Marbeck and the King-in-Waiting by John Pilkington Page A

coffers, for that matter?’ He turned to Marbeck. ‘Even if, as some say, he consorts with witches,’ he added with a wry look.
    â€˜And others say he thinks them charlatans,’ Marbeck replied. ‘You and I, however, will have to deal with base metal.’
    â€˜Indeed we shall,’ Poyns said.
    Sitting on the rumpled bed, Marbeck pulled on his shoes. While he did so his fellow wandered to the corner, picked up the lute and plucked a string or two.
    â€˜A fine instrument,’ he said. ‘Italian, is it not?’
    â€˜It is. The back is hardwood: cherry and rosewood. The face is of spruce …’ Marbeck threw him a wry look. ‘I suppose if nothing else, I may continue as a troubadour.’
    Poyns put the instrument down. ‘I’ll go south, to London, I think … though I confess I’m in no hurry. What about you?’
    â€˜I may go north,’ Marbeck said. ‘But first, I mean to pay Isaac Gow and his disciples another visit.’
    At that, the other brightened. ‘Well then, why not let me come along too?’

FIVE
    T hey did not leave Cambridge until the afternoon, having stayed to hear the news that came in on horseback throughout the day, not all of it reliable. One report spoke of the Queen’s corpse being abandoned in the presence chamber at Richmond Palace; another that people had flocked to touch it, even to tear clothing from it. Marbeck discounted such tales, knowing that Cecil and the other councillors would have moved swiftly to maintain order. Further reports appeared to have more substance. Elizabeth’s body was to be taken downriver to Whitehall, and plans laid for a state funeral. Meanwhile London would prepare to receive the King, when he eventually made his progress south from Edinburgh. The Queen’s kinsman Robert Carey had indeed set forth for the Scottish capital, using a relay of post-horses, and was expected to arrive soon. But for the moment, it seemed as if the whole of the nation was in a kind of limbo. The childless Elizabeth was dead, after a reign so long that few could remember any other. There was a new king, but he was far away and not yet crowned … hence in the eyes of some, there was not even a government.
    â€˜And a vacuum like this yearns to be filled,’ Edward Poyns murmured. ‘This may prove to be England’s most dangerous time … even graver than the year of the Armada.’
    He and Marbeck were leading their horses through the crowded street, where people had gathered since morning. As the day wore on a festival mood had arisen: bonfires were being readied, while bells seemed to be ringing out to no particular purpose. Some people were drunk, cavorting like children given an unexpected holiday. Students were about in large numbers, spilling in and out of taverns. Through it all the two intelligencers – Marbeck leading Cobb, Poyns a hired mount – moved slowly, catching bits of gossip as they went, none of it newsworthy. Finally they gained the edge of the town, mounted, and rode out as Marbeck had done the day before, towards Gogmagog.
    They said little during the ride. Poyns had no other motive than curiosity, but Marbeck’s purpose was plain: this time he intended to be much firmer with young Henry Scroop. He rode swiftly, letting Cobb have his head, while Poyns on his piebald jennet struggled to keep up. Finally, having followed the same track as before, they descended the valley to the old farmstead. But even as they approached Marbeck sensed that something had changed – and soon the matter became clear: the place was deserted. He knew it when he saw the empty paddock where the mules had been penned, and the absence of smoke from the chimney. In silence, he reined in before the house.
    â€˜What, have they flown the coop?’ Riding up beside him, Poyns halted and looked about. ‘Perhaps you scared them away.’
    â€˜I doubt that,’ Marbeck