‘Not much, I fear, unless you would bleed to death.’
I waited in the shop while Guy took Barak through to his workshop, after coating my wrist with some stinging oil. He brought dry clothes and I changed in the shop, glad there was no one to see. I wondered again what Lady Honor might make of my bent form if she saw it. Well, she knew what to expect and did not seem to find me so bad. As I transferred my belt and purse to my borrowed hose, wincing at another stifled cry from Barak in the other room, I felt a spurt of irritation at my long preoccupation over how I looked. It was a sort of dark vanity, almost, I thought, a sort of martyrdom. Well, my path was free to make friends with Lady Honor now and I would not miss my chance. My heart had plummeted when, in the warehouse, it had seemed for a while that she could be the one behind the Greek Fire plot after all. Plummeted far enough to make me realize the depth of my feeling for her.
I went across to the window and looked out; the rain seemed to be lessening. The window had steamed up and I leaned my head on the cool glass, shutting my eyes for a moment. The door opened behind me and Guy entered, flecks of blood on his robe.
‘There,’ he said quietly, ‘that’s done. I’ve told him to rest an hour. He’s a brave young fellow.’
‘Ay, he’s hard as nails.’ I smiled tiredly. ‘We’ve won, Guy. There will be no Greek Fire. It’s all burned up.’
He sat down on a stool. ‘Praise God.’
‘Did you destroy what was in that pot?’
‘It’s in the Thames.’
I told him what had happened at the warehouse. ‘All that’s left is to get that message to Cromwell.’
‘Well, you have won, Matthew, fulfilled your mission and destroyed Greek Fire as well.’
‘Ay, though that last was by strange chance. If Marchamount hadn’t lunged at Barak—’
Guy smiled. ‘Perhaps that was the hand of God, answering your prayers and mine.’
‘God’s hand struck Marchamount hard, then.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘I have hardly prayed at all these last days. What they did, Marchamount and Norfolk, all those people killed - they did it with the aim of restoring the pope, you do realize that?’
‘As Cromwell too has done many evil things.’
I shook my head sadly. ‘Once I did believe the world could be perfected. I don’t think that any more. But I believe I’ve defended the bad side against the worse.’ I frowned. ‘Yet—’
‘What?’
‘Why does faith bring out the worst in so many, Guy?’ I blurted out. ‘How is it that it can turn men, papist and reformer both, into brutes?’
‘Man is an angry, savage being. Sometimes faith becomes an excuse for battle. It is no real faith then. In justifying their positions in the name of God, men silence God.’
‘But have the comfortable belief that, having read the Bible and prayed, they cannot be wrong.’
‘I fear so.’
From within, I heard Barak call out for water. Guy rose. ‘There, your friend is thirsty. I thought he would not lie quiet for long.’ He smiled. ‘I think he is no man of faith, but he has an earthy honesty.’
THERE HAD BEEN NO message from Cromwell by the time we left Guy’s an hour later. Nor was there any news at home. I sent Simon to retrieve the horses from the inn near St Paul’s. Then Barak and I ate lunch and waited in my parlour as afternoon turned slowly to evening. We were too exhausted to do more than sit half-dozing.
‘I must go to bed,’ Barak said at length.
‘Ay, I need rest too.’ I frowned. ‘Why hasn’t Cromwell contacted us?’
‘He’s probably waiting for a chance to see the king,’ Barak said. ‘Likely he will do that first, then fetch us later if we’re needed. We’ll hear something in the morning.’
I heaved myself upright. ‘Barak, do you think you are fit enough to come to the Wentworths tomorrow? It will be our last chance.’
He nodded, getting to his feet. ‘Ay. It takes more than a sword thrust to lay me low. And what’s to fear from a greasy steward, a fat old merchant and a brood of women? I’ll come. The business started there after all, didn’t it?’
‘Ay, and it must end there, before Elizabeth comes back before Forbizer.’
NORMALLY JOAN WOULD have woken us for breakfast, but after seeing the state in which Barak and I had returned home the good woman must have decided to let us sleep. Neither of us woke until nearly midday. I felt much better, though my wrist still hurt, and Barak seemed almost restored to his usual self, though still a trifle pale. It had stopped raining, but the sky was dark and heavy. To my surprise there was no word from Cromwell, only a plaintive note from Joseph begging for news.
‘He must have seen the king by now,’ I said. ‘Surely he’d at least let us know.’
Barak shrugged. ‘We’re small fry, you and me.’
‘Maybe we should send another message?’