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my point. ‘It’s just as simple as that. I repeat, I am not going back to London. There isn’t any point. For the saints’ sweet sake, man, I told you all I know in that letter I wrote to you, and which I presume you’ve received. You wouldn’t be here, else. I swear to you I have no later information.’
    Timothy waved a dismissive hand. ‘Oh, it’s not about Hastings and his treacherous little band of plotters. We know all about them. We’re just giving ’em enough rope to hang themselves before we strike. We have our own spy amongst ’em.’
    I was interested in spite of myself. ‘The lawyer, Catesby, I presume.’
    My companion eyed me sharply. ‘What makes you say that?’
    I shrugged. ‘It was obvious when I overheard Hastings and Catesby talking that the lawyer resented the Lord Chamberlain’s treatment of him.’
    â€˜And how was that?’
    â€˜Like an unpaid servant. So, am I correct? Is Catesby your spy?’
    Timothy frowned. ‘Seeing you know so much, I suppose I might as well admit it. But not a whisper to anyone, Roger! At least, not yet. Once we arrest the ringleaders it won’t matter.’
    â€˜Who am I likely to tell? I’ve already said, I’m not going to London with you.’
    Timothy heaved a sigh, the long-suffering one he kept specially for when he considered that I was behaving like a recalcitrant child. He reached into the pouch at his belt and produced an official-looking document which he proceeded, slowly and solemnly to unfold. The parchment crackled. He held it up so that I could see the royal seal at the bottom.
    â€˜The lord Protector’s signature,’ he said, tapping with one fingernail the scrawled ‘R. Gloucester’ alongside it. ‘I was instructed to use this only as a last resort; to persuade you if I could, to appeal to your loyalty, to remind you of the place you hold in the duke’s affections and of his continuing friendship. But I can see that you’re in one of your pig-headed moods, in one of your hard-done-by sulks, so I’m not going to waste my time and breath on persuasion. It’s no use arguing, Roger. We leave for London tomorrow morning, on horseback of course, and should reach the capital by Friday.’
    I did some rapid calculations in my head. ‘That’ll be the thirteenth,’ I said. ‘June the thirteenth. Friday the thirteenth. Oh no! With an augury like that, I’m certainly not going.’
    â€˜Well, if you prefer being clapped in chains in Bristol Castle dungeons, that’s up to you,’ was the sharp response.
    â€˜An empty threat,’ I argued uncertainly. ‘You wouldn’t do it.’
    â€˜I won’t have any choice,’ Timothy retorted. ‘Those are my orders.’
    I hesitated. I knew from past experience that my lord of Gloucester, kind and loyal friend though he could be, had a ruthless streak in him when it came to getting his own way. In this, I supposed, he was no different from any other of our lords and masters. There was no room for weakness and sentimentality in a position of command, and even less so when one was governing a country.
    For a second or two, I regarded Timothy with a fulminating eye, my mind scrambling around like a squirrel in a cage, trying to find some means of escape. But there was none. Finally, I shrugged and asked resignedly, ‘What’s this all about, then? If it’s nothing to do with Hastings and his conspiracy, why do you want me back in London?’
    Timothy relaxed and returned the parchment with its royal seal to his pouch. ‘That’s better,’ he approved. ‘Now you’re talking like a sensible man.’
    â€˜Just get on and tell me,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t want any pats on the head.’
    At that moment, there was an interruption as Adela knocked on the door. ‘Supper’s ready,’ she