I felt a flash of anger on the soldier’s behalf. ‘She abandoned him, when he had most need of her?’

He hesitated, then said, ‘He had moments of terrible rage, after what happened. His wife was perhaps afraid. Or could not live with him any longer. We should not judge, who do not know everything that lies between man and wife. He is better now. He survives, though perhaps he may never be able to forget his bitterness.’ He gave me a smile of great sweetness. ‘Go and see him. Any hand reaching out in friendship will do him good. I expect he had decided to stay within doors in this cruel weather.’

‘I will,’ I said, ‘and I thank you, Dominee.’

Following the minister’s directions, I ploughed my way through the snow in the alleyway. It must be a shortcut through from one main street or square to another, for the snow was churned up by many feet. As I reached the end, I realised it led to yet another canal. At the last house, a wretched hovel of one storey with a roof of tattered reed thatch, I knocked loudly on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again, calling out, ‘Hans? Hans Viederman? I am the Englishman who spoke to you a few days ago. Beside the church. May we speak?’

This time there was a noise from inside, a scrabbling of claws and an anxious barking. So the dog was there at least. Where the dog was, the man was likely to be. Tentatively I tried the door, which was neither locked nor bolted. Reasoning that the man, crippled as he was, might be in difficulty, I opened the door and stepped inside. A furry shape hurled itself at me out of the dark interior and I staggered back, but the dog was not attacking me. He licked my hand and whined and wagged his tail all at once. The house felt curiously empty. It was also bitterly cold, while the damp seemed to seep in through the walls and roof, as though they were sucking it up from the surrounding snow and ice.

‘Hans!’ I called again. ‘It is Dr Alvarez. Do you need help?’

He would not know my name, but perhaps my profession would provide reassurance. I was growing more and more uneasy. The dog ran from me toward the back of the house, then ran forward to me again. I followed him, groping my way in the small amount of light thrown by the open door. There appeared to be just one room, though it was difficult to judge until my eyes had adjusted to the dark interior.

He was lying on the bare boards at the far end of the single room, below the closed shutters of the only window. One stool. A rough table on which stood an empty plate, scattered with breadcrumbs, and an overturned ale mug made of stained horn. The stumps of his legs protruded from under the table, but the rest of his body was hidden from view, so I crouched down beside him. His wrist when I lifted it was as cold and clammy as the ice on the streets, but I did not need the absence of any pulse to tell me he was dead. His throat had been cut almost from ear to ear. There was a great deal of blood, but so cold was it in the house that it had frozen. The dog sat down beside me and whined softly in his throat.

Because of the bitter cold in the house it was difficult to judge how long the soldier had been dead, but the frozen blood indicated that it was many hours. I sat back on my heels, my heart pounding, unsure what I should do. I was a stranger here, and I was supposed to keep in the shadows, yet I could not leave this death unreported. Unsure of what legal system operated here – did they have coroners? – I realised that the best thing to do was to go back to the church and tell the minister what I had found. As I stood up, a frightening thought struck me. Could this death have any connection with Cornelius Parker, who had seen me speak to the soldier? Cornelius Parker whom the soldier called a ‘bad man’ and whom Ettore Añez considered untrustworthy and possibly dangerous? For although I might call it a death, it was in truth a murder.

I found the minister in the church, to my relief, for I did not know where he lived or who else had authority here.

‘Dead?’ he cried in a shocked voice. ‘This bitter weather. There are always some of the poor who are taken.’

‘It was not the cold,’ I said grimly. ‘His throat was cut.’

He pressed the knuckles of his right hand against his mouth, but even so could not suppress the cry that broke from him.

‘Killed? Murdered?’

I nodded. ‘I am a stranger here, a messenger come with despatches for the Earl of Leicester. I do not know how you manage such things here in Amsterdam.’ I looked at him appealingly. ‘I will be leaving in a day or two. Can you take charge? I would not know what to do.’

‘Of course, of course.’ He patted my shoulder absentmindedly. ‘You are not much more than a boy yourself. I will see that everything is taken care of.’

‘I touched nothing,’ I said, ‘except to take his pulse, though that was futile. It was his dog led me to him.’

‘His dog, of course. Something will have to be done about his dog.’ His passed a worried hand over his face.

‘I am staying at the Prins Willem, Dominee,’ I said, ‘if you need me, but really there is no way I can help. I simply saw him once by the church steps and gave him a few small coins.’

He nodded. ‘Someone would have found him, sooner or later. I do not think you will be needed.’ He took my hand and shook it. ‘Thank you for coming to me. Many would simply have fled.’

I felt like fleeing myself, but managed to walk quietly out of the church and down the steps. The dog was sitting on the bottom step, and I stopped to caress his head.

‘Poor fellow,’ I said. ‘I wonder what will become of you now?’

It was nearly dark as I hurried back to the inn, my heart beating fast as I thought of Cornelius Parker and that terrible wound. Several times I looked over my shoulder, but no one appeared to be following me, so I reproved myself for wild imaginings. What had this murder to do with me, a stranger passing through the town?

The inn was a haven of warmth and food and comfort. The usual crowds of soldiers were sitting around their usual tables, at the moment merely cheerful with beer and the improvement in the weather. I ordered a tankard of strong beer and when Marta had poured it, asked for a chop and greens. I carried my beer to a table tucked into a dark corner but near enough to the fire to feel some warmth, for I found I was shaking, now that I was safely off the street and within the embrace of four walls.

As I ate my food and drank a second beer, the soldiers eating and drinking at the central tables became more rowdy and noisier, but for once I welcomed their racket for its contrast with that cold empty house and the defenceless man lying alone and dead. I had finished eating and was growing sleepy with the warmth and the beer, when the door opened and a group of newcomers entered. One of them was Cornelius Parker, a man unmistakable from his girth and his domineering voice. I drew back from my table into the shadows. I was trapped now, for I could not go to my room without passing them.

There were three other men with him, clearly from their clothes and speech also Hollanders. They had their backs to me as they shed cloaks and scarves, hanging them on pegs inside the door and listening while Parker held forth in Dutch. For the first time I was frustrated that Dutch was a language I had never thought to learn. The men sat down round a table at the far side of the room from me, waving to Niels to bring them beer. Then as one of the men turned to address Parker I realised it was van Leyden.

All that Ettore Añez had told me about the failed merchant flashed through my mind and I recalled how I had last seen him, very much at ease, having dined with the Earl of Leicester and then enjoying his company in his private rooms. The back of my neck began to prick and I felt a trickle of sweat run down my spine. Cornelius Parker and van Leyden together. It seemed an ominous combination. I tried to convince myself that, as they were both members of the merchant community here in Amsterdam, they were bound to be acquainted, for this was a much smaller town than London, and even in London the merchants know one another, just as the members of the medical community do. All four men looked relaxed and unconcerned as they ordered food and more drink, looking fair set to spend the rest of the evening at the inn.