“Sir Grenville Cony’s sent a dozen men to Bradwell, sir.”

Devorax nodded. “And Mr. Slythe?”

“He’ll be there, sir. Seven o’clock. He says Sir Grenville will go with him.”

“Good.” Devorax grinned. “How many men is Slythe taking?”

“He says six.”

“Good, good. We can take care of Sir Grenville’s twelve.”

Mason yawned. “Sir Grenville’s bound to bring some more with him.”

Devorax was not worried. With his men and Slythe’s he had enough to destroy Sir Grenville’s guards and enough to put a small band into the village of Bradwell who could follow Toby and Campion toward the barn, cutting off their retreat. Mason looked at his colonel. “The girl’s coming, sir?”

“Yes.” Devorax smiled. “She and her husband. Both of them.”

“They’re not worried?”

Devorax shook his head. “She thinks Cony’s dead.” He laughed. “She’ll be there, John, for her father’s sake.” He laughed again. He had watched the girl as he told the true story of Kit Aretine’s Swedish woman. He had seen Campion’s pity and distress. “She’s a romantic.” He said it mockingly then grinned at Mason. “Come on, John. I’ll find a whore for you. After Monday you can pay me!” He laughed loud, pleased with himself, for Vavasour Devorax had engineered what most would have thought impossible. Matthew, Mark and Luke were to be gathered at the sea’s edge, and it was Devorax, soldier and drunk, who had made it happen. The seals would gather.

Thirty-two

Toby and Campion left Oxford the next day, travelling alone. James Wright begged to accompany them, but Toby ordered him to stay with Lady Margaret instead.

Lady Margaret embraced them both. “I don’t trust that man Devorax. I don’t think you should go.”

Campion smiled. “What would you do if you were me?”

Lady Margaret sniffed. “I should go, of course, child.”

They did not know when they would return. Devorax had told Campion that Mordecai Lopez waited for them in Amsterdam, that they must first take the seals to the bank and then, under the Jew’s guidance, take the administration of the Covenant’s fortune into their own hands. It would be, Devorax said, a long, hard task. Toby kissed his mother, mounted, and smiled at her from the saddle. “Perhaps we’ll be back for Christmas, Mother.”

“If not sooner,” Campion added.

“I have decided to grow apples,” Lady Margaret said irrelevantly. “Andrew writes me that apples do well in Wiltshire.”

Campion kissed her. “We shall miss you.”

“Of course you will, dear.”

They travelled on horseback, for a wagon could not have reached the Essex coast in the four days they had before the rendezvous. The days were becoming short, travellers were few, and the roads were wet and sticky. They rode mostly on the wide, grass verges, following a course that would take them well to the north of London.

On Saturday they were deep inside Puritan East Anglia. In the hamlets of Essex they heard, again and again, the angry call for the King to be dethroned, for the nobles to be humbled, for each man to be equal. The war was no longer about taxes and the rights of Parliament; it was a religious crusade for the overthrow of the old order. The ancient slogan of the Peasant’s Revolt was heard: “When Adam delved, and Eve span, who was then a Gentleman?”