Jew insisted she have it, as a memory of her father.” He laughed at the thought.

Ebenezer stirred with excitement. If the Seal of St. Luke was in Oxford, then everything could be much simpler. He kept his voice precise and expressionless. “And what do you want?”

Vavasour Devorax looked down at the bottle, then challenged Ebenezer with a sly, arrogant gaze. “I’ve got twelve men. I can’t just abandon them. One hundred pounds apiece. And for me?” He seemed to think. “Two thousand.” He held up a hand as if to ward off a protest. “I know it’s a lot, but I also know how much the Covenant’s worth.”

Ebenezer kept his face straight. The demand did sound extortionate, but it was nothing compared to the yield of the Covenant. “Why did you approach me, Devorax, and not Sir Grenville Cony?”