“God bless,” Sir William said shortly as James came in. “I didn’t think to see you here.” He glanced at the closed door. “You’re sure you’ve not been followed? These are terrible times. Every man is a spy.”

“I am certain that I’m not being followed. I pass as a French tutor on this trip, and I’m not visiting any of our old friends. I’m only gathering news on the streets. His wife and her friends—you know who I mean—want to know what’s happening.”

“Damned if anyone knows, do they?” Sir William asked. “Oh, sit down, sit down, we’ll have a glass of something. Walter’s out with my steward, seeing the sights. We’re alone.”

“Did you bring Robert Reekie with you?”

“No, left the lad at Sealsea Island with his mother.”

“Did you see her?”

“No,” Sir William said, surprised at the question. “No, why?”

“Nothing,” James tried to recover. “I just hoped that she didn’t take my sickness.”

“I don’t think so. I’d have heard.” Sir William opened the door and shouted down the stairs for a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “Now,” he said, closing the door carefully, “d’you know what’s going to happen to the king?”

“I think only one man knows, and that’s Cromwell,” James replied. “He’s behind it all. And unless someone does something to stop him, I think it’ll all go his way.”

“He’s a fair man, Cromwell. He wouldn’t be unjust.”

“He thinks this is justice. And he’s got to satisfy the army, as well as the parliament.”

“Can he muster enough judges to find the king guilty?”

James nodded. “That must be his intention. He’s called in more than a hundred gentlemen. Won’t you serve?”

“How can I? As far as anyone knows, I’ve turned my coat. I’m a parliament man now. I’ve paid my fine and promised my son that his inheritance is safe. I can’t now turn again and join the king’s side. I’ve got too much to lose.”

A rap on the door was followed by the taproom boy with a bottle of wine and two glasses. The men were silent as he put the glasses and bottle on the table and went out again.

“But what if they find him guilty?” James asked quietly, checking that the door was shut.

“Of what?” Sir William scoffed. “And then what? Exile him? I doubt the French would want him; the Scots handed him back last time. Lock him up somewhere? Back to Carisbrooke Castle? How does that solve the mire that they’re stuck in? They’ve fought him for six years and had him under arrest for two—they need to change everything, if they want to change anything at all.”

“I don’t know,” James said, taking a glass of wine. “I really don’t know.”

Sir William held up his glass. “His Majesty the king,” he said very quietly, and the two men put their glasses together and then drank. It struck James that the toast was as quiet and as solemn as it would be at a wake.