“He is no friend,” growled I, “but a vile enemy and traitor, whom I would to God I had run through the body when I had the chance at Carlisle, months since.”
Then to avoid more questions and get away from the rabble, I hastened back and told all to Jeannette. She was very grave. “What think you now?” she asked.
“I can think nothing,” said I, “save that, whatever has befallen Ludar, he could not knowingly be guilty of plotting against the life of a woman, even if she be the Queen herself. Jeannette,” said I, “I could no more believe that than I would believe you to be unkind or untrue.”
She smiled at that and said she, too, could not think so ill of this Ludar of mine.
As the days passed, news came in thick and fast. The plot, we heard, was a devilish one to murder the Queen and her ministers, and give England up to the heretic Spaniard. Men stood aghast as they heard of it. Presently came word that the worst of the traitors were in hiding in London, being mostly young gentlemen of the Court, who had fed at the table of the very Lady they plotted to slay. Try all I would, I could hear nothing of Ludar. Nor durst I name him to my comrades, for fear I should bring him mischief thereby.
One day in the middle of August it was, a man came into our shop in hot haste to tell Master Walgrave that the company had been taken, hidden in a barn in Harrow. Never shall I forget the joy of the City as the news spread like wildfire through the wards. No work did we ’prentices do that day. We marched shouting through the streets, calling for vengeance on the Queen’s enemies, and waiting till they should be brought in, on their way to the Tower.
As for me, my joy was mingled with strange trouble; for, if Ludar should be among them—
“The leader of them is one Babington,” said Will Peake, “and besides him are half-a-dozen dogs as foul—English, all of them.”
“Save one,” said another, “who I hear is Irish.”
“Irish!” cried I, as white as paper. “What is his name?”