45

Clarenceux and Rebecca had to wait for several minutes for the water-carrier to return. Rebecca insisted that it was Clarenceux’s turn to ride inside the water butt. He had accepted this quietly at first, being distracted with his thoughts of the chronicle, but as the time passed and the snow continued to fall, he began to argue. Why should he travel in a water butt? True, it was capacious—it was more than four feet in diameter—but it was simply an indignity. He would walk beside the cart. Rebecca could travel safely in the butt.

She protested. “You are the one to whom Henry entrusted the chronicle. We must keep you safe.”

“I have no intention of hiding in a barrel while you risk yourself.”

“I cannot quite fathom your excessive pride, Mr. Clarenceux. You tell other people to be practical, and yet here you are, sought by a royal sergeant-at-arms who has placed watchmen to find you, and you won’t even get into a barrel. You know Sergeant Crackenthorpe is riding around this area. It is dangerous for you.”

“It is no less dangerous for you, Widow Machyn.”

The word hit home. It hurt.

Rebecca walked away. Clarenceux feared she was about to turn into Little Trinity Lane, in full view of the watchmen; but at the end of the alley she stopped, turned around and came back.

“I know I should not be upset, because all you did was tell the truth. I am Widow Machyn now. But it does upset me—because you intended it to hurt me. You just made a speech to Michael Hill about his knowledge being our enemies’ weakness. Well, your knowledge is my weakness. Please be careful what you say, Mr. Clarenceux, because a hurtful word from you could destroy me.”

Clarenceux bowed his head. “I apologize, Goodwife Machyn.”

They heard the sound of the water-carrier’s cart. Clarenceux looked up to see the old man shaking his head. “Thames Street is a busy place this afternoon, sir. I wouldn’t like to take your lady wife along that way. Not in the barrel nor out of it. Not even for another shilling.”

“You don’t have to, my good man. All you have to do is drive north from here. We will walk beside you, both of us. I will walk by your front wheel and my wife”—he glanced at Rebecca—“will walk beside the rear. I do believe we can avoid the men in Garlick Hill that way.”

“Awdrey must have the patience of a saint,” muttered Rebecca.