By the time Joan arrived on Monday morning, he was in his study. She disappeared into the kitchen, prepared a large bowl of honey-sweetened oatmeal porridge and went up to clean the bed chamber while he ate it. He washed the porridge down with a beaker of ale and felt the better for it. Too much wine and too little food did not make for a good humour or a settled stomach.
Breakfast made and house cleaned, Joan left for the market. She did not ask what he liked to eat. Katherine would have told her. Perhaps he would become accustomed to her more easily than he had feared. An ill-favoured young woman but a capable one.
He heard the scrap of paper being pushed under the door and knew at once what would be written on it. The hand was childish but the letters were clear enough. ELL.
He took his time in locking the door. If eyes were on him he wanted to be sure that they had seen him leave. He walked slowly, not breaking his stride or looking back, lest he appear wary or uncertain.
The bitter cold of the past few days had eased, traders were back on the streets and, with them, even more beggars and urchins to fight over their scraps, taking what they could before the rats scuttled out from their nests and the kites swooped from the rooftops. In London there were hungry mouths wherever one looked.
Twice he had been sure that he was being shadowed. He had seen nothing on either occasion but the sensation had been uncomfortable. And difficult to describe. Somewhere between anticipation and dread was the best he could do. Next time he would be more alert and move faster.
On Ludgate Hill he sensed nothing and turned towards Newgate, hoping that its dark corners and hidden alleys might serve his purpose. Outside the prison – a hateful, doom-laden place made worse by the agonized cries of the wretches inside it – he ran the gauntlet of beggars and whores, ignoring their pleas and promises and brushing away grasping hands. Many of them would have travelled no further than the few yards from the prison gates to where they stood. What would a newly released prisoner gain by going further? He loathed prisons and the knowledge of what lay within Newgate’s walls tempted him to quicken his pace. With an effort he did not.
Nearing the end of the street, he stopped and turned quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of a coat or a hat disappearing into the shadows. He saw nothing. Apart from beggars and whores he was the only person on the street. He carried on.
The lanes here were old and narrow, twisting this way and that without apparent reason. Like Dog’s Head, had he not had good reason he would have hesitated to venture into them alone. Poniard to hand or not, there were too many dark corners for a man to feel safe. Just the place for a malevolent shadow to strike. And thereby show himself.
None did. Half relieved, half disappointed, he emerged on to Cheapside to join the throng of buyers and sellers. At one stall he paused to examine a cheese, at another he asked the price of a mutton pie, stealing a look around the market each time. Still he saw nothing untoward. There were too many people and a shadow, if there was a shadow, would look no different to the next man. He had not intended to buy anything – Joan would see to his needs – but a tray of cakes on a vendor’s stall caught his eye. If Katherine were with him, he would have been given no choice. For her, gingerbread and marchpane were irresistible. He reached for his purse.
The boy who ran past him from behind jolted his arm with enough force to make him look up sharply. Thieving children frequently hunted in packs and he clutched the purse tightly as he watched the boy disappearing into the crowd. It was at that moment that he glimpsed a shadowy figure and knew. At once and without doubt, he knew. Whether it was the wide felt hat low on the head or the breadth of the shoulders or the scarf wound around the lower half of the face, he did not know. But he was certain. An unremarkable figure whom he might never have noticed but for the boy who had made him look up suddenly from his purse.
The shadow’s eyes, for an instant, met his. Then he turned and was gone. Still clutching his purse, Christopher ran after him, yelling at the man to stop and forcing a way through the crush of bodies. Just as he thought he had lost his quarry, he saw the felt hat dart between two low houses, followed it and found himself in an alley so narrow that two men could not have walked along it side by side. Just a thin thread of sunlight penetrated its gloom. He strained his eyes but could see no hat. The shadow had melted into the darkness.
There was no point in continuing the chase. The wretch could have vanished into any number of secret places. The chance had gone. But he had been there and Christopher had seen him. He had been right. There was a shadow.
Ell herself answered the door. ‘Dr Rad!’ She laughed. ‘Thought you’d come quick. Can’t stay away from me, can you? Grace is out. Come into the parlour so we can sit by the fire.’
When they were settled, Christopher asked, ‘What have you for me, Ell?’
‘Not sure. Might be nothing, might be something.’
‘I have heard you say that before. What is this something or nothing?’
‘There’s mischief about.’
‘What sort of mischief?’
‘I could not say exactly. It’s like a smell. You know it’s there but finding words to describe it is not so easy.’
Christopher smiled. ‘Could you try, Ell? I need something more.’
Ell frowned. ‘It’s a mood, Dr Rad, a humour such as you might have when you wake up in the night after one of your dreams. You know it was only a dream but still it’s in your mind as if it was real.’
‘A humour familiar to me, but how does it come about?’
‘Different ways. A cat hanging from a tree in Aldgate, a dead child pulled out of the river. Folk are frightened.’
‘Folk are always frightened of what they do not understand and cannot explain. Anything else?’
‘Naughty money as you told me to watch out for. Silver testons with false marks. Like this one.’ She handed a coin to Christopher.
He turned it over. A bear and a staff. ‘Where did you get it, Ell?’
Ell grinned. ‘A nice gentleman. Spoke to me like a lady. Hadn’t had the pleasure before. I wouldn’t have taken it but for you asking me to keep an eye open, so I pretended not to notice. Is it what you wanted?’
‘It is. What was his appearance?’
‘Tall. Not as tall as you, doctor, but taller than most. Black hair and a black beard. Brown eyes. Well dressed. White shirt and blue doublet. Spoke like you. Not as handsome as you, though.’ She pursed her lips and looked him up and down. ‘Not many are, though.’
‘Did he have a name?’
‘Not that he told me. They seldom do.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Said he’d call again.’
‘Good. If he does, find out what you can. You’re right: it might be nothing but a gentleman knows when he is passing a false coin. Make him happy and get a name. And a place, if you can; he must live somewhere.’
Ell chortled. ‘Don’t I always make my gentlemen happy, doctor? If he comes again, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you, Ell.’ He rose to leave. ‘Take care. Do you still have your blade?’
‘Under the mattress, doctor, same as always.’
‘Good.’ Christopher pulled his cap over his brow and tugged his coat around his shoulders. ‘And remember, if your gentleman comes again, find out what you can about him and send word.’
‘I shall, doctor. Especially if I’m feeling lonely.’
He ignored the lewd grin. ‘And carry the blade when you go out. There are strange things going on, Ell, things I don’t yet understand.’
‘God’s teeth, Dr Rad, if you don’t understand them, what hope is there for a poor whore?’
‘I mean it, Ell. Be doubly watchful.’
They sat in the study, where Christopher’s table was still an untidy mess of paper and pens, inkpots and sand shakers but the window was newly cleaned and the chairs dusted. ‘I have learned very little for certain other than that I am being watched,’ he said.
‘Watched, Christopher? Why did you not say so before?’ When Katherine was angry or alarmed a blush spread up her neck.
‘I am only now sure.’ He told her about the man in Cheapside. ‘If I am being watched, it is possible that you are too. Be alert and take care.’
‘A watcher and Isaac Cardoza. Should you not visit Isaac’s wife again, Christopher?’
Christopher shook his head. ‘I cannot help but feel that Sarah holds me responsible for what has happened to Isaac and I am reluctant to distress her further by calling unbidden. She promised to tell me if there is any change in his condition and when she is ready to speak to me. Until then …’
‘Until then, Christopher, we know nothing.’ Katherine’s voice was shrill. ‘Explain the seriousness of the situation – exaggerate if you must – and she will help. If Isaac spoke to anyone else about the testons she may know who. We cannot sit on our hands waiting at her pleasure.’
Christopher stared at the fire. ‘The earl would not be pleased if he knew we were doing so. Not that I shall be the one to tell him. But he has eyes and ears everywhere, as you well know, and he did tell me I had his full support. Doubtless you are right. But the guilt hangs heavy upon me. I will think on it.’
Katherine stood up. ‘Do not think for too long. If you really cannot bring yourself to do your duty in this way, I shall do it for you.’
Christopher bit his tongue. Katherine could be shrewish but an argument now would do no one any good, least of all Isaac. But she was right and he would do it. Of course he would do it. He would put his guilt to one side and call on Sarah Cardoza. ‘Very well, but I shall visit the mint again first.’
Warden Martin had been affable enough, yet Christopher could not help feeling that he had been holding something back. He arrived only a little damp from the wherry ride and found Martin in his office in the Salt Tower. Martin greeted him politely, dismissed the official to whom he was talking and waved Christopher to a chair. He did not offer refreshment. ‘Dr Radcliff,’ he began, ‘I wish you joy. Have you made progress?’
‘As yet, I have not, and, worse, an agent of mine has been attacked. Isaac Cardoza, a goldsmith in Fleet Street. Do you know him?’
‘Cardoza.’ Martin shook his head. ‘No, doctor, I do not. A Jew would not be welcome at the Hall or here at the mint.’
‘I am aware of that but thought that you might at least have heard of him.’
‘I have not.’
‘Has nothing else occurred to you? The minter of the false coins is no beginner and must have learned his skill somewhere.’
Martin’s eyebrows rose. The Warden of the Royal Mint was unaccustomed to being addressed so bluntly. ‘There are eight royal mints in the country, doctor. The coiner you seek might have worked in any of them.’
‘Or none of them, Mr Martin. I am aware of that. But he must be found. Have you searched your records?’
‘I am a busy man, Dr Radcliff. There has not been the time. I will send word to you when I have had the chance to conduct a thorough search. Not that I expect to find anything.’ Why was Martin being unhelpful? ‘Why is that, sir, if I may ask?’
‘Because, first, as the noble earl himself has pointed out, it is clear that these testons are not so much a matter of counterfeiting as an attack on his family. Why then suppose that a man who has worked here or is at least known to us is involved? Is it not more probable that one of his lordship’s rivals is behind the coins? And, second, because, with the right tools, these coins could have been made in small quantities anywhere and by any skilled minter or goldsmith. You have seen the process for yourself.’
‘Mr Martin, you are not only Warden of the Royal Mint but a senior member of the Goldsmiths’ Company. If there exists a rogue member of the company, surely you would have a suspicion.’
Martin leaned forward. ‘Dr Radcliff, not all goldsmiths are members of our company. The Jew of whom you spoke, for instance.’ So that was it. Blame the Jews.
Christopher swallowed an oath. ‘Isaac Cardoza has in the past performed brave and loyal service for our country. He is above suspicion of any kind.’
‘Perhaps, but can you say the same of all the Jews working in London? Might there not be one with the necessary skills who wishes the earl ill?’
‘Isaac has been attacked in his own shop.’
‘So you said. Do you know by whom?’
‘I do not.’
‘Then I suggest that you find out. If you enlisted the help of the Jew, might he not have discovered the coiner or at least approached too close for his own safety?’
Of course it was possible. But was Martin a little too ready to shift attention away from the mint and the Goldsmiths? ‘Have the false testons been tested?’ he asked.
Martin hesitated as if taken by surprise at the change of direction. ‘They have. Their purity is about three parts in four. That is to say that three honest coins could have been melted down and copper added to make four false ones.’ He laughed. ‘I have seen worse, much worse, but not, of course, marked with the Dudley emblem.’
Christopher chose his words with care. ‘Mr Martin, I am charged by the Earl of Leicester to discover the source of these false coins and to do so without delay. If you, as Warden of the Royal Mint, are unable to help, where do you suggest that I turn?’
Martin barely reacted. ‘As I have said, doctor, I suggest that you use your contacts among the Marrano community. There you are more likely to discover intelligence of value.’
Christopher shrugged. ‘Then good day, sir. I will leave you to your work.’
Academics were just as bad. Agreeable when they felt at ease, but defensive when challenged and ever ready to cast blame elsewhere. In the presence of the earl and on Christopher’s first visit to the mint, Martin had been obliging and informative. Not so this time. What had changed? Anxiety for his position, a grudge, guilt?
The door was opened by Daniel Cardoza. ‘There has been no change in my father’s condition,’ he said quietly. ‘What may we do for you, Dr Radcliff?’
Christopher knew immediately that he was not welcome. ‘I would not intrude if the situation were not grave,’ he replied. ‘And I am most anxious not to distress your mother. If she is willing to speak to me, however, I believe it might be of great help in finding your father’s attacker.’
Daniel stood in the doorway, showing no inclination to let him in. When he spoke his voice could have been that of a man twice his age. ‘I am reluctant to ask her and I doubt she would agree. She does not like to leave my father’s side.’
‘Your father is fortunate to have such a family.’
‘But less fortunate, it seems, in his friends,’ replied Daniel sharply, before raising a hand in apology. ‘I am sorry, doctor, that was inappropriate. We are under great strain.’
Christopher said nothing. Daniel sighed. ‘Come in, doctor, and I will tell my mother that you are here. If she will not see you, you must leave. I can do no more.’ He stepped aside. ‘Wait in the parlour, please.’
Christopher heard the young man’s steps on the stair and the faint sounds of voices. While he waited, he looked around the room. On a small table in one corner was an open Talmud. Heavy drapes covered the windows, the furnishings were sombre, as if waiting for a death, and the floor was bare. A simple room in which the family would come together to talk or pray.
He knew from the weight of the steps descending the stair that they did not belong to Daniel. He took a deep breath and prepared himself.
Sarah Cardoza had been weeping and her skin was so waxen that Christopher doubted she had left the house since Isaac’s attack. She made no attempt to smile or to offer words of welcome. ‘There has been no change,’ she said simply. ‘Isaac has not opened his eyes or spoken.’
‘Has your physician offered an opinion?’
‘Only that his life is in the hands of God. I said that I would send Daniel, Dr Radcliff. Why have you come?’
‘I was reluctant to do so, Sarah, but strange things are happening in the city and we have very little idea why. Our best hope is that Isaac spoke to someone he trusted about the matter he was assisting me with and that that someone might be able to lead us to his attacker. I hoped you might be able to suggest a name.’
Sarah took a seat and gestured to Christopher to do the same. She sat quite still with her hands clasped and spoke without hesitation. ‘It is often easier for a Jewish family to accept the death of a loved one than his prolonged suffering from sickness or injury. When a man dies he simply travels from one life to another. That is God’s plan for us. We show our respect by mourning our loss but his death, by whatever means, is not a tragedy. When a man falls sick, however, or is mortally injured, what can one do but wait and pray? There is no period of shiva and thus no return to normality.’ She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘It is hard to bear.’
‘If I could undo what has been done, I would, Sarah,’ replied Christopher, ‘and I too pray for Isaac’s recovery. But I have a duty to my master, the Earl of Leicester, and to the Crown. The very fact that Isaac was brutally attacked shows how serious may be the threat we face. There is treason simmering on the streets of London and its source must be found. Others will suffer if it is not.’
Sarah went on as if she had not heard. ‘We are forbidden to do anything that might hasten a man’s death, even if it would be merciful to do so. God alone must decide the time and manner of death. In the case of my husband, a good man who has striven always to do his best for his family, I can only imagine that God is thinking about it. He will have his reasons although I do not know what they are.’
‘God’s purpose is very often obscure to me, as it is to you, Sarah. I find it more profitable to concentrate on earthly matters than to ponder on that which I will never understand.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I know that you are not a pious man, doctor. Isaac would wish me to help you but I am not sure that I can. I do not know to whom he speaks each day. He is a goldsmith, a trader who has contact with dozens, scores of others.’ She paused. ‘However, if there is one person to whom Isaac might have spoken it is my cousin Aaron. Aaron Lopes. He is a merchant dealing in precious stones. He and Isaac are like brothers.’
‘Where will I find your cousin, Sarah?’
‘He left for Antwerp the day before the attack. I do not know when he will return.’
‘Has he a family?’
‘Aaron is unmarried.’
If Aaron Lopes did not leave until the day before the attack, there would have been time for Isaac to have spoken to him. ‘I must speak to him as soon as he returns.’
‘So you shall, but remember, it is only a thought. Aaron may know nothing. Leave now, please, doctor. I must return to Isaac.’
With half his mind still on Isaac, he was playing idly on the lute when Katherine arrived again at Ludgate Hill and let herself in. He glanced up. ‘I had not expected to see you again today. Is there news?’
‘Not news of the kind we would wish for. Joan Willys is in Newgate.’
‘What? Of what is she accused?’
‘Of witchcraft.’
‘God in heaven, what next? It will soon be dark. We will go first thing tomorrow morning.’