“Come, Roger,” he said quietly. “We must find our kinsman’s house. There is still much to be done ere night falls.”
The crowd made way for them. They passed westward through Temple Bar, which was not the frowning stone arch of later days, but a strong palisade, with posts and chains, capable of being closed during a tumult, or when darkness made it difficult to keep watch and ward in the city.
The Strand, which they entered, was an open road, with the mansions and gardens of great noblemen on the left, or south side. Each walled enclosure was separate from its neighbor, the alleys between leading to the water stairs, where passengers so minded took boat to Southwark or Lambeth.
On the north were other houses, some pretentious, but more closely packed together, and, on this hand, Drury Lane and St. Martin’s Lane were already becoming thoroughfares of note.
One of these houses, not far removed from the Church of St. Mary-le-Strand, thrust the high wall of its garden so far into the road that it narrowed the passage between it and Somerset House. Here, a group of young gallants had gathered, and some soldiers, of swarthy visage and foreign attire, were loitering in the vicinity.
“This, if my memory serves, should be the house of Gondomar, the Spanish Ambassador,” said Walter Mowbray, the elder and more authoritative of the pair.
“Gondomar! Another name for Old Nick! The devil should keep his proper name in all countries, as he keeps his nature in all places.”
“Hush, Roger, or we shall have a brawl on our hands. I am no lover of Spaniards, you know full well, yet we must pass Gondomar’s men without unseemly taunt. The King loves not to hear of naked blades.”
Thus admonished, his wonted grin of good-humor returned to Roger Sainton’s face, and, as the swaggering youngsters in the road were paying some heed to a covered litter rapidly approaching from the west, the friends essayed to pass them by taking the pavement close under the wall of the Ambassador’s garden.
As luck would have it, a sort of signal seemed to be given for a row to start. Swords were whipped out, men ran forward, and there was a sudden clash of steel.