LITMIR.BIZ

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crowing on their frosty dunghills. His teeth are aching again but he ignores the pain as best he can. He is hungry. He is almost always hungry. Sometimes he is tempted to eat the food they put out for Windy; but he knows that if he does that, Windy will tear out his throat.

      Despite the pain, the cold and the hunger, he likes this time before the light, before the world stirs. He likes its emptiness. He stares at a pinprick of light in the eastern sky and listens to the cocks. He waits for the dawn when it will all begin again.

      The first I heard about the duel was on the day itself. I was one of the very few who were aware of it beforehand. My master, Mr Williamson, summoned me into his private room at Scotland Yard shortly after nine o’clock in the morning. He told me to make sure that the door was closed. The door was made of close-fitting oak and the walls were thick. Even so, he beckoned me closer and spoke in an undertone.

      ‘My Lord Shrewsbury has challenged the Duke of Buckingham.’

      Startled, I said, ‘Won’t the King stop them? Does he know?’

      Williamson stared at me, and I knew that I had overstepped the mark. ‘The King will do as he pleases, Marwood. And you will do as I please.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’

      ‘They are to fight this afternoon. It’s likely to be a bloody business. My lord has decided that the duel will be in the French style, so he and the Duke will both be supported by two seconds.’

      Three against three, I thought, slashing at each other with their swords in the name of honour: not so much a duel as a pitched battle. Anything could happen in such a mêlée, anyone could be killed. What worried me was why Williamson was telling me such a dangerous secret.

      ‘Who are the seconds?’ I asked.

      ‘My lord has his cousins, Sir John Talbot and Bernard Howard, Lord Arundel’s son. The Duke has Sir Robert Holmes and a man called Jenkins, whom I don’t know. He’s an officer in the Horse Guards.’ Williamson paused. ‘And a former fencing master.’

      In that case, Buckingham had chosen carefully. I had never heard of Jenkins, but his qualifications were obvious. Holmes was well known as a ruthless fighter. He had served as both a soldier and a sailor in his time. On the other hand, Talbot and Howard were both reputed to be fine swordsmen. Talbot was an MP; he frequently attacked Buckingham and his allies in Parliament. He was a close ally of Lord Arlington, Williamson’s superior.

      ‘Can’t it be stopped, sir, if so much is known about it? Perhaps the King—’

      Williamson frowned at me. ‘If that had been possible, we would not be having this conversation.’ He went on in a more conciliatory tone: ‘Of course the reason for the duel is obvious enough. The only wonder is that my lord has put up with the injury he has suffered for so long.’

      As all the world knew, Lord Shrewsbury could hardly have avoided hearing that Buckingham had injured him: the whole town had known for months. The Duke flaunted the fact that Lady Shrewsbury was his latest mistress; so for that matter did she. But I was now quite sure that there was more to this affair than a straying wife and a cuckolded husband.

      ‘I want you to be there,’ Williamson said, leaning back in his chair. ‘At the duel. To be my eyes.’

      My skin crawled. Duels were illegal. Besides, I wanted nothing to do with the quarrels of noblemen. Especially these two: Buckingham and Shrewsbury. ‘Sir, they would kill me if—’

      ‘I agree – it would not be convenient to either of us if you were seen,’ he interrupted. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a small wooden box, which he handed to me. ‘Open it.’

      I obeyed. The box contained a perspective glass made of brass, small enough to slip in a pocket.

      ‘Keep your distance. Once the duel’s over, come back as soon as you can and report to me. I want to know who’s been killed, who’s been wounded. I want to know exactly what happens, and who is there. Not just the combatants. Everyone.’

      I made one last effort to avoid the commission. ‘Sir, is it wise? The Duke would recognize my face if he chanced to see me. And several members of his household know of my employment at Whitehall.’

      Williamson nodded. ‘Who do you know among the Duke’s people?’

      ‘One is a clergyman named Veal, not that you would know he was in orders if you saw him. He served in the New Model Army, first as a soldier and then as a chaplain. He was given a living during the Commonwealth, but he was later ejected from his benefice. They sometimes call him the Bishop, because of his calling, though he’s not fond of bishops. He has a servant, a brute of a man named Roger, who served with him in the army.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Neither of them has any cause to like me, any more than their master has.’

      ‘My intelligence is that the Duke uses these two rogues a good deal for his secret dealings. The servant’s surname is Durrell. The more I can learn about them both the better. If they are there today, it will be a proof positive of how much the Duke trusts them. But the important thing is the duel itself and what happens to the principals. And I can’t emphasize enough that I don’t want our interest in the matter to be known.’ He coughed, turning his head towards the window and looking down at a team of oxen dragging an overladen coal waggon across the second courtyard at Scotland Yard. ‘My interest, that is.’

      ‘Where is the duel to be held, sir?’ I asked, noting this hint that Williamson was not acting solely on his own initiative.

      ‘Barn Elms.’ He turned back. ‘After dinner – two o’clock, according to my information. I’m told that they left the decision about the time and the place until the last moment, to avoid the risk of detection. I don’t even know precisely where in Barn Elms. You had better hire a boat and get there before them. I imagine they must come by river.’

      He dismissed me. At the door, however, he called me back. He scowled at me. ‘Take great care, Marwood. I don’t want to lose you.’

      Williamson waved me away and lowered his head over his papers. I supposed I should take his last remark as a twisted compliment.

      I had time to return to my lodgings in the Savoy. The weather was milder than it had been last winter, but it was cold enough in all conscience. I had Margaret, my maidservant, send out for a fricassee of veal. While I waited for the dish to arrive, I went up to my bedchamber and put on a second shirt and a thicker waistcoat.

      After I had eaten, I put on my heaviest winter cloak and a broad-brimmed hat that I hoped would conceal most of my face. It was now about half-past eleven. I walked down to the Savoy stairs. The tide was up, and several boats were clustered about the landing place, waiting for new fares. Here I had a stroke of good fortune. Among the boats was the pair of oars that belonged to a waterman named Wanswell. I had used him often enough in the past year, usually to take me up the river to Whitehall or Westminster.

      ‘I want to go up to Barn Elms,’ I told him. ‘And I’ll need you to wait for me. Perhaps for a few hours.’

      ‘Picnic, is it, master?’ He had a flat, sardonic way of speaking that made it hard to know if he was smiling or sneering inside. His face gave no clue. Exposure to weather had made it a ruddy mask, stiff as old leather. ‘Perhaps a bit of singing after you’ve eaten and drunk your fill?’

      ‘Don’t be more of a fool than God made you,’ I said.

      ‘I leave that to others, sir.’

      I chose not to take offence. The watermen were notorious for their surliness. For my present commission, however, I would rather trust Wanswell than a complete stranger. He had been pressed into the navy in his youth and he had served for a time with Sam Witherdine, Margaret’s husband. The two men often spent their leisure drinking together. I asked him how much he would charge.

      He spat in the water. ‘Seven shillings each way. A shilling an hour waiting time.’

      It was an

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