On neighbouring boats watchmen still stood staring, talking animatedly in foreign tongues, but Barak had been right; they had not wanted to get mixed up in a sword fight involving a dozen men. One man shouted something at us in Spanish, but we ignored him. More men, though, might appear from the taverns. I looked at the Dutchman and McKendrick. Returning my look, the Dutchman spoke in heavily accented English. ‘Citizen of Flanders. Not subject to your laws. You must let us go.’

‘Pox on that!’ Stice shouted. ‘Your bodies will go in the river tonight!’ His head and shoulders were covered with blood from his wound; in the light of the lamp he looked like some demon from a mystery play.

The Dutch sailor seemed shaken, but McKendrick spoke boldly, in the ringing tones of a preacher, his Scotch accent strong: ‘Ye’ve lost! We know Mynheer Vandersteyn had a book, by Anne Askew. Carried on his person, not in that bag. That’s why we got him aboard. Ye’ve lost!’ he repeated triumphantly.

Stice turned wildly to Cecil. ‘We have to get that boat intercepted!’

‘On what grounds?’ Cecil said, his voice sharp and authoritative now. ‘Exporting heretical literature? The book would be public knowledge in a day. And intercepting a foreign trading vessel could cause diplomatic trouble; that’s the last thing we need just now.’

Stice wiped his face with a bloody sleeve, then looked at the bag which Cecil still held. ‘Maybe they’re lying! Maybe it’s in there!’ He grasped it from Cecil’s arms and upturned it on the ground, dragging the lantern across to examine the contents. I helped him go through them; nothing but spare clothing, a Dutch bible and a purse of coins. He threw the purse down and stood cursing.

‘Search those men!’ he shouted, pointing to McKendrick and the Dutchman. Two of Stice’s men grabbed them and searched them roughly, watched carefully by Cecil and me, then turned back to their master, holding out a couple of purses. ‘Nothing but these!’

‘Examine them!’

The two men opened the drawstrings and bent to look inside. Seizing his moment, the Scotchman suddenly jumped forward and grabbed his sword. Gower was next to him. Taking the big man by surprise, McKendrick lunged at him, thrusting his sword deep into his stomach. With a cry, Gower staggered back into the man next to him, unbalancing him, and the Scot, with an astounding turn of speed for such a big man, ran for the lane, jumping over Leeman’s prone body. Stice’s men ran after him, disappearing into the darkness.