The King's Evil

it shall not hurt them.'

He raised his head to signal the first diseased man forward.

'They shall lay their hands on the sick, and they shall recover.'

As the words were spoken, the King laid both hands fearlessly upon the kneeling supplicant before him then waited for a second person to take his place. Each time a different man, woman or child knelt in hope before him, the King's Touch was accompanied by the same verse from the Gospel.

'They shall lay their hands on the sick and they shall recover.'

Christopher found the whole event profoundly moving. Touched by the simple faith of those who waited so patiently in line, he was full of admiration for the way in which the King conducted himself. Charles did not shrink from even the most repulsive cases. Each one of them was treated with gentle consideration as they knelt to receive the Touch which might yet redeem them from the misery of their illness. When the long queue of people had eventually filed past, the ceremony was only half over. More prayers were offered then a second reading was taken from the Gospel of St John.

'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him_; and without him was not anything made that was made.'

Christopher knew the words by heart and chanted them under his breath in unison with the speaker. Reared in the shadow of Gloucester Cathedral and fed daily on the Gospels, he found them endlessly inspiring though he sensed that his brother, Henry, who was also mouthing the verses beside him, was doing so out of force of habit rather than from any inner conviction.

'That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.'

The words were repeated each time one of the supplicants knelt for the second time before the King. Showing no signs of fatigue or loss of dignity, Charles hung an azure ribbon around the necks of all those whom he had touched. From the ribbon was suspended a gold medallion stamped with his image. Christopher was enthralled.

'What is he giving them, Henry?' he whispered.

'A gold angel.'

'Such a generous gift!'

'Too generous,' said the other sharply. 'When the Commons added up the Crown's expenses last year, they found that five thousand pounds had been spent in angel-gold. Five thousand, mark you! Why give them gold, when base metal would suffice? They have been cured by the King's Touch. That should be reward enough.'

'And have they been truly cured?'

'Some of them.'

'What of the others?'

'They lack faith,' said Henry irritably. 'The fault is never in the King but in the wretch who kneels before him. Everything depends on having enough faith in His Majesty.'

'So I see.'

'Let us steal away, Christopher. The smell offends me.'

'But I want to watch the whole ceremony.'

'You have seen all that matters. I brought you here to meet some of those enemies of Sir Ambrose Northcott. They will come out of their holes when the King returns to court. We must be there to study them.'

'You are right, Henry. But I am most grateful to you for bringing me here. It was an extraordinary event. The only surprise is that it takes place in the Banqueting House.'

'Where else?'

'Anywhere but here, I fancy,' opined Christopher. 'This building holds such terrible memories for the King. It was from here that his father stepped out before that bloodthirsty crowd to have his royal head struck from his body. The King must be highly aware of that. It shows great courage on his part to come here for the sake of his subjects' health and to behave with such equanimity.'

'I prefer the King in more humorous vein.'

'You might not do so if you suffered from scrofula.'

'Enough of disease!' said Henry, ushering him out. 'And enough of the execution of a lawful King! What concerns us now is the murder of Sir Ambrose Northcott. Adjourn to Court with me and I will introduce you to some of those politicians who have delighted in his death. Sound them out for yourself, Christopher. But beware of their wiles.'

'I am used to dealing with cunning minds.'

'From whom did you learn that skill?'

'From you, Henry.'

'Me?'

'Where could I find a better tutor?' said his brother with a grin. 'You are the most devious and artful man in the whole of London. You are so steeped in craft and so wedded to guile that even the King's Touch could not cure you.'

The ship lay at anchor in the middle of the Thames but there was much activity abroad. Watching from his vantage point on the wharf, Jonathan Bale realised that the Marie Louise was about to sail on the evening tide. She was a three-masted merchant vessel with the kind of sleek lines and impressive fittings which would ordinarily have held his attention for hours but he had no leisure to expend on such an exercise. Built for speed, she had top-gallant sails for the main and fore masts, an unusual addition to the standard rig of a middling craft. She was clearly able to defend herself and Jonathan counted the number of cannon along the starboard side, wondering why a ship that was designed to carry cargo needed such artillery. When the sails were unfurled and the crew weighed anchor, Jonathan reached forward involuntarily as if trying to hold her back, but it was a vain gesture. The Marie Louise had other plans. It was only a matter of time before her canvas caught the first smack of wind and she creaked into motion.

By the time that Christopher Redmayne arrived, the vessel was already a hundred yards downriver. The newcomer was alarmed.

'Has she set sail already?'

'I fear so, Mr Redmayne.'

'Did you manage to get aboard her?'

'Alas, no,' said Jonathan, turning to him. 'The captain would not let me aboard nor come ashore so that I could question him here. I was told that I would need the written permission of Mr Creech before I would be allowed on the Marie Louise.'

'Did you seek such permission?'

'Three or four times, sir. But the lawyer was never at his office. His clerk told me that he was busy elsewhere and that I had to come back.'

'Solomon Creech is not busy, Mr Bale. He is hiding.'

'From what?'

'From any enquiries which relate to Sir Ambrose Northcott,' said Christopher resignedly. 'I have called on him myself a number of times in the past few days and collected the same annoying excuses from that clerk of his. Still,' he said, brightening, 'a great deal has happened since we last met and I have much to tell you. Judging from your message, you have much to tell me as well.'

'Yes, sir,' said Jonathan. 'Thank you for coming so promptly. I am sorry you did not get here in time to take a proper look at the Marie Louise. She was a handsome craft, a credit to those who built her.'

'Your letter mentioned that the ship changed its name. Why?'

'I hoped to find out by talking to the captain.'

Jonathan gave him a detailed account of his researches along the wharves and in the taverns frequented by sailors. Christopher took especial note of the man who purported to seek the King's Touch to rid himself of his boils. It was his cue to relate his own movements. He talked excitedly about the ceremony at the Banqueting House but it