D. Wilson - The First Horseman

Doggett nodded. ‘Would he, do you suppose, leave no stone unturned in pursuit of his friend’s killer?’

‘His interest is rather wider; he is concerned that he, and not Master Packington, might have been the murderer’s intended victim and that consequently his own life is in danger.’

‘Truly?’ For the first time Doggett showed surprise. ‘How so?’

I briefly described the circumstances surrounding Robert’s death.

Doggett listened attentively. At last he said, ‘Suppose I was able to set your mind at rest on that score, would you then abandon your pursuit?’

The man’s cat-and-mouse tactics were beginning to aggravate me. ‘I’ll answer that question with another,’ I said. ‘If you knew the identity of this cold-blooded killer, might he pay you well to protect him?’

I felt rather than saw Ned’s worried reaction. ‘Master Doggett’s business arrangements are no concern of ours,’ he said hurriedly.

Doggett, however, showed no sign of irritation. ‘As the good doctor has intimated,’ he said, ‘life is not printed in simple black and white, like a penny engraving from the print shop. You are a merchant, Master Treviot. Therefore you know the importance of peace. Where there is peace there is confidence. Where there is confidence there is trade. And where there is trade there is profit. I use my influence to maintain peace. Indeed, my reputation depends on it. Within my bailiwick there are many potential rivalries and feuds; men who have scores to settle, families intent on keeping old arguments alive. If I did not exercise firm control… well,’ he spread his hands in a wide gesture, ‘chaos! I simply cannot permit you to go charging around like a loose colt in the marketplace quite possibly disturbing many people and seriously affecting my business.’

‘Then I fear we are wasting each other’s time.’ I half-rose from my chair.

A firm hand pressed down on my shoulder. Another held a blade to my throat. ‘You leave when Master Doggett says you leave,’ the tall man said.

‘It’s all right, Jack. I’m sure Master Treviot meant no disrespect.’ Doggett folded his arms and stared solemnly across the table. ‘I will tell you what little I know and, if you are wise, you will be content with that and dabble in this business no further. Ned, you will stand security for your friend’s satisfactory behaviour.’

‘You have my word on that,’ Ned muttered eagerly.

‘Good. Well, then. The man you wish to identify goes under the name of Il Ombra, which is Italian for “The Shadow”.’

‘Italian!’ I exclaimed. ‘So the rumours of a foreign assassin were right.’

‘He is an ex-mercenary captain who travels widely, offering his services to wealthy patrons. He is an expert in his chosen profession, equally skilled with sword, knife or gun. His favoured weapon is the wheellock, a killing device so effective that it has been banned by the Emperor and other princes.’

‘Wheellock?’

‘An ingenious weapon almost unknown in this country. I have seen one myself. Basically it is a small arquebus that can be wielded with one hand. It needs no lighted match because the powder is ignited by a mechanism that strikes sparks from a flint.’

‘Mother of God, how diabolical!’ Ned crossed himself. ‘What evil will men think of next? Guns that can be carried in a purse or tucked inside a sleeve?’

I, too, was appalled but also excited. A vital piece of the puzzle was now fitting into place. ‘Yes, that is how it was done!’ I cried. ‘The assassin must have kept the gun concealed beneath his cloak until the last moment. When he had identified his victim, he had only to raise his arm and fire. Before anyone knew what had happened, he could slip away. What a diabolical device indeed!’

‘One that will quickly become the chosen weapon for assassins,’ Doggett observed. ‘You may take my word on that.’

‘So,’ I mused, ‘that was obviously the manner of it but how can you be sure that this hell-bred villain was not looking for me?’

Doggett smiled. ‘I mean you no disrespect, Master Treviot, but I doubt whether you are that important. Those who have met Il Ombra tell me that he is a professional killer only a very few can afford. He is at the height of his career and his fees are exorbitant.’

Now my mind was racing. At last I had information. Some glimmering light had been thrown on the mystery of Robert’s death. ‘Where is this man now?’ I demanded.

‘Gone whence he came, I believe. On the way back to his own country, his mission fulfilled. And now, Master Treviot, you have the information you came for.’ Doggett scooped up the coins and dropped them into his purse. ‘Our business is concluded and I bid you good day.’ The tall man’s hand fastened on my arm. He pulled me roughly to my feet and steered me to the door.

Minutes later Ned and I were riding away from the Red Lamb. The rain had stopped but the chill wind still rattled the leafless branches and shook droplets on us from the elms as we travelled back to the City.

Ned wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘Thomas, your tongue will be the death of you — and possibly of me. Pray God we never see the inside of that place again.’

‘Amen,’ I muttered, occupied with my own thoughts. ‘Where do you think this Italian could find refuge?’

‘You heard what Doggett said,’ Ned replied. ‘The rogue has left the country and we are well rid of him.’

‘Doggett was lying.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ned twitched his rein nervously.

‘I know for a certainty that this Il Ombra, or whatever he calls himself, is still in England. All ships are laid up in harbour because of the weather. I have some friends who have been stuck at Dover this four days since, waiting for a crossing to Calais. Perhaps that’s where I should go — Dover, I mean.’

‘You cannot!’ Ned was now really alarmed. ‘You gave your word to Doggett that you’d let the matter drop.’

‘On the other hand,’ I was speaking my thoughts aloud, ‘suppose he’s not ready to leave yet. He’ll have to collect his blood money before he goes anywhere. There may be a good chance that he will have to stay in hiding not far away and now that we know what sort of a man we’re looking for — ’

‘You promised Doggett!’ Ned almost shouted.

‘I? I promised nothing, Ned.’ I urged Dickon into a fast trot.

Back in Goldsmith’s Row I was met in the shop by John Fink, his young face, as ever, wrinkled by anxiety.

‘Saints be praised for your return, sir.’ He ran a hand through his thick yellow hair, which stood in untidy peaks on his head. ‘Everything here is at six and seven. I had to close early; the place was full of idlers and gossips come to gape and gaze. People want to see where we laid poor Master Packington. They’re full of questions: “Why was he brought here?” “Did we know the Dean of St Paul’s has praised his killer for ridding the world of a heretic?” “Is Master Treviot a heretic, too?” It was terrible, sir. We couldn’t get any work done. I had to turn everyone out and close the door.’

‘Don’t fret, John,’ I said. ‘You did the right thing. Everything will settle down in a day or two.’

He did not look convinced. ‘’Tis the dreadfullest thing to happen in anyone’s memory. To be shot in the common street — horrible! And Master Packington such a fine man. Why would anyone call him “heretic”, sir?’

I thought of the Tyndale Testament safely locked in one of my coffers. ‘Just malicious gossip, John. Pay no attention.’

‘Master Leyland was here again, sir, making trouble,’ John grumbled.

‘Oh, what was he doing?’

‘Just telling anyone who would listen that someone who got mixed up with murder and mayhem was not fit to belong to the respectable merchant community.’