Devorax looked at her, shrugged. “You’re a fool.” He nodded. “I’ll let him live, but with a remembrance of me.” He stopped her question. “I said I’ll let him live.”

A soldier came to the door. “Colonel? Boat’s coming!”

“So soon?” Devorax put the bottle down. He nodded to Campion. “Come on, you’re going to Holland. Say goodbye to Sir Grenville, you’ll not meet again.”

Campion did not. She stood up, Toby took her elbow, but she stayed a moment. She smiled at Ebenezer. “Goodbye, Eb.”

His dark eyes looked on her with loathing.

She kept her smile. “We’ll be friends one day.”

He sneered. “You’ll burn in hell, Dorcas.”

She left her brother, guarded by Devorax’s men, and she followed the tall soldier into the moonlit night. Their bags had been taken from the pack-horse and were being carried to the beach by two soldiers.

The waves sounded loud now. Campion could see the small surf as a white line that stretched in the darkness, a line that wavered, broke, thickened, moved endlessly. She pulled her cloak over the seals.

Devorax stood on the small ridge of turf that had once been a Roman wall. He was searching the sea’s darkness. “We use this place a lot.” Campion knew he spoke of the King’s spies who went to and from Holland. Devorax saw something. “Come on.”

He led them on to the beach, his boots crunching on the humped shells that marked the high-water line. Seaweed smelt strong.

Campion could see the large ship, lights dim at its stern windows while, much closer, oarsmen rowed a small boat toward the beach. The water showed white where their blades dug at the waves. Devorax pointed to the large ship. “That’s the Wanderer, Mordecai’s ship. The crew are all his men. You can trust them.”

“Just as we trusted you?” Toby smiled.

Devorax laughed. “Just as you trusted me.”

Campion looked up at the grim face. The moon silvered his hair, his beard, the broad buckle of the leather sword belt. “Thank you.”

“You must be tired of thanking me.” He laughed. “You’ll forgive me, Sir Toby?” He did not wait for an answer, instead he scooped Campion into his arms and waded into the low, fretting surf toward the small boat. He called out in a strange language, received a cheerful reply, and then the boat was turned, its stern toward Campion, and Devorax lifted her inside. The bags were thrown in and Toby clambered over the transom. The wind blew cold from the Essex marshes. The waves lifted the boat, dropped it, slapped peevishly at the overlapping planks.

Devorax looked down at Campion. “Tell Lopez I killed Cony.”

She nodded.

“And tell him what else I did.”

“I will.”

Devorax opened his pouch and tossed a square package to Toby. “That’s for Mordecai Lopez. Keep it dry and safe!”

“I will.”

Devorax reached for Campion’s hand, pulled it toward him, then kissed it. “It’s a fair night for a crossing.” He released her hand. His men had already gone back toward the barn. “God speed!”