On the other hand, if Hurst did not find the phial and van Leyden added it to the Earl’s food, could he be stopped from eating it? And if he did eat it, could he be treated in time? So many possibilities. Well, I had done my best to prevent a possible murder. What of the other murder? I found my feet, which had taken me unconsciously back to the square with the well, now driving me on in the direction of the church where I had spoken to the minister. I would go and ask him what had happened in the matter of Hans Viederman. I wondered why Hurst seemed to know the name. I cursed myself for not asking, but I had been in too much haste to warn him of the danger to the Earl.

The snow was heaped up on either side of the church steps, but someone had cleared the steps themselves. On the lowest one, Hans’s dog was lying, a picture of shivering misery, his head on his paws, but his eyes open. When he saw me he leapt down the step and ran toward me, wagging his tail and whining. I stooped to rub him behind his ears. He greeted me joyfully, weaving about my legs and licking my hand. I wondered whether he associated me with finding his master and somehow believed I could bring him back again.

‘I’m sorry, old fellow,’ I said. ‘I wish I could help.’

He followed me up the steps and into the church, though I was not sure whether he was allowed inside. The minister, who was himself sweeping lumps of frozen snow from the floor, smiled and shook his head.

‘I have been trying to bring him inside, but he insists on staying out there in the cold. I think he is waiting for his master. Come, Mijnheer. There is a stove in my vestry. It is a little warmer than here.’

When we were seated by the tiny stove, which the minister fed with logs, he offered me a glass of ale and some of the hard, tasteless bread the Dutch eat with their wine. Aware that I had never told him my name, I introduced myself.

He bowed. ‘I am Dirck de Veen. Minister of the church of Sint Nikolaas.’

I bowed my acknowledgement. ‘What will become of him, the dog?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He was never truly a working dog. He was Hans’s family dog, but went to war with him. When Hans returned, with both legs gone, he trained the dog to pull that wheeled platform he used, though he could also push it along himself, the way the children move their sleds on the ice.’

‘I’ve seen them.’

‘Perhaps someone will take him on as a working dog. One of Hans’s neighbours has already tried, but he ran away at once and came back here.’

‘Could you keep him yourself?’ I was not sure why I was so concerned with the dog. It was as though by caring what became of him I could somehow make amends to Hans for what had been done to him. I had the uneasy feeling that Cornelius Parker had overheard him warning me and that had somehow led to his death.

Dirck shook his head, and smiled sadly. ‘Nee. I am afraid my stipend is very small. I have not the means to feed a large dog like that.’

‘How did Hans manage?’

‘I think he often fed the dog before himself. And some of the shopkeepers, especially the butchers, who have known Hans all their lives, took pity on them and gave them both the scraps and off-cuts of their meat.’

I looked down at the dog. ‘He has come inside the church now.’

‘Aye. It is the first time. He has taken to you.’

‘May I?’ I held up one of the pieces of dry bread.

‘Of course.’

The dog ate it swiftly and sat down beside me, his eyes fixed on my face, clearly hoping for more. I fed him another piece.

‘I really came to ask what has happened about Hans.’

Dirck sighed. ‘I reported his death to the town authorities, saying I had found him, to avoid mentioning you, which would merely have confused them. His body has been taken away to the town charnel house until the ground thaws enough for burial. It will have to be a pauper’s grave, but I have asked that he be buried here, at his own parish church.’

I nodded. ‘But what of his killer?’

‘I do not know.’ He shook his head. ‘I fear there is little chance that he will ever be found. No one knows of anyone who would want to do this terrible thing. Hans possessed nothing worth stealing, he interfered with no man’s business. He seemed to have no enemies, though he had few friends in recent years.’

‘I think . . .’ I paused. ‘It is possible that a man called Cornelius Parker might be involved.’

I saw the name meant something to the minister, who looked alarmed.

‘Not long before he was killed,’ I said, ‘Hans warned me against Parker, who may have overheard. I am here on business from the Queen’s Principal Secretary, Sir Francis Walsingham, to the Earl of Leicester. I suspect that Parker means him harm. The Earl.’

He looked even more alarmed and half rose from his seat before sinking back again.

‘Best that we keep out of it, then,’ he said. ‘Parker is a powerful man.’

‘I do not want to cause you danger,’ I said, ‘but should I tell the town authorities?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘No. That would be unwise. Parker has friends there. Best if you go back to England and forget this. Pray for Hans’s soul, as I will do.’

I was reluctant to follow his advice, which seemed the action of a coward, but there was little I could do, alone, in this foreign town. I believed him to be an honest man, and probably not a coward, though cautious. I bowed my head in acceptance, and left soon after, followed out of the church by the dog.

It had begun to snow again and the wind blew it into my face as I started back to the inn, so I did not notice at first that the dog was still following me. Only when I reached the inn and stopped to stamp my boots free of snow on the steps did I see the dog a few feet away, watching me expectantly. I should never have fed him, however poor the fare. Though I would have expected him to go in preference to one of the butchers who had fed him in the past.

‘It is no use, poor lad,’ I said. ‘I cannot give you a home. I do not even live here. You must find some other master.’

He sat down patiently in the snow and merely watched me. Already his coat was covered with a thin layer of the fresh snow. I hardened my heart and went into the inn, closing the door behind me.

When I reached my chamber, I was astonished to find Berden there, sitting on a chair in front of the fire, his boots off, toasting his steaming stockings in front of the flames.

‘Nicholas!’ I said. ‘When did you arrive? Is all well?’

‘About an hour ago. The innkeeper told me you went out before dawn. I’ve been waiting for you and trying to thaw out the ice in my blood.’

‘It has just started snowing again,’ I said, as I pulled off my boots and set them beside Berden’s to dry out. ‘When can we leave this god-forsaken place?’

‘Do you not care for Amsterdam? I’ll wager you have had a better time of it than I have, riding about the countryside in this b’yer lady filthy weather.’

‘Do not be so sure.’ I put my head out of the door and managed to catch the eye of one of the maids. ‘Can you bring us some hippocras?’

She returned quite soon with a steaming jug and two pottery mugs. I waited until I had poured it out before I settled down to tell Berden everything that had happened to me while he had been gone: my encounter with the beggar and Cornelius Parker, my visit to Ettore Añez and his information, my finding of Hans Viederman’s body, and the meeting between Parker and van Leyden.

At this last he leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand to silence him and told him what had happened earlier that day – my visit to the Earl and my attempt to warn him, his scornful dismissal of me and my warning, my discussion with Robert Hurst, and finally my visit to the church and what I had learned from the minister about Hans and Parker.

When at last I was silent, Berden rubbed his cheeks with both hands, then leaned his elbows on his knees.