By late afternoon the morning’s fog had cleared completely and a bright summer sun shone down from a clear sky, promising a night of stars and a full moon. We dined early and afterwards sat outside on the inn’s terrace overlooking the port, sharing a flagon of fine French wine with the captain of our guard. I wondered whether this excellent wine had come ashore in one of the fishing boats we had seen today.

‘A fruitless morning,’ the captain said.

Phelippes shrugged. ‘We cannot always be successful. The weather was against us. We will try again tomorrow.’

Hesitantly, for I was not sure they would welcome my opinion, I said, ‘Surely if we go with the same questions to the same villages we will be met in the same way, with stubborn silence. Only now they will be even more prepared for us.’

They looked at me tolerantly, but did not contradict me.

‘And do you want to scare them, so that they call off the attempt to smuggle the men in? Or do you want to wait and catch them?’

‘The lad has a point,’ the captain said. ‘Which is it?’

‘Oh, I should prefer to catch them.’

It came to me then that, although Phelippes was a man of exceptional skill in laying his secret plots to entrap the enemies of the state, he was not experienced in this kind of work. And being a man whose work was solitary, he might not read people well when confronted with common humanity. Even I, with my experience at the hospital, probably understood ordinary people better than he did.

As we sat there and the sun declined, I could not rid myself of a feeling I had had in the second village we had visited that morning. On our return journey we had followed the inland road from Winchelsea to Rye, so we had not passed through those first villages again. We had not seen whether the men there had also put to sea. That one boat, larger and more sturdy than the rest – I was sure that it could make the trip to France. At about midday the fog had started to clear and the fishermen we had seen began to launch their boats.

‘How long would it take a fishing boat to cross from here to France?’ I asked now.

The captain and Phelippes looked at each other. It was clear neither of them had any knowledge of the sea.

‘Six hours?’ the captain guessed. ‘Eight hours? I suppose it would depend on the direction and speed of the wind. And the condition of the sea.’ He brought this last out with a confident air, as if suddenly on firm ground, as it were.

Phelippes nodded sagely. ‘I should think that would be about right.’

We all looked down to where the Tudor flag flew in the wind over the Customs House.

‘It is blowing down the Channel from the German Sea,’ I said. ‘That would be a favourable wind, wouldn’t it?’

I had some experience of travelling by ship as a passenger. A wind from the side – the sailors had called it the ‘beam’ – meant that a boat sailing from here to France and back could use the wind both ways.

They agreed, but started to talk of other things, particularly where any invading force could be expected to land. The most likely place seemed to be the coasts of Kent and Sussex, offering a short march to London, though the West Country was also a possibility. There were, I gathered, Catholics in the West who might welcome the invaders. Yet could that be true? Having lived through an invasion myself, I could not believe anyone would welcome it.

Dusk began to draw in, and with it mosquitoes started to bite. It was time to move indoors. Yet I could not rid myself of the picture in my head, that strong little fishing boat breasting the seas and by now reaching the French coast. Would it make landfall in some busy port, or seek out a hidden cove? Given the eagerness of the French to invade us, there would probably be no secrecy on that side of the Channel. The men would be waiting, would step quickly aboard, and the boat would immediately turn back to England. If the captain’s guess of six hours was right, she could already be well on her way home.

‘Master Phelippes,’ I said as we entered the inn parlour, ‘do you not think one of the boats might have made the attempt today, after the fog cleared? If we are right about the time it would take, it could be back some time between midnight and the early hours of tomorrow.’

‘I don’t think it is very likely, Kit. They would surely choose a better day.’

‘But there is no problem with the weather now. The sea is calm. The wind favourable. There is a full moon tonight.’

They were both smiling at my eagerness in a kind but patronising way which annoyed me.

‘There was a boat in that second village that could attempt it. And one house more prosperous than the others, as though the owner had some lucrative business.’

‘Probably smuggling,’ said the captain, hefting the empty wine flagon.

‘I would be willing to ride over there and see,’ I said, stung by their dismissal of my idea.

‘There is no need to give up your night’s rest, Kit,’ Phelippes said.

‘Nevertheless, I would like to do it, if you will give me your permission.’

‘Oh, if you must. I cannot see that any harm will come of it. But you must take at least one of the guards with you and I don’t suppose any of them will share your enthusiasm for a night ride to a dirty fishing village.’

‘I will ask amongst my men,’ the captain said.

‘Very well,’ said Phelippes. ‘If there is one willing to accompany you, then you may go, but do not blame me for a fruitless journey.’

As it proved, one of the guards was willing to go with me. A young man not much older than I, called Andrew Joplyn. I could see that he looked upon it not so much as a serious mission as a bit of a fun away from the senior men. Well, that suited me. A grim older soldier would have been a less pleasant companion.

‘We’ll set off about eleven of the clock,’ I said. ‘I do not think they can be back before midnight, so we should be there with at least half an hour to spare. But we may have to wait some hours, even till dawn.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, tapping his nose, ‘I’ve made a friend amongst the kitchen maids. I’ll bring us some vittels.’

‘Well thought of,’ I said. This was a companion after my heart.

I sat for a while in my room with my boots off, trying to rest a little, but I was too keyed up. I was convinced I was right. As the moon came up and flooded the town with light, it seemed a perfect night for a clandestine journey across the Channel. The wind had dropped a little, but not much. There was surely still enough wind to sail by but, if there was not, I had seen that the boats had long oars, four to a side.

At ten, sounding out from a church clock nearby, I pulled on my boots and went quietly downstairs. I need not have troubled to be quiet, for the inn parlour was still full of visitors and local men drinking, though Phelippes was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was closeted with his paperwork again, though I was disappointed he had not waited to see me on my way.

In the stable I greeted Hector with an apple I had filched from the dining parlour and had just started to saddle him when Andrew appeared, flourishing a leather satchel of food. Within half an hour we were riding out under the massive town gateway, having a pass from the captain giving us permission. We both remembered the road from earlier that day, though the bright moonlight made it much easier to follow than it had been in the fog.

‘How do you want to proceed, Master Alvarez?’ Andrew asked.

I was glad that he seemed prepared to accept my leadership, despite the fact that I was younger and a rank amateur, while he, I assumed, had some experience of military matters.

‘I thought we would ride to the outskirts of the village, then tie the horses and go the last part of the way on foot. We can check the boats first. If the one I noticed this morning is there, and doesn’t look as if it has just returned, then we can go home again. If it is, well, wet, if it looks as though it has just come ashore, then I think we will need to take a look at the largest house, see if there is anything afoot, then ride back as fast as we can to Rye.’