When I arrived back at the Prins Willem, a message from Ettore awaited me. He had not discovered much. He had managed to find out nothing of Mark Weber. Cornelius Parker, however, was known to have returned from his latest voyage and unloaded a substantial cargo of his usual goods, mainly rich fabrics from the Near East, and a fresh supply of the more expensive spices which were his most lucrative stock in trade. How easy, I thought, to stow those canvas bundles I had seen in amongst the innocent bales of cloth, which would also be wrapped in canvas for protection. An obliging customs official would take a cursory glance at a few bales of damask and nod the cargo through, for a small consideration. Barrels of more lethal goods could stand amongst the barrels of spices, and that same customs official would check the lading manifests and pass them through without opening them. The valuable spices, after all, must be kept carefully sealed, away from dirt and damp.

Ettore had also learned that van Leyden had been seen in Amsterdam about two weeks ago, but not since, nor did anyone know where he was living. After his flight from Leicester’s quarters before Christmas, he was not known to have taken any other lodgings in Amsterdam. Ettore believed he had probably been out of town until recently, possibly even out of the country.

I regret, he wrote, that I have no more detailed information for you, but I will continue my enquiries. Parker’s house is located on Sint Nikolaas Straat, not far from the church of Sint Nikolaas. Van Leyden may be living there.

Ettore Añez.

At these words, I looked up suddenly, searching my memory. When I had first met Dirck de Veen, he had said he was the minister of . . . aye, the church of Sint Nikolaas. I had forgotten that until now. I had never know the name of the street. If that was Sint Nikolaas Straat, then Cornelius Parker’s house could well be one of those whose garden backed on to the canal I had been following, only a few minutes’ walk from the locked hut and the moored barges.

If only I could see what was in that hut! It was becoming more and more clear that Hans had seen or heard something and perhaps threatened Parker with his knowledge. Threatened, perhaps, to tell the Dutch authorities or the Earl of Leicester. Had Mark Weber also discovered the same thing? He had seemed to the innkeeper to be on friendly terms with Parker, but he could have been playing the part of an agent for the Spanish. Walsingham’s agents often needed to pass themselves off as belonging to the enemy. Sometimes they were indeed double agents, but I knew that both Phelippes and Walsingham believed Weber to be trustworthy. Where was Weber now? If he had discovered something about the supply of arms, why had he not sent word to London?

I sat in the inn parlour with Ettore’s letter before me, brooding over a mug of thick Dutch beer. One voice in my head argued for going to the hut after dark and breaking in. It was vital for Walsingham to know what Parker was up to. But I also remembered Parker’s look of barely suppressed violence behind that falsely jovial façade and I remembered Hans lying with his throat cut from ear to ear. The other voice in my head was pure terror.

Andrew! I thought. Andrew was anxious to return to England as soon as possible with the men he had recruited, but must wait until the ship commandeered for Walsingham’s business was ready to take me back. Surely it would be reasonable to ask for his assistance? The sooner I was able to follow the trail Weber had laid and find him, the sooner we could both return home. And if there was an illegal trade in arms passing along that canal, it must be stopped. I shrank from approaching the Dutch authorities myself. I had papers from Walsingham, but I knew my youth would tell against me. As for Lord Willoughby, I had already had a taste of my reception there. But Andrew held an officer’s rank in the army. Even without Willoughby or the town officers, he could act.

I fetched paper and ink from my satchel and wrote a brief note to Andrew.

I need your help. I believe I have found what Weber was investigating: an illegal supply of arms and barges to the enemy. Can you come to the Prins Willem about dusk? In case I am mistaken, do not speak of this yet to any other. Kit

I folded the paper and sealed it, using for the first time the seal Arthur Gregory had made for me all those months ago. It gave the letter a more official appearance than I felt it merited, but if Andrew and I broke into the hut together, we could both bear witness to what we found there. If there was anything to be found, that is. If there was not, well then, I would not have made a fool of myself to anyone but Andrew, who would most certainly laugh it off. He might make fun of me afterwards, but no harm would have been done. At least I hoped not.

Marta, the innkeeper’s wife, assured me that one of the servants would ride out to the army camp and deliver my letter.

‘It is no trouble, Dokter. I know you are here to help us in these dangerous times.’

I gave her a weak smile. I hoped that what I was doing would help, and not cause a scandal. I begged a candle lantern from her, saying that I would need to go out after dark and was not sure when I would return.

I was in such a state of agitation that I could not eat anything, while I waited for the summer dusk to fall at last. Feeling somewhat foolish, I strapped on my sword, which I had not worn since leaving England. It still felt awkward, slapping against my thigh, and I was far from being confident that I could use it. Standing in my room, I tried drawing it once or twice. It came smoothly out of the leather scabbard, but I was slow, far too slow. Sweat began to form on my back and trickle down my spine. Jesu! I thought, I am no hero. I am not cut from that cloth. My stomach churned with nausea.

My window faced west and I watched the sky grow bright with clouds flushed crimson and gold as the sun sank slowly, interminably slowly, towards the Spanish Netherlands. How near, I wondered, had that vast fleet drawn now? Parma would need to have his troops in readiness to be carried across the Channel. If Andrew and I did not leave soon, we might find ourselves trapped in the Low Countries.

At last, as the sky had faded to lemon yellow, there came a tap on my door.

‘Dokter Alvarez?’ It was Anneke, the innkeeper’s daughter. ‘There is an English soldier here, asking for you.’

‘I am coming,’ I called. I slung my cloak about my shoulders. Even though it was summer, nearly the end of July, it might be cold after dark. I had heard a wind rattling the shutters outside the window. Besides, I still had Simon’s cloak, a good, dark colour. It would help me to blend into the shadows. I swallowed. There was an unpleasant, metallic taste in my mouth, the taste of fear. I picked up the candle lantern and opened my door.

Andrew left his horse at the inn and we began to cross the town on foot. As we made our way to Sint Nikolaas Straat, I told Andrew everything I had discovered. First, the murder of Hans Viederman when I had been in Amsterdam before Christmas, the behaviour of Parker, the plot which he and van Leyden had seemed to have contrived to poison Leicester.

‘Jesu’s bones!’ Andrew cried. ‘I knew nothing of this!’

‘It was kept quiet. No need to cause panic. Van Leyden disappeared. My evidence about Parker seems to have been ignored. But now it appears that Mark Weber may have discovered more evidence of treachery, and I think I know what it is.’

Quickly I recounted all that I had found since arriving in Amsterdam this time, and what I thought it meant.

‘So you want us to break into this locked hut?’

It sounded absurd on Andrew’s lips.

‘I may be quite wrong . . .’

‘No, I think you may have stumbled upon something. But we need tools – a crowbar at least.’