Once over the bridge, we threaded our way through the equally crowded streets of Southwark, where there were many businesses, like tanneries, too noisesome to be allowed within the Wall. There were traders and craftsmen, too, who found it convenient not to pay city taxes, as well as certain professions mainly confined to the south bank of the river, such as the Winchester geese, who would be tucked up warmly in their beds at this hour of the morning. Most of their trade was carried out in the evening, when men had left their work, or at night, after the shows at the bear gardens and cockpits had closed.

Finally we came clear of the last of the houses and businesses of Southwark and turned on to the road which led southeast to Kent and Sussex, the route I had followed last year with Phelippes on our way to Rye. Berden was a very different companion.

‘At last!’ he said. ‘Now we can move faster than a slug on a lettuce. Is your nag able to gallop?’

Stung, I said, ‘Shall we try him?’

With that I gave Hector his head, kicked him once, and we flew away down the road, casting up a shower of mud clods in Berden’s path. Behind me I heard his laugh and the thud of his horse breaking into a gallop. The chestnut was not a bad animal, but he was no match for Hector. After several miles I slowed Hector to a steady canter, then a trot, then finally let him amble along while we waited for Berden to catch up with us. I was a little breathless myself, my nose and cheeks burning from the cold wind.

Eventually Berden reached us, still laughing.

‘Pax!’ he said. ‘I concede the victory. I would never have thought the piebald had such speed in him.’

Hector was plodding along placidly now, like a little girl’s quiet first pony.

‘He is full of surprises,’ I said. ‘It does him good to stretch his legs from time to time. I think he grows weary when he spends too long in the stable. Your horse is not so bad, nor are you. When I have ridden with Phelippes, it has been like an old ladies’ picnic, but do not tell him I said so.’

‘I am sworn to secrecy,’ he said. ‘Shall we carry on? But perhaps not quite so fast?’

I nodded and set Hector to his beautiful smooth canter. I have never know a horse with such a lovely gait, not even my grandfather’s prize stallion. He never seemed to tire, but was happy to continue at this pace for mile after mile.

Around midday we stopped to rest the horses and let them graze on the strip of sward beside the road, while we sat under a wide-spreading oak which still bore its leaves, unlike most other trees, and ate some of our food. Berden even dropped into a doze for a while. I suppose for him this was no more than another journey like a hundred others he had made. I could not relax, for my mind raced ahead to what might happen when we reached Amsterdam. And if we travelled near the Spanish army – what then? My heart jumped in panic. I hoped that part of our mission might change.

After about an hour, Berden woke neatly from his sleep, as though his body held its own internal clock. We mounted again and carried on. The further we travelled from London, the colder it grew, and as the dull November darkness drew in scarce halfway through the afternoon, we reached Maidstone and found an inn for the night. Since we were travelling on government business, we could have demanded free lodging and dinner by showing our passes, but we did not want to draw attention to ourselves, so we paid our reckoning. I had not stopped to think, until the very moment we spoke to the innkeeper, that Berden would expect us to share a room. Scarcely on our way, and already I was in danger of discovery. I was filled with panic, wondering how I could avoid it, but I need not have worried. When we retired to a chamber up under the roof, straight after eating a plain but substantial meal, Berden simply pulled off his boots and lay down on one of the truckle beds, rolling himself in the blankets and turning away from the light of our candle. I did the same. I prised off my boots, which were still stiff from the cold, for we had not been able to find a place near the fire while we ate. I laid Simon’s cloak over the blankets for extra warmth and blew out the candle. The cloak, close to my face, carried a faint scent of Simon about it, which was somehow comforting, but before I could think any more about it, I was asleep.

The second day started much the same as the first, but before we stopped for a midday rest, it had begun to snow. Only a few scattered flakes at first, but Berden suggested that we should stop before it grew worse.

‘We won’t want to be sitting still eating in a full blown snow storm,’ he said.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘And the horses need to graze before the grass is covered.’

Angry black clouds were building up in the northwest, heavy with threat. We turned the horses on to grass and ate quickly. Berden did not sleep this time, and I took the opportunity to unpack my thick scarf and wind it around my face and neck, over the hood of my cloak. By the time we were ready to mount, the snow was already coming down more heavily and the sky had darkened almost to night.

The previous day I had found a fallen tree to use as a mounting block, for Hector was a big horse, but today I could see nothing. Berden’s horse was at least a hand and a half shorter, and he was taller than I, so he could mount easily, without a block.

Seeing me looking around, he said, ‘I’ll give you a leg up.’

I put my left foot in his cupped hands and he heaved me up till I could throw my right leg over Hector’s back.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘You should not ride a horse you cannot mount without help.’

‘A trooper I know told me they are trained to vault on to their horses from the rear, if need arises,’ I said, ‘but I am not sure Hector would like it. I could be kicked in the face for my pains.’

‘I can do it,’ he said. ‘Once we are across the sea, I’ll help you train him. You need to accustom him to being approached from behind. He seems a good-natured beast. It should not be too difficult. In this business you never know when you will need to mount in a hurry.’

We set off again without further talk and increased our pace gradually to a gallop, trying – unsuccessfully – to outrun the storm. By the time we reached Dover it was midnight black, although it cannot have been later than four of the clock. For the last hour we had been fighting our way through ever denser snow as well as the growing darkness. Our clothes and our horses were encased in a armour of frozen snow. The only relief was the fact that the wind blew from behind us and not in our faces.

Showing our passes at the city gate, we were waved through, then Berden led the way to the castle up through deserted streets already nearly a foot deep in snow. Once again our passes admitted us inside the castle wall, where flaring torches lit up a courtyard with more activity than we had seen in the whole town below.

Berden hailed a passing trooper. ‘Messengers from Sir Francis Walsingham, carrying despatches for the Earl of Leicester in the Low Countries. Where can we stable our horses?’

He looked up at us, sheltering his eyes with his hand from the blowing snow.

‘Follow me. It’s this way.’

I slid down from the saddle. My feet were so numb I could not feel the ground and my knees gave way a little as I landed. Steadying myself against Hector’s side, I flipped the reins forward over his head and followed Berden and the trooper across a slippery cobbled yard towards a run of outbuildings. Stables, storage barns, a smithy whose fire gave a welcome glow, though we could not stop to warm ourselves. The trooper struggled to draw back the bolt across the stable door and another man came to help him.

‘Already icing up,’ he said, through gritted teeth. His hands were blue with the cold. ‘I’ve never known snow in November as bad as this b’yer lady storm. Not even with us stuck here on this rock with everything the sea can throw at us.’