Guy looked at me sternly. ‘When I heard some of the things he was saying, I put him in here. Safest for him, and perhaps for others.’

‘And he has mentioned my name?’

‘Yes. And others. Including, as you just heard, that name Bertano which you asked me about. Generally what he says in his delirium is nonsense, but I have heard him mention Queen Catherine herself. Disconnected talk, about spies and traitors at the English court. Mostly it makes no sense, and his Scotch accent is unfamiliar to me. But I have understood enough to realize he knows dangerous things, and is a religious radical. Once he cursed the Mass, saying it was no more than the bleating of a cow. Another time he spoke of overthrowing all princes.’ Guy hesitated, then added, ‘I see you know him.’

‘I saw him only once, though I have been seeking him for weeks.’

‘Who is he?’

I looked him in the eye. ‘I cannot say, Guy, for your safety. I beg you, continue to keep him apart from the other patients; he knows dangerous things. Did he have anything on him when he was brought in?’ I asked urgently. ‘Perhaps – a book?’

‘He had a copy of Tyndale’s forbidden New Testament with his name inside, and a purse with a few coins.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Nothing.’

I looked at McKendrick, quiet now, his breathing shallow. ‘I would have prevented this, Guy, I hope you believe me.’

‘Yes,’ Guy answered, ‘I believe that. But you are still involved in something deeply dangerous, are you not?’

‘Yes.’ I looked again at McKendrick. ‘May I question him?’

‘His mind is in a fever most of the time.’

‘Would you leave me to try? The only reason I ask you not to stay is in case you hear something that might imperil your safety. I would not drag you into this bog as well.’

Guy hesitated, then nodded. ‘I will leave you for a little. But do not tax him.’ He went out, closing the door gently. There was a stool in the room, and I dragged it across to McKendrick’s bed. It was getting dark, the sound of voices quieter as Smithfield emptied. I shook him gently. His eyes opened; they were unfocused, feverish.

‘Master McKendrick?’ I asked.

‘Dominie McKendrick,’ he whispered. ‘I am Dominie. Teacher, preacher.’

‘Dominie, who did this to you?’

I was not sure he had heard my question, but then he said wearily, closing his eyes tight, ‘There were two o’ them, two. They took me by surprise, though I’m careful. Jumped out of the doorway an’ stabbed me. Two o’ them. I got one o’ them in the shoulder, managed to run.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Escaped in the alleys. Got to know the London alleys these last years. Same as the ones in Stirling, always running, running from the lackeys of popes and princes. But I weakened, loss o’ blood.’ He sighed. ‘Running, always running.’