Free Sacred Treason by James Forrester Page B

held up a finger over his lips to indicate that Walsingham should say nothing. Walsingham’s eyes narrowed a little as he walked toward him. Cecil waited for Walsingham to catch up with him and then led him down the stairs, out into the great court.
    The sun earlier in the day had given way to a cloudy afternoon. In the absence of the court, there were very few servants to be seen. A light breeze chilled their faces. “Tell me your news,” Cecil said, walking across the wide yard.
    â€œMachyn has been found.”
    Cecil’s pace did not alter. “Has he talked?”
    â€œNot yet. He denies everything. Says he only knows Draper as a fellow merchant taylor.”
    â€œSo? What have you got?”
    Walsingham looked around and nodded to the windows. “Will it matter if we are seen?”
    Cecil understood his caution. Despite the cold, two windows were open. “We are discussing your parliamentary instructions, of course. But you’re right.” He pointed to a gate that led toward one of the more private yards of the palace and began to walk in that direction. The sun unexpectedly broke out and cast a shadow across the quadrangle.
    Walsingham cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Machyn was found hiding in the stable of a house in St. Bride’s. The house belongs to your wife’s friend, William Harley, the Clarenceux herald. You might recall that your wife and her sister stood as godmothers to—”
    â€œHis daughter, last year. Yes, thank you, Francis. When I forget the details of my own family connections, I will ask you to pray for me.” Cecil began to walk along the edge of a small courtyard, in line with a high wall. There were no overlooking windows.”This does not mean he is involved, of course.”
    â€œNo, not by itself,” agreed Walsingham, behind Cecil’s shoulder. “But Clarenceux was found knocking on the door of Machyn’s house half an hour earlier, in the middle of the night, despite the bad weather. He visited the house again this morning. I had given my man orders to shut up Machyn’s house after we found him. Unfortunately, the fool made the mistake of closing up the house as if the inhabitants had plague.”
    â€œWhat did Clarenceux do?”
    â€œHe took a crowbar to the door.”
    Cecil came to the corner of the courtyard and stopped. “Did he enter?”
    â€œNo. But he opened the door far enough to be sure that Machyn and his wife were not at home.”
    Cecil fell quiet, looking at the cobbles. If Clarenceux was protecting Machyn he would hardly have needed to break down the door to find out if he was there. He would have known he was in his stable. Still, such matters are best left for Francis to sort out. He wins all his battles—in the end.
    â€œYou appreciate that this complicates matters for us,” Walsingham said.
    â€œI was not born yesterday, Francis.”
    â€œBoth for you personally and for the investigation,” he continued. “It suggests that your wife’s friend is one of Machyn’s Knights of the Round Table. This is not just a conspiracy of a few London merchants. Gentlemen of rank are involved.”
    â€œIndeed,” said Cecil. “He is certainly an intelligent man, our Mr. Clarenceux. An honest one too. I gather he is not popular among the other heralds; they dislike him for refusing to accept bribes. They also dislike him because he understands the troops—having been a soldier himself, I understand. In the late Lord Paget’s company. I like him because he has no time for selfish men on the make who would never lift a sword for their queen but nevertheless want a coat of arms to parade above their garden gates.” He stopped and paused, thinking. “Where are Machyn’s wife and son? Is Clarenceux also harboring them?”
    â€œJohn Machyn is a mariner, gone abroad. He sailed for France last week. As for Machyn’s wife, I