Текст книги "The Enterprise of England"

Автор книги: Ann Swinfen

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‘Good,’ he said, ‘Christopher hasn’t eaten it all.’ He held up a packet wrapped in greasy paper. ‘Cold beef.’

‘You have a larder out there?’ I was smiling.

‘Aye, a  big earthenware pot. Christopher fixed it on a bracket. He is not such a fine gentleman as he would like you to think. His father was a carpenter, which is useful. He knocked up the table and stools for us.’

He closed the window and laid the packet of beef on the table beside his basket. There was a small fireplace on the inner partition wall, containing an even smaller fire, but he soon poked it up and added a shovel of sea coal. While he busied himself with a frying pan and the bacon, I began to fold the clothes into tidy piles. I straightened the beds and laid the papers – they were indeed play scripts – in a neat stack on a rickety shelf nailed above one of the beds.

‘Where do you clean your dishes?’ I asked. I looked at the rancid grease and a creeping black mould with distaste. ‘We cannot eat off these.’

‘There are some clean plates over there.’ He jerked his head towards a dark corner where there stood an ancient-looking cupboard I had not noticed. I found two chipped plates and carried them to the table. There were mouse dropping on the top of the cupboard, but inside it looked clean.

Simon slid half the bacon on to each of the plates and poured the dripping over it.

‘Help yourself,’ he said, pushing the basket towards me. He lifted out a large round loaf and sawed slices off it, directly on the table, which I noticed was scored all over where bread had been cut before.

‘You must run out of clean plates eventually,’ I said.

‘Then we take everything down to the yard at the back and wash them with water we carry over from the conduit. You saw how many stairs there are. We don’t do it every day, only when everything is dirty. Were there any clean ale mugs in the cupboard?’

I shook my head.

‘Oh, well, then we’ll just have to drink from the jack.’

He took the ale jack from the basket, pulled out the cork and passed it to me. I drank gingerly at first, doubtful of what it might be like, but it was excellent, so I drank thirstily, then handed it back.

We mopped up the bacon dripping with bread, then moved on to cold beef and cheese, and finished with the pears. They were the hard little pears that were still edible as late in the year as this and a welcome end to the meal.

‘So,’ said Simon, ‘now the soldiers are all gone from the hospital, are you working with Walsingham once more?’

‘He sent for me yesterday,’ I said, pushing my stool back from the small table so I could stretch out my legs.

‘More code-breaking?’ Simon knew what I did in Phelippes’s office, though I was sworn not to reveal the contents of the papers I worked on.

‘I thought that was what they needed,’ I said. ‘But when Cassie told me it was Sir Francis who wanted to see me, I was afraid it might be . . . well, might be something more serious.’

‘More serious?’ Simon looked puzzled, and then concerned. ‘You mean, like last year, when he sent you off, pretending to be a tutor to some gentleman’s children? And then you were a scruffy messenger boy.’

‘Aye, something like that.’ I found I was twisting one of the buttons of my doublet round and round and released it before I pulled it off. ‘He is sending me on a mission to the Low Countries, carrying despatches to the Earl of Leicester.’

Simon gave a low whistle, then stood up and piled our dirty plates on top of those on the floor. When he sat down again, he passed me the ale jack, but I shook my head.

‘I need to keep my brain clear. I am to meet Sir Francis and Nicholas Berden at Seething Lane at two o’clock, to discuss the mission.’

Simon took a long pull at the ale jack, then recorked it and placed it back in the basket.

‘It is more than simply carrying despatches, isn’t it?’

I nodded silently.

He clasped his hands on the table in front of him and leaned toward me. ‘He’s asking you to spy for him, I’ll be bound.’

I had never told Simon what I was doing on my various missions for Walsingham during the previous year, but he was no fool. He had guessed that I was caught up in foiling the Babington conspiracy, with its aim to kill the Queen, to use French troops under the Duke of Guise to invade England, and to put Mary Stuart on the throne. He knew without my telling him that as well as code-breaking and other activities with Thomas Phelippes, I had been used by Walsingham for spying.

I nodded. Perhaps if I did not speak the words, I had not, strictly, revealed anything.

‘Come, Kit,’ he said. There was a touch of impatience in his tone. ‘I swear that you can trust me. I will say nothing outside this room. I will keep your secrets. You know I would not betray you.’

I did know it, and said so.

‘At first, all I have to do is deliver the despatches from Sir Francis – and possibly from Burghley and the Queen as well – to the Earl of Leicester, somewhere in the Low Countries. I do not know where yet. I suppose they will tell me this afternoon. Leicester will inform me of any suspicions he has. Well, he talked of suspicions, but nothing more specific than that. I hope the whole mission is not a fool’s errand.’

‘And then?’

‘And then I am supposed to hang about where the soldiers gather when they are not on military duty. Ale houses, mostly, I expect. And . . . just listen, I think. See whether anyone lets anything slip.’

‘It sounds somewhat vague.’

‘I know. And what if there are traitors, and they suspect that I am one of Sir Francis’s agents? I’m no Berden or Gifford, with years of practice at this.’

‘But you are good at playing a part.’

I looked at him in alarm, but there was nothing in his air to suggest that he had guessed the part I played every day.

‘Remember last year. You had no difficulties then.’

‘Well . . .’ I also remembered how the Fitzgeralds’ fifteen-year-old daughter had tried to seduce me and felt a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter rising in my throat. I turned it into a cough.

‘I did think you might have some ideas how I should play this part.’

Simon clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, tipping his stool on its back legs.

‘The first question is: What part are you playing? You are not meant to be one of the soldiers yourself, are you?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I was startled at the thought.

‘Probably Sir Francis has something in mind for you. How do his agents usually pass themselves off?’

‘I am not sure. I think sometimes they pretend to be merchants or traders of some kind, as it allows them to move around from town to town, or even from country to country. In fact, some of them really are traders. Sir Francis has links with all the great English merchant houses.’ I thought of the cousins of Dr Lopez and Dr Nuñez, whose trade routes and mercantile houses in Europe and the Ottoman Empire served a second purpose for Walsingham.

‘Clearly you are too young to be taken for a merchant yourself, but you could be in the service of one of the houses, carrying orders for goods, overseeing the shipping of goods. Does that sound right?’

‘Aye. I think so.’ I tried to imagine myself as a young clerk working for Dr Nuñez. It was not so unlikely. I would need to carry quills and a portable ink well. Perhaps empty my satchel of medicines and fill it with papers.

‘Then you need to think about your costume.’ Simon was staring over my head.

‘Costume?’

‘Your clothes. I’m thinking of this as we would stage it in the playhouse. You are a capable young servant, already a trustworthy clerk who can be sent on his master’s business abroad . . .’ He pondered for a few minutes.

‘If this were a comedy, we would dress you one way, if a tragedy or a history, quite another.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Your role is to see and hear, without being noticed, to eavesdrop but remain in the shadows. In a comedy, we want the audience to know that the eavesdropper is there. They join in the fun. Those who are being spied upon do not know what is happening, but the audience does. So we dress the spy in bright colours. He makes his presence very obvious, the audience watches his every move. But the poor lovers – it is usually lovers – simply do not see him, even when he is right under their noses.’

I nodded. I had watched this kind of scene in comedies myself.

‘Now in a tragedy or a history, we want something different. The spy lurks in the darkness. Perhaps the audience does not even know he is there until everyone else has left the stage after revealing their secrets. Then he comes forward. There is the shocked realisation that the spy has heard the secrets and terrible consequences will follow. Do you see?’

I nodded again.

‘So in this case we dress the spy in dull, inconspicuous clothes, so that he can blend with his surroundings, unnoticed. I think that is what you should have in mind.’

He let his stool fall forward again with a clatter.

‘That cloak of yours.’ He point to where I had laid it across one of the beds. ‘Too pale.’

It was the soft undyed cream of natural wool. I realised what he meant. Even in the dark corner of an ale house, it would stand out, drawing attention to itself.

‘You need something darker.’ He got up and rummaged about amongst one of the piles of clothes, spoiling all my careful folding, then pulled out a cloak of a dull, dark brown, almost black. I did not like it as well as my own cloak, but it looked thick and warm. ‘Take this. No one will notice you in this.’

‘I can’t take that. It’s the beginning of winter. You will need it yourself.’

‘Oh, I will borrow something from the playhouse.’

‘If I am to borrow it, then you must take mine.’

He started to object but, perhaps seeing a determined glint in my eye, he agreed.

‘Very well, we will exchange cloaks until you return from the Low Countries. When will you return?’

‘Sir Francis says I will be home for Christmas.’

‘Not too long then.’ He sat down again. ‘Your doublet and hose are sober enough. Have you a hat or cap you can pull down about your head?’

I thought for a moment. ‘I threw away that dreadful woollen cap Phelippes gave me when I played the messenger boy and bought a better one in Lichfield. Would a merchant’s clerk wear such a cap?’

‘Why not? In the cold weather we must all keep our heads warm, and I am told it is very cold in the Low Countries. Flat as a frying pan, so the wind whistles over the polders. And damp. Nothing ever dries out. You will be scraping mould off your face, never think of my dirty plates.’

‘You make it sound very inviting.’

He laughed. ‘I almost wish I were coming with you. I am tired of playing sweet maidens. I should enjoy a villain’s part.’

‘I hope I am not a villain.’

‘No, you are an innocent and trustworthy merchant’s clerk. Remember what I have told you before. Think yourself into the skin of such a young man. Your own age, but of a very different profession. Inky fingers – I suppose you have those when you work with Phelippes. Busy adding up your master’s accounts in your head. That should not be difficult for you, with your skill at mathematics.’

I smiled. I had known Simon would help. Already I could envisage that earnest young clerk, anxious to advance in his profession. Somewhat reserved, so he would listen to the soldiers’ talk, but would not join in. I opened my mouth to say something, but at that moment we both heard the clock from a nearby church strike the half hour.

‘Half past one!’ Simon cried. ‘We must go!’

He tossed me the dark cloak and I swung it round my shoulders as he picked up mine. Together we made our way down the ladder and the stairs, parting at the front door of the house.

‘Good luck to you, Kit,’ Simon said. ‘Come and see us when you are back in London.’

‘I will.’ I started to run, for I had farther to go than he.

I reached Seething Lane in better time than I expected, for it was not yet two o’clock. Before going inside, I walked through to the stable yard. The apple I had brought yesterday for Hector was still in the pocket of my doublet, for I had been too distracted when I left to remember it. I found the ugly piebald in his stall. He greeted me with a soft whicker and rubbed his forehead against my shoulder.

‘I have only a moment, my fine fellow,’ I said, ‘but I’ve an apple for you.’

I held it out on the palm of my hand and he took it delicately with his velvet soft lips.

‘Good lad,’ I said, rubbing him between the ears as he crunched the apple, dribbles of juice running down his muzzle and dripping on to the straw.

‘Afternoon, Master Alvarez.’ It was the stable boy Harry.

‘Afternoon, Harry,’ I said. ‘I must go. Sir Francis wants to see me.’

I gave Hector’s neck a final pat and crossed to the backstairs. Up there Sir Francis and Nicholas Berden would be waiting.

Chapter Six

I found not only Sir Francis and Nicholas Berden in Sir Francis’s office, but also Thomas Phelippes, who nodded to me, but said nothing. I was relieved that the hands on Sir Francis’s French mantel clock, bought when he was ambassador to Paris, were just reaching the hour. It chimed softly. It was a luxury my father and I could no longer aspire to, though we had once owned three striking clocks at our house in Coimbra. Now I had to judge time by the multitude of church clocks in London – not always in harmony with one another – though I had also developed a keen sense of the hour without the need for consulting a timepiece.

I hung my cloak on the same peg as yesterday. If any of them noticed that it was not my usual cloak, they said nothing. Sir Francis waved me to a chair and I sat down. Our chairs were grouped around a low table on which a map had been spread out, weighed down at the corners with inkwells, a sanding box and a small bronze Roman statue which Sir Francis normally kept on his desk. Despite this, the map threatened to roll up, so Berden took two books from a shelf on the wall to hold down the two shorter ends. While he was on his feet, he refilled the others’ wine glasses and poured another for me.

Craning my neck, I could see that the hand-drawn map showed the debatable area lying between France and the Low Countries, as well as all of the Low Countries themselves as far as the German states. The border lands did not only consist of the area from which the Spanish launched attacks on the United Provinces, those Dutch lands which had declared themselves independent of Spain. Closer to France the area had also passed back and forth between the Catholic League, headed by the Duke of Guise, and the Huguenots, led by Henri of Navarre, both factions entirely beyond the control of the weak king of France, Henri III, the last of the sons of Catherine de’ Medici to hold the French throne. I was unsure which French commander was in possession of which parts of the territory at present. It seemed to change from day to day.

‘The Earl of Leicester is based here in Amsterdam at the moment, or at any rate according to our last report.’ Sir Francis tapped the map with his forefinger. ‘The army is encamped just outside Amsterdam, the Earl and the senior officers are quartered in the town. Our fleet, together with the ships belonging to our Dutch allies, lies offshore to the west. The Spanish would dearly like to seize Amsterdam, but they already hold Sluys and Dunkerque, both of which will serve them well for launching an attack on us. However, I know that they are anxious to secure Boulogne and Calais as well. Have you received any new despatches from France today, Thomas?’

Phelippes leaned forward, his hands on his knees. ‘The latest word is that Navarre’s forces were defeated in the most recent encounter and have retreated south and west, away from the Catholic League and the centre of its support in Paris. They will be somewhere near Orleans now.’ He pointed to the edge of the map. ‘Just beyond here. The forces of the Guise faction seem to be in the ascendant, as far as we can tell. At least for the moment.’

Sir Francis clicked his tongue in annoyance. ‘If Guise succeeds in overthrowing the French king, which has been his object for years, he will form an alliance with Spain and allow them access to Boulogne and Calais. Perhaps Dieppe as well – that wasps’ nest of Catholic traitors. That will mean a whole string of ports in enemy hands, facing us across the Channel. While the French continue to fight among themselves, they will not reinforce the Spanish forces in the Netherlands, but God knows Parma and his Spaniards are strong enough without the assistance of Guise. The most the Earl of Leicester can do is hold on to what he has in the Low Countries. There is little chance of making an advance.’

Berden set his glass down on the floor and studied the map, his chin in his hand. ‘You want Kit and me to go directly to Amsterdam? Or should we spy out the area to the south and west first? Nearer to Parma’s forces?’

He said it quite calmly, but my stomach lurched. It would be dangerous enough spying amongst our own troops. I had no desire to go any closer to the Spaniards. Surely it was a mad scheme? But then, I thought, this is what Berden and the other agents do all the time. I knew there was one agent called Hunter who was held in prison in Lisbon, suspected by the Spanish of spying for England. Yet even in prison he was smuggling out reports to Sir Francis about Spanish troop movements and preparations for the invasion. These men must savour the excitement, even enjoy the risk. I could not. I was more convinced than ever that I would make a poor agent.

‘That is well thought on, Nicholas,’ Sir Francis said, setting down his own wine glass and studying the map more closely. I felt a trickle of sweat down my backbone. He was going to agree.

‘If we put you ashore somewhere here.’ He pointed to the map. ‘Just north of Flushing. . . Since taking Sluys, Parma has given all his attention to fortifying the area round the port of Flushing. It is clear that his orders from Philip are to concentrate on the Enterprise of England and to leave the destruction of the Protestant Netherlanders for another day.’

‘By your leave, Sir Francis?’ Phelippes said.

‘Aye, Thomas?’

‘As Nicholas and Kit will be carrying secret despatches and letters for the Earl, surely it is essential to ensure that they reach him without falling into the hands of the enemy? It were better they should go first to Amsterdam and deliver the papers. Then, if it seems wise, they may move down towards Flushing. The Earl himself, or his scouts, will be able to tell them the best route, to avoid outliers of the enemy forces. They will have fresher intelligence than we can possibly have.’

I looked at Phelippes gratefully. It would not eliminate the danger, but it would lessen it somewhat.

He did not notice my look, but went on. ‘By then we may also know more about the situation in France. It would be wise if we could provide more help for Navarre. Protestant supremacy in France would be immensely to our advantage.’

He said it without much conviction and I knew what the answer would be, even before Sir Francis spoke.

‘Indeed it would, but we cannot fight on too many fronts at once. Our gold is limited and our troops even more so. We cannot commit any more resources to Navarre for the present.’

‘So,’ Berden said, bringing them back to the matter in hand, ‘we go first to Amsterdam, deliver the despatches to the Earl and seek out any information there which might bear out his suspicions of treachery amongst our own or the Dutch forces. Afterwards, we head south.’

Sir Francis nodded. ‘That seems the best plan. After you have seen the Earl, you and Kit should separate and work independently, then at an agreed time meet together and travel down to near the Spanish lines.’

All this time I had said nothing. Now I ventured to speak. ‘I am the novice here. What kind of information should we be listening for? Surely if there are traitors, they will not talk openly of their plans?’

Berden sat back and picked up his glass again.

‘It is surprising how much men will talk when they are in their cups. But you should look out for small things as well. One man passing a note to another. A group of men huddled together in a corner, talking seriously and quietly, not wanting to be overheard. Any remark, however casual, that seems favourable to Spain or critical of the Queen. Any praise of the Pope, no matter how small, how brief. It will be a straw in the wind. Any man behaving suspiciously – concealing a weapon, going into a house in the town which is neither ale house not whore house, but perhaps a meeting place for the disaffected. Follow if possible, but keep out of sight. The Earl will instruct us as to the person we should report to. Do not attempt to challenge anyone or attack them. It is information we require, not heroics.’

‘No fear!’ I said, and they all laughed.

‘I think you should leave as soon as possible,’ said Sir Francis. ‘Thomas will prepare passports for you, and orders for you to be conveyed to Amsterdam by one of the military ships crossing from Dover.’

‘Do we take our own horses, or hire over there?’ Berden said.

‘Best take them, to save time and ensure that you have a reliable means to move about quickly from the start.’

I looked across at Phelippes and for once he smiled. ‘You will be wanting that piebald, Horace, I suppose.’

‘Hector,’ I said. I looked at Sir Francis. ‘If I may.’

‘Aye. I know he served you well before. Nicholas, you have your own mount, have you not?’

‘Aye, Sir Francis. He’s in your stables now.’

‘Let us say the day after tomorrow, then. That will give us time to prepare the papers.’ He turned to me. ‘I have already spoken to the governors of the hospital, Kit.’

I nodded. ‘I thank you, Sir Francis.’ He had probably done so before I had even agreed to go.

Before I left Seething Lane, Phelippes called me into his office, where we arranged the ciphers I should use in any reports I sent back to him.

‘Anything you report to the Earl,’ he said, ‘you should copy to me.’

‘Will the Earl not forward them to you?’ I asked, not altogether innocently. Since the affair of Sluys, my opinion of Leicester was not high.

Phelippes turned and walked to the window.

‘It is not that I do not trust the Earl, Kit.’ He hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder at me. ‘The Earl does not always realise what is important and what is not. And he is easily distracted from the matter in hand. His mind . . . it is somewhat akin to a butterfly, fitting from flower to flower, tasting now here, now there. He wrote to the Queen of his fears of treachery and treason. He may still fear them, but it may be that he will have forgotten his fears by the time you arrive and be thinking of some grand scheme to attack Parma. Or he may be seeking a way to persuade Her Majesty to allow him to come home and pass the command to that stepson of his, the Earl of Essex.’

I had never heard Phelippes criticise one of the great courtiers before, certainly not the Queen’s favourite, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. For a moment I was speechless, then I said, ‘I have heard that where Leicester is . . . cautious’ (I dared not say cowardly) ‘ . . . then Essex is rash, even . . . foolhardy.’

‘You are correct in what you have heard, Kit, but you will not, of course, repeat it anywhere that it might cause you unpleasantness.’

‘Of course not.’

‘And you will be the very epitome of caution. You should be safe enough with Berden, but when you are on your own, take care. I should not like to lose my best code-breaker.’

He gave me a bleak smile and I flushed. Praise from Phelippes was rare indeed.

‘I will be careful,’ I promised.

Walsingham had given me permission to tell my father and anyone else near to me that I would be carrying despatches to the army in the Low Countries. There was to be no secret about that. What I was not to reveal, however, was the true purpose of the mission, to seek out any treason against Queen and country.

‘The day after tomorrow!’ my father said in dismay, when I told him that evening, after he returned from St Bartholomew’s.

‘Walsingham’s orders,’ I said. ‘I hope there will not be a problem at the hospital. He has promised we will be home before Christmas. That is but four weeks away. And most of the chest infections and influenza strike after December.’

‘We will manage, but are you prepared? Have you warm clothes enough? And where is your own cloak?’

‘Oh, Simon and I have exchanged cloaks for the moment. He also warned me about the weather over there and thought his was warmer.’ It was not, but I had promised not to tell my father about the spying. I had made no such promise before I had told Simon. ‘Is it really so cold in the Low Countries?’

‘Aye, so I have heard. They have more snow than we do in England. Their canals and polders freeze over early in the winter and stay that way until spring. You must take your warmest clothes. Joan!’ He turned to her. ‘You must look out Master Christoval’s winter hose and shirts.’

‘Aye,’ she said grumpily. ‘I heard you. No need to shout. I’ll put them together tomorrow. I’ll be bound his stockings will need mending. They always do.’

‘I’ll grease my heavy boots,’ I said. The prospect of this bitter weather so early in the winter was depressing.

‘The day after tomorrow!’ my father said again suddenly, in the midst of our supper. ‘We are to dine at the Lopez house that day. You cannot offend Ruy Lopez.’

‘I cannot disobey Sir Francis,’ I said. ‘All the arrangements are being made, passports, the horses, a ship. I will go to see Sara tomorrow and beg her pardon. You may still go without me.’

He shook his head, a worried frown on his face, but he did not argue any more. Much as he valued his standing with the more eminent members of our Marrano community, he knew that the orders of the Queen’s Principal Secretary and spymaster must come before all else. For all we knew, the order might have come from Her Majesty herself, though I hardly thought she would have heard of someone as insignificant as Christoval Alvarez.

The next morning early I walked to Wood Street. There were several purchases I wished to make before my journey, but I wanted to call on Sara first. She was pleased to see me, perhaps all the more so because I had scarcely visited once in recent months. I apologised for this and explained how busy we had been, caring for the soldiers from Sluys.

‘Aye,’ she said, leading me into her private parlour. ‘That was a terrible business. I heard how badly the survivors fared.’

‘Better than those who did not survive,’ I said grimly.

‘That is certainly true.’ A maid entered carrying a tray, which she set down on a table and withdrew.

‘I’ve sent for some Hippocras, for it seemed to me the weather was turning even colder today.’ She poured us each a beaker of the steaming spiced wine and passed me a plate of small iced biscuits cut into circles and stars.

‘I have come to apologise also for missing your dinner tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Sir Francis Walsingham is sending me over to the Low Countries on a mission tomorrow morning, so I am afraid my father must come alone.’

‘A mission?’ she said. ‘I thought you worked in the office there, as a code-breaker and translator.’

‘Oh, I do,’ I said hastily, remembering that Sara knew nothing of my other activities for Walsingham last year. ‘It is not exactly a mission. I am to carry a number of despatches and private letters to the Earl of Leicester. You know that he is in command of our forces there.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Of course I know that. But why send you? Surely Sir Francis must have a regular courier service.’

‘He does. But the people who work for him are spread all over Europe at present. He needed someone in a hurry.’ I thought how unbelievable this sounded, but Sara was thinking of something else.

‘In my view, it sounds dangerous,’ she said. ‘What if you were to be discovered?’

As one of the very few people who knew my true sex, I realised at once what she meant. Not discovered to be carrying secret documents, but discovered to be a girl.

‘There is no need to worry,’ I said, smiling at her over the rim of my beaker. ‘I am so accustomed to my role as a man that I sometimes forget it myself.’

She shook her head angrily. ‘Do not pretend to me, Caterina. You know how dangerous it will be.’

‘I promise you I will be very careful. But do not speak that name aloud. Do not even think it.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Tell me, what is happening about the arrangements for Anne’s marriage?’

After that we spoke of other matters, but before I left, she was struck with a sudden thought.

‘Will you be in Amsterdam, Kit?’

‘Perhaps.’ I was cautious, unsure how much I should reveal.

‘I have a cousin there, Ettore Añez, a merchant in precious gems. He lives on Reiger Straat – that’s Heron Street – at the sign of the Leaping Gazelle. He would be glad to see you and hear our news. And if you need a friend, he is there, well known in the merchant community.’

‘I will remember, and if I have the chance I will take him your greetings.’

She kissed me on both cheeks and stood in the doorway as I walked away.

I made my way to Cheapside, where there are shops and street stalls selling every imaginable type of goods. There was a stationer I often frequented, where I bought a supply of quills and a neat travelling ink well so that I could carry ink without the risk of it staining my other possessions. I asked the shopkeeper to fill it with ink and he demonstrated that it did not leak. Tomorrow I would get a packet of paper from Phelippes’s office. I needed all the accoutrements of a conscientious clerk to maintain the fiction of my role. I also bought two lemons. Lemon juice, like milk and urine, makes an excellent invisible ink which can hold a message fitted in between the lines of an innocent letter written in normal ink. Milk is not so easy to come by, certainly when travelling, and urine can be awkward to use in some situations.

At a stall selling cheap but sturdy clothes for workmen I bought a thick scarf and a woollen waistcoat to wear under my doublet. All this talk of the freezing weather in the Low Countries had been causing me some concern. When we had first come to England from Portugal, I had found the winters very hard to bear. I was used to them now, but dreaded anything even colder. I had left Joan mending my thick stockings by the kitchen fire this morning, but I decided to buy an extra pair.