Free Marbeck and the King-in-Waiting by John Pilkington Page B

‘Mayhap because he’s a troublemaker,’ one said finally. ‘And we’ve no gaol here.’
    â€˜Is the house at Offord?’ Marbeck enquired.
    â€˜Close by …’ The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you ask?’
    â€˜Merely curious … I’ve friends thereabouts.’
    â€˜Indeed?’ The other peered at him over his mug. ‘Best tell ’em to keep clear of the Lambert house, then. Gow’s voice is as the serpent’s, that draws folk to their doom.’
    With a nod, Marbeck clapped him on the shoulder and left.
    Back at the George Inn, he found Poyns absent. So without delay he buckled on his sword, went to the stable, saddled Cobb and rode out again. Within the half-hour he was approaching the hamlet of Offord, stopping by the water-trough as he had done the day before. But now there were neither mules nor tent in the meadow across the river. Pressing onwards down the highway, he drew rein at a cottage where an old man was at work in the garden. On enquiry he learned that the Lambert dwelling was south of the village, set back from the road. So after a ride of only a few minutes more, he found himself before a large, well-built house, protected by a stout fence and gate.
    During his ride he had considered several cover stories, but none seemed satisfactory. Now, thinking fast, he decided on a bold approach. If Gow was being held here, he would need a strong excuse for visiting him. Having dismounted, he approached the gate and was about to lift the latch when someone hailed him.
    â€˜Stop there … what’s your business?’
    Looking towards the house, Marbeck saw the front door was open. Down the garden pathway, walking smartly, came a tall man in russet clothes. As he drew near, Marbeck saw that he too wore a sword.
    â€˜Master Lambert?’ He raised his eyebrows.
    â€˜Who are you, sir?’ The man looked him up and down, quickly assessing his status.
    â€˜John Sands,’ Marbeck answered. ‘Servant of Sir Robert Cecil. I would like to see your prisoner, if I may.’
    The man blinked. ‘What prisoner?’
    â€˜The separatist, Isaac Gow. I hear you’re holding him. My master’s had the man watched in recent times. I was one of those ordered to observe him.’
    â€˜Indeed?’ The tall man eyed him. ‘Then perhaps you didn’t observe him closely enough. And who told you he’s here?’
    â€˜It’s common knowledge, in Godmanchester and Huntingdon,’ Marbeck told him, giving his voice an edge. ‘If you wish for discretion, perhaps you too have been somewhat lax. The meeting last night turned into a riot, from what I heard.’
    The other bristled. ‘What proof have I that you’re Cecil’s man?’ he demanded. ‘I haven’t heard of you …’
    â€˜Nor I of you,’ Marbeck said. ‘I would ask on what charge you imprison Gow – and indeed, on what authority.’
    â€˜I’ve not admitted to holding anyone,’ the other threw back. ‘And I dislike your tone, Sands.’
    A moment followed, before Marbeck decided to bluff. ‘Very well,’ he snapped. ‘I’ll return to London this very day, and go to Richmond where Master Secretary awaits my report. I fear it will be somewhat short, and lack the details I hoped to obtain from questioning Gow. Yet I’ll not fail to describe the manner in which I was treated by you.’
    With that he turned and walked to where Cobb stood, taking his time. But as he caught up the reins, he was called back. ‘Come inside,’ the householder said shortly. ‘But I still require proof of your station.’
    Calmly Marbeck drew Cobb to the fence, and gave the reins a few turns about it.
    Once inside the house, he found that the man had company. Two other men, who had apparently witnessed their exchange through a window, watched him as he entered a large, well-furnished