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there is in London a faction that will yield only to a drawn sword.”
    “You have many staunch supporters in the upper House –”
    “Such as Lord Holland, who lately confronted me at Hull, and the Earl of Pembroke, with his demands that I render up control of my m-militias? And Lord Essex, who refused to join me at York? And they are called the moderates!” Although the King still spoke softly, his words were an unmistakeable reproach to Falkland, who sensed that Digby was enjoying his discomfiture. “You have worked long and hard to win over those misguided souls,” His Majesty said more amiably, laying his hand on Falkland’s shoulder. “Do not for a moment believe that my desire for peace is insincere. Yet we must ready for the worst.” At this he left them, to greet some other members of Council who had entered the chamber.
    Digby was regarding Falkland, his round blue eyes apologetic. “I am sorry, Lucius, that I was amongst those who urged your appointment to the Secretaryship. Yet I could conceive of no wiser a person, nor yet more learned, nor of more impartial disposition, to advise His Majesty at this critical juncture. I, and others, have placed a heavy burden upon you, and you must curse us for it.”
    “I do not curse you. I am only puzzled, my lord, that
you
should have foregone this burden yourself,” Falkland said, although he knew that Digby’s shifts of allegiance had made him too unpopular a candidate for the office.
    “I could not do it justice,” Digby responded smoothly. “I lack your nobility of character.” Then he burst into laughter, as if at his own performance. That he was genuinely amused by it, Falkland realised, was why for all his slipperiness he was hard to dislike. “Lucius,” he said, “on the next occasion we meet, please remind me that you are one of the few men I know who is not susceptible to flattery. Otherwise I shall continue to waste my breath as I have just now.”
    “Why should I remind you,” Falkland said, “when I have so little to entertain me these days.”
    Digby appeared pensive for a moment. “What you are lacking, Lucius, is the sweet influence of female company.”
    “I know, I cannot bear so long a separation from my wife,” Falkland admitted, touched that Digby should have thought of her. “You must feel much the same.”
    “Oh, Anne and I understand these things very well,” Digby said, with a shrug. “I am soon to be comforted, in any event, by the arrival of my lovely ward, Mistress Isabella Savage. She has decided to quit London – a most uncongenial place to anyone associated with my name – and is travelling north to join me.”
    “Your ward? Is she still a child?”
    “Dear me, no! She is a woman of some twenty-five years, and as yet unmarried, though one of the most ravishing creatures in all England. She was presented at Court upon her eighteenth birthday, and has been capturing hearts ever since. I am amazed that you should not have been introduced. But you did tend to hide away in the country with your academic friends, when not occupied with Parliamentary affairs.”
    “They were my happiest times,” said Falkland.
    “You have never heard of Mistress Savage, even by reputation?” Digby insisted, with a purposive curiosity.
    “No, my lord,” replied Falkland, wondering that Digby should ask him. Why should he, as a devoted husband, have any special interest in this ravishing creature, or in Digby’s relations with her, whatever they might be?

CHAPTER TWO
I.
    I n the comfort of his feather bed, Laurence drifted between slumber and full consciousness. He must have pushed aside the bedclothes during the night, for he felt warmth on his skin from the sun streaming through the open curtains. Gradually he became aware that he was not alone in the chamber: he could hear the swish of a woman’s skirts. His immediate thought was of Juana and the usual dull sorrow flooded through him, although while half asleep he could