proportion to his importance. The room stretched from the courtyard at the back of the house to Drury Lane, which a series of leaded windows overlooked. The walls were lined with filled bookcases, more books than Thomas had ever seen in one place. He estimated there must be at least four or five hundred of them. A truly magnificent private library, he marvelled with a touch of envy. There were two fireplaces in the study to heat each end, and chairs were positioned between the bookcases, enough of them to seat perhaps thirty or forty guests. Between the two fireplaces was a large desk upon which rested a wooden tray with documents piled within it. A pair of inkwells and a handful of pens lay neatly beside them. Behind the desk sat a large man with a silk cap. His hair was trimmed in a neat line about his scalp and his beard formed a tidy point above a double chin. He appeared to be a few years younger than Thomas. There was only one other man in the room, thin and clothed in a black gown that reached almost to the floor. He stood close to one of the fires, warming his back. Both of them regarded Thomas briefly before the man seated behind the desk gestured to him impatiently.
‘Come, sit down, Sir Thomas. There.’ He indicated one of a handful of cushioned chairs on the other side of his desk, arranged in a shallow arc. ‘You too, my dear Francis.’
Thomas did as he was bid and sat in the middle of the chairs so that the other man would be displaced from the centre, the implicit position of most importance. Once they were settled Sir Robert leaned forward and fixed Thomas with a steady gaze. His expression was good-natured and he spoke in a pleasant tone. ‘I trust your journey was not too troubling?’
‘Not at all, sir. The roads were safe and the snow was only light. I made good time.’
‘So I see. You reached London earlier than I thought you would.’ Thomas smiled faintly. ‘A man who is summoned by the Secretary of State does not tarry a moment longer than he can help it, Sir Robert. And so here I am, at your pleasure.’
‘Indeed, and I dare say that the cause of my request is uppermost in your mind.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then let me say that your being here is due to the delicacy of the task I have in mind for you. Even though our blessed sovereign has been on the throne for five years, there are still many who take exception to her elevation to the throne and not just because of her espousal of the Protestant faith. I take it you know of John Knox?’
‘I have heard the name.’
‘And you are no doubt aware that he cries out against the very principle of a woman succeeding to the throne. Perhaps you have read some of his pamphlets on the matter.’
‘It would be a foolish man who dared to read his arguments, Sir Robert. His pamphlets are banned. It is a capital offence to be discovered in possession of them, I believe.’
‘Quite so. But you are familiar with his thoughts.’
‘I have heard of them,’ Thomas replied carefully, aware that he was being watched closely by the other man in the room, who no doubt served as a witness. ‘Though I cannot recall who was speaking at the time.’
‘Naturally.’ Sir Robert smiled. ‘And it would be pointless for me to press you on the matter, still less to subject you to the pains in order to encourage your memory of the names of those involved.’ He chuckled as if to underscore the levity of the comment, but Thomas understood the threat of torture well enough. He was completely in this man’s power, regardless of his views of Knox or any of those who opposed Queen Elizabeth. As a Catholic his jeopardy was doubled. He returned Sir Robert’s gaze without expression. There was an uncomfortable silence before Sir Robert eased himself back a short distance and raised his hands slightly.
‘Ah! Pardon me, I forget my manners. I should have introduced you two gentlemen. Sir Thomas, it is my pleasure to acquaint you with Sir Francis Walsingham, the partner of my labours in the service of our sovereign. I trust him implicitly,’ Sir Robert added with emphasis.
Thomas turned towards him and nodded. ‘Walsingham.’
The other man stared back and responded coldly, ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Thomas.’
‘You must forgive Sir Francis,’ the host laughed. ‘He is no lover of the Church of Rome and sometimes that causes him to forget certain social niceties. But come now, let us not dance about the point any longer. I can assure you, Sir Thomas, that you have not been asked here for the sake of persecution. I have a task for you. One that will be an opportunity to serve your sovereign and your country and put the question of your loyalty to both beyond reproach.’
‘I do not consider my loyalty to either to be in doubt,’ Thomas countered evenly.
‘Of course not. You know your own heart and I would not have asked you here if I had any doubts. Let us take that as settled. Agreed?’ He shot Walsingham a warning glance. The latter nodded.
‘There. Which brings us to the first question I have to put to you, Sir Thomas. I believe that you were visited two days ago by a French knight who belongs to the rather select Holy Order of the Hospitaller Knights of St John.’ He turned to Walsingham. ‘That is their title, is it not?’
‘More or less.’
Cecil’s eyes fixed on Thomas and the good-natured wrinkles that spread out at their corners eased into a cold, heartless stare. ‘Would you be so good as to tell us why a French knight from a Catholic military order might travel across Europe to pay a visit to you, Sir Thomas?’
CHAPTER TEN
So, as he had suspected, Philippe de Nanterre’s visit was the reason he was here, Thomas thought wryly. For twenty years he had done all that was in his power to avoid attention or attract suspicion and now it was all undone by the young knight and his masters on Malta. His abiding feeling was resentment rather than fear and he returned Cecil’s gaze without flinching as he replied. ‘He came to deliver a letter.’
‘What letter?’ Walsingham cut in. ‘Where is it?’
‘At home. In my study.’
‘And what did it say?’
‘The letter was addressed to me, Sir Francis. I do not see why I should share its contents with you.’
‘Really?’ For the first time Walsingham smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal neat but stained teeth. ‘I wonder what you have to hide.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then tell us.’
Thomas gritted his teeth and felt the first surge of anger ripple through his veins as he stared at Walsingham. The man was perhaps ten years his junior and in the prime of life, but he had lived in London too long and the pallor of his complexion told of lack of fitness and strength. In a fight, Thomas knew that he could break the man into pieces and the mere thought of it fired the taste for violence he had long suppressed. There was the true danger and he forced himself to edge back from the temptation. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a steady breath. There was nothing to be gained from this confrontation.
‘The letter was from Sir Oliver Stokely, in Malta,’ he began. ‘He has requested that I honour my oath to the Order and return to defend the island against the host that the Turkish Sultan is gathering to hurl upon Malta. That is the substance of it.’
‘Sir Oliver Stokely,’ Cecil mused with a faint smile. ‘A distant cousin of mine, as it happens. We were close as children, until he let his faith lead him astray. More than a little astray in the end, as his presence in Malta eloquently demonstrates. But I digress. I assume your guest required a response from you before continuing with his travels.’
‘He did.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I accepted.’
Cecil and Walsingham exchanged a brief glance and Thomas thought he sensed their disappointment with his reply. The former returned his gaze to Thomas.
‘Why did you accept?’
‘I swore an oath that is still binding. The Grand Master has summoned me and I must go.’
‘You still consider you are bound by an oath taken so many years ago?’
‘A man is only as good as his word,’ Thomas replied. ‘Even so, it is a long time since I shared the aims and
