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carry a double message: one real piece of news and one false, in case of capture.
    There was a knock at the door.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMr. Walsingham, there is a man to see you. He says his name is Crackenthorpe.”
    â€œWith a scar?”
    â€œOver his right eye, sir.”
    â€œAllow him in.”
    Crackenthorpe entered, holding his hat. He bowed. Walsingham looked up at him. If Crackenthorpe had not found his niche working for me, he would have been hanged by now. It is understandable that soldiers in battle kill men and rape women; such are the natural consequences of war. But Crackenthorpe sees no difference between war and peace. If he were sent back to the north, his own people would kill him sooner than the Scots.
    â€œI have arrested Henry Machyn.”
    Walsingham’s eyes opened a fraction wider. “Arrested? Good. Where is he now?”
    â€œHe’s under guard at the brick house in Bishopsgate.”
    â€œIn the cellars, I presume?”
    â€œIn leg irons.”
    Walsingham set down his quill and got up from the table. He went to the far side of the room and ran his fingers over a plate of sweetmeats. He took one and started walking back, biting it with his front teeth. Excellent. Trap the man’s legs. Crackenthorpe is learning. Men take the ability to walk too much for granted.
    He saw the large man watching him chew and gestured for him to help himself. “Where was he? How did you find him?”
    Crackenthorpe raised a sweetmeat to his lips. “I watched Machyn’s house all night, as you instructed.” He placed the morsel in his mouth and tried to speak and chew at once. “Very late…a man arrived and started…knocking hard on the door.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHe said he was William Harley, a herald.”
    Walsingham smiled. “Well, well. Yes, he is a herald. Clarenceux King of Arms, no less.” He saw Crackenthorpe glance back again at the sweetmeat tray. “Go on, Sergeant Crackenthorpe. Have as many as you want. Tell me more.”
    Crackenthorpe took two sweetmeats. He chewed and spoke at the same time. “I escorted Clarenceux…back to Ludgate. He asked the guard there…to let us through. He said he had done it before but…I didn’t believe him. We crossed the bridge and went to his house…” He swallowed, looking at Walsingham, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We waited. He went in by an alleyway along one side. I continued to wait in the rain for a further quarter of an hour. Then I left one man at the front and led the rest down the same alley, hoping to learn more of the layout of his house and yard, in case I needed to order that the house be watched. The back door was closed, but by the lantern light I noticed the stable door was ajar. One of my men found Machyn upstairs, in the hayloft.”
    Walsingham picked up the piece of paper he had been writing on when Crackenthorpe had arrived. He took it to the fireplace and let it drift into the flames, like a leaf. He knew his next message to Cecil had to be spoken. He would go and see him in person.
    â€œHer majesty will be pleased. Have you started questioning Machyn yet?”
    â€œNo, sir. But I did leave a guard at his house.”
    â€œAnd what about Clarenceux’s house? Have you searched it?”
    There was a pause. “No, sir. I thought it best to report back to you for further instructions.”
    Walsingham saw the blackened fragments of the paper drift up the chimney. “It needs to be done,” he said, turning to face Crackenthorpe. “But first, tell me everything you know about Clarenceux, everything he said last night. I want to know every word.”

14
    Clarenceux stood amid the crowd. There were about forty people now in Little Trinity Lane, their breath visible in the sunlight as they whispered to one another. They were looking at the red crosses on the barricaded door. The plague that summer had been