17

Clarenceux looked up and down Skinners Lane. The clouds in the western sky were pink and golden with late afternoon sunlight. A man was standing on a ladder nearby, repainting the knife-shaped sign above a cutler’s shop. Some boys were playing a chasing game, calling out to one another with sudden shrieks of excitement as they dashed from one side of the road to the other. Three people were approaching from the eastern end of the road, leading a group of packhorses and looking down to keep the glare out of their eyes. They passed, ambling along with their heavy loads. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him.

Clarenceux walked up to the iron-hinged oak door, knocked, and stepped back, waiting.

The mud was particularly thick around the puddles. In summer, when it was dry, London was beset with flies, and you could smell the basement cesspits wherever you went. In late autumn and winter, it was the puddles that were most prominent; the smell of wet clay and ordure hung in the air.

The door opened a little. A woman with a small round face and an old-fashioned linen headdress looked out. She was in her mid-forties, dressed in a plain smock. Her sleeves were loose, as if she had earlier rolled them up to clean something and had quickly unrolled them in order to be decent when she answered the door.

“Godspeed, madam. My name is William Harley, Clarenceux King of Arms. I need to speak to Lancelot Heath on a very urgent matter.”

“He’s not here,” the woman replied abruptly. He noticed she had bags under her slightly bloodshot eyes.

“Well, in that case, could you tell me when he might return?”

“No. He’s gone away. On business.”

“Well, my good woman, I have no wish to pry into his affairs. But I do believe that he, like another friend of mine, Henry Machyn, might be in considerable danger.”

Mentioning Machyn’s name caused the woman to begin to close the door. “I’ll give him your message when he’s back. Now—”

“Wait,” he said. “Tell him that I bear the name King Clariance of Northumberland. Clariance, like Clarenceux, from Sir Urry’s tale.”

“I’ll tell him,” she said suddenly. “He knows where to find you. Now, be gone.” She closed the door in Clarenceux’s face.