‘Nothing.’
I looked at McKendrick, quiet now, his breathing shallow. ‘I would have prevented this, Guy, I hope you believe me.’
‘Yes,’ Guy answered, ‘I believe that. But you are still involved in something deeply dangerous, are you not?’
‘Yes.’ I looked again at McKendrick. ‘May I question him?’
‘His mind is in a fever most of the time.’
‘Would you leave me to try? The only reason I ask you not to stay is in case you hear something that might imperil your safety. I would not drag you into this bog as well.’
Guy hesitated, then nodded. ‘I will leave you for a little. But do not tax him.’ He went out, closing the door gently. There was a stool in the room, and I dragged it across to McKendrick’s bed. It was getting dark, the sound of voices quieter as Smithfield emptied. I shook him gently. His eyes opened; they were unfocused, feverish.
‘Master McKendrick?’ I asked.
‘Dominie McKendrick,’ he whispered. ‘I am Dominie. Teacher, preacher.’
‘Dominie, who did this to you?’
I was not sure he had heard my question, but then he said wearily, closing his eyes tight, ‘There were two o’ them, two. They took me by surprise, though I’m careful. Jumped out of the doorway an’ stabbed me. Two o’ them. I got one o’ them in the shoulder, managed to run.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Escaped in the alleys. Got to know the London alleys these last years. Same as the ones in Stirling, always running, running from the lackeys of popes and princes. But I weakened, loss o’ blood.’ He sighed. ‘Running, always running.’
I bent my head close. ‘Did you know your attackers, Dominie?’
He shook his head wearily.
‘Were they two tall young men, one fair, with a wart on his face, the other almost bald?’
‘Ay, that was them.’ He looked at me, his eyes focusing properly for the first time. ‘Who are you?’
‘One who would punish those who attacked you.’ Daniels and Cardmaker had underestimated the ex-soldier’s strength and speed, and he had managed to run into the crowd of apprentices. But too late, it seemed, to save his life.
He reached a hand out from under the blankets, grasping mine. His was hard and callused, the hand of a man who had worked and soldiered, but hot and clammy. ‘Did they kill Master Greening?’ he asked.
‘Yes, and his apprentice, Elias.’
His grip tightened and his eyes opened wider, blue and clear. He stared at me. ‘Elias? We thought he was the traitor.’
‘No, it was not him.’ Nor you either, I thought.
McKendrick released my hand and leaned back on the bed with a groan. ‘Then it can only have been Curdy, William Curdy we all thought such a true soul.’ Yes, I thought, and Curdy is dead, unable to say who his master was. Killed by one of Richard Rich’s men.
He looked at me. ‘Are you one of us?’ he asked.
‘One of who?’
‘The brethren. The believers in a new heaven and a new earth. Those our enemies call Anabaptists?’
‘No. I am not.’
The dying man’s shoulders slumped. Then he looked at me fiercely. ‘I see it, among these dreams I have here. The greater vision, a future Commonwealth where all share equally in the bounty of nature, and worship the one Christ in peace. No princes, no warring countries, all men living in harmony. Is it a dream, do you think, or do I see Heaven?’
‘I think it a dream, Dominie,’ I answered sadly. ‘But I do not know.’
A few moments later McKendrick slid back into unconsciousness, his breathing shallow. I stood, my knees creaking. I had learned what I needed to know and returned slowly to the main room, where Guy was writing notes at a desk at the back of the ward.
‘He is unconscious again,’ I sighed. ‘Or perhaps in a sleep of wondrous dreams. There is nothing to be done for him?’
He shook his head. ‘We doctors know the signs of coming death.’
‘Yes.’ I remembered Cecil telling me about the King’s doctors saying he could not last long now. ‘Thank you for summoning me, Guy. One thing more. When – when he dies, it would be safer for the hospital if he were buried under a different name. He is wanted in connection with possible treason.’
Guy looked at me, then spoke with quiet passion. ‘I pray every night that whatever terrible thing you are involved in, it may end soon.’
‘Thank you.’
I left the hospital. At home I sent a note to Lord Parr, telling him the Scotchman was found, and that he was not the spy. Very early next morning, Brocket woke me with two notes that had arrived with the dawn: one on expensive paper with the seal of the Queen in red wax, the other a second folded scrap from Guy. The first told me that I was required at Whitehall Palace again that morning, the second that McKendrick had died in the night. Again, Guy had signed his note only with his name.
Chapter Thirty-nine