Both had moved with astonishing speed, and for a terrible second I thought Nicholas was lost, but he had raised his own sword in time to parry. Barak, meanwhile, reached for the knife pinning his hand to the table and, with another yell, managed to pull it out. Blood welled up. At the same moment the bald man reached for his sword, but Okedene, who had brought out his own knife, thrust it to the hilt into his shoulder. Quickly I pulled out my own weapon and held it to his throat. Barak could do no more than clutch at his hand.
For a moment I thought we had won, for Nicholas seemed to have the fair man at a disadvantage trying to fight from behind the table. But then with his free hand he reached down and grasped the table’s underside. Despite his slim build he was strong, for he managed to tip the table right over on us, sending pewter tankards flying. Nicholas, staggering back, dropped his sword. The fair man slashed at him, catching him on the chest so that blood gushed out. Okedene, caught by the table, fell over with a yell. The fair-haired man jumped from the alcove. His companion, clutching at his shoulder, reached down with his free hand and took up Nicholas’s sword.
Both made for the door, the fair man slashing at a potman who stood gaping at the scene; he jumped back frantically and a woman screamed. The two men turned in the doorway, menacing us with their swords for a moment, the face of the dark-haired man white with pain, Okedene’s knife still in his shoulder. Then they turned and ran. I stood looking after them. There was nothing I could do alone. Barak and Nicholas were both hurt, though thank heaven not severely, and Okedene was only now stumbling to his feet, pale and groaning.
The innkeeper appeared with two assistants, each bearing a cudgel. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asked angrily. ‘Fighting and near murder in my inn. I’ll have the constable on you!’
‘Didn’t you hear us say we were trying to arrest two murderers?’ I shouted with sudden violence. I took a deep breath and swallowed, for what had happened must have terrified both staff and patrons. I took out my purse and produced a sovereign – one of those Bealknap had given me. I held it up.
‘This should more than cover your trouble.’
The innkeeper looked at it hungrily.
I said, ‘It’s yours if you answer a couple of questions. Have these men been here before?’
‘A few times these last weeks. They always sit talking in that corner after ordering something to eat. And I know their names; I remember because once a man came for them, a messenger from somewhere. He asked if Master Daniels and Master Cardmaker were here. Said it was urgent. Then he saw them sitting in the alcove and went over to them. I didn’t like the look of them. An innkeeper knows when people may be trouble. By Mary, I was right there,’ he added bitterly, looking at the overturned table, the spilled beer on the floor, the deserted room. A few frightened faces peered in from the garden.
I took a deep breath. Learning their names like this was a great piece of luck, though it did not make up for the fact we had lost them, and that Barak and Nicholas had been hurt. I wondered, who had sent that messenger?
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘We’ll go.’ Barak was sitting down, his face white, wrapping his hand tightly with a handkerchief. Nicholas had undone his shirt, revealing a pale but muscular torso. To my relief he had suffered no more than a superficial cut. Colour was returning to Okedene’s face.
‘I must take you and Nicholas to Guy at once,’ I told Barak.
‘How the fuck am I going to explain this to Tammy?’ he said thickly.
I helped him to the door. Outside I turned to Okedene. ‘Sir, will you come with us?’
The printer shook his head. ‘No, Master Shardlake, and I will have no more of this business. I should never have come to you. I will hasten with the sale of my printworks. Thank you for your care in sending that note, but please let us alone now.’ He looked again at my injured companions, then walked slowly away.
Chapter Twenty-one
MERCIFULLY, GUY WAS AT HOME. His assistant, Francis, looked astonished when I appeared on the doorstep with two men who were both bleeding profusely. ‘Robbers attacked us,’ I lied. Francis hurried us through to Guy’s consulting room, where he was mixing herbs. ‘By Mary!’ he cried. ‘What has happened?’
I watched anxiously as he examined Nicholas and Barak. Nicholas’s chest wound required only a couple of stitches, which he bore well, biting his tongue as Guy sewed. Then he carefully examined Barak’s left hand. ‘Thank heaven it was a narrow knife,’ he said, ‘and went through the fleshy part between the long bones of your fingers. But it will require stitching, and lavender and other oils to stop the wound becoming poisoned.’
Nicholas frowned. ‘I thought wine was best to clear wounds.’
‘Lavender is better. Though it stings. And a bandage.’ Guy looked at Barak seriously. ‘You will have to wear it for a week, and have it changed regularly. You are right-handed, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Barak. ‘God’s wounds, it hurts.’
‘It will. But with luck, there should be no damage save a little stiffness.’