Free Marbeck and the Privateers by John Pilkington

Having had a long journey back.’ As a thought struck him, Miller put on a smug grin. ‘But see now, you won’t have heard. There was another coil there last night. A servant stabbed.’
    His face blank, Marbeck eyed him. ‘Stabbed?’
    â€˜With a needle, or some such.’ Miller was fumbling for his pipe. ‘Then, there’s many folk with long memories who wish the Spaniards ill … mayhap you should have a poke about. That’s what you do, isn’t it?’ With a leisurely air, he stuck the pipe in his mouth and brought out his tinderbox.
    With thoughts whirling, Marbeck left the man and returned to his room. There among the untouched stacks of documents he pondered the situation, but not for long. His immediate course was clear: he should contact Levinus Monk. Sitting at the table, he found ink and quill and penned a hasty report. Then having changed his clothes and tucked the paper into his sleeve, he left the house by the street entrance.
    Once again he walked the length of the Strand, past Somerset House, which was now guarded by armed men. Without slowing his pace he looked about, saw a coach drawn up by the entrance. A few curious bystanders stood near; but then, what was taking place behind those doors was no secret. Moving on, Marbeck turned into Strand Lane and made his way down to the Temple Stairs where the watermen gathered. Today they were all out on the river, it seemed – save one: to Marbeck’s relief, it was Matthew Herle. But as he approached and saw the look on the man’s face, he stopped abruptly.
    â€˜I waited all morning for you,’ Herle said. ‘You’d best get in.’ He indicated his skiff, then seeing Marbeck’s questioning look, he added: ‘Monk wants to see you – at once.’

SIX
    T he journey didn’t take long. Skilfully Matthew Herle rowed Marbeck downriver, past Whitefriars andBridewell, then veered towards the shore. With the tower of St Paul’s looming behind, they neared the busy waterfront of Blackfriars and hove to. The two of them had barely spoken, but it seemed there was little the messenger could tell. No doubt Monk would have more to say … with an air of resignation, Marbeck stepped on to the stairs where people were waiting for boats. Having paid Herle a penny, he paused and leaned close.
    â€˜He’s on the corner, by the Blackfriars Theatre,’ the messenger murmured, before turning away to do business.
    Marbeck walked up Castle Lane to where Thames Street opened on his right. There was a tumbledown corner house, which he remembered had once been used as a letter-drop. Having knocked on the door, he waited. Nearby was the indoor playhouse leased by the King’s Men, but not yet in use. Perhaps the new spymaster had a weakness for theatres, he mused …
    The door opened to reveal a dark passageway. Marbeck looked, but made out only a figure in shadow. When the person stepped aside he entered, and the door was closed. Seeing a light to the rear, he made his way into a candlelit chamber with the windows covered. There was a single occupant, seated at a table.
    â€˜I wonder what kept you?’ Levinus Monk said drily. He waited, elbows on the table, while Marbeck reached in his doublet for his report. As he fished it out he looked round at the man who’d showed him in … and paused in surprise.
    â€˜Oxenham?’
    The other inclined his head. ‘It is, Marbeck.’
    They exchanged looks. Marbeck had not set eyes on Thomas Oxenham for a year, perhaps longer. A florid-faced fellow with a penchant for garish clothes, as Crown intelligencers went he was not one of the brightest. He had been given few tasks in recent times, Cecil having decided he was unreliable.
    â€˜This man’s one of my party just now,’ Monk said, from which Marbeck inferred he was one of those watching Somerset House. He handed over the paper, which Monk took and unfolded quickly.