He nodded. I could see him quite clearly. ‘And if it isn’t there?’

‘That is what I am expecting. If it isn’t there, we will have to wait for it to return, however long it takes. But we can be sure, if it isn’t there, that it’s up to no good.’

‘It may be smuggling.’

‘Yes, it may. If so, we’ve had a wasted trip and lost a night’s sleep. Do you mind?’

‘Not me.’ He grinned. ‘Makes a change from always trotting along at the tail end of the troop and having to polish other men’s boots and saddles!’

For the rest of the way to the village, we rode almost without speaking, except to draw each other’s attention to an overhanging branch or a hole in the road. On the outskirts of the village we stopped beside a small copse of thorn trees, stunted by the sea air and wind.

‘This should do, I think,’ I said. ‘Do you agree?’

‘Aye. There’s enough cover for the horses and not far for us to walk.’

Both horses were well trained and would stay without being tied. If we needed to leave in a hurry, we could be away in a moment. Leaving them there, we began to make our way the last hundred yards or so to the first house in the village. It was then that I realised one problem. The bright moon had made our ride easier but it also meant we would be in full view of anyone looking out from one of the cottages, as soon as we tried to approach the boats.

The village appeared to be asleep. All the cottages but one were dark. I touched Andrew lightly on the arm and leaned close to his ear.

‘You see that cottage with the candle in the window? That’s the one I thought looked more prosperous than the others.’

‘I see it,’ he breathed. ‘So someone is up and about.’

We waited beside the first cottage, straining our eyes to see as far as the beach. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought it would blot out all other sounds. I held my breath and tried to listen.

‘Do you hear anything?’ I whispered.

Beside me I sensed rather than saw him shake his head. If we were going to check the boats, it had better be now. Crouching low, as if that would somehow make us less visible, we crept forward past the cottages. The moon was directly overhead now, lighting up the village like the stage in a playhouse. With sudden irrelevance, I wondered what Simon was doing now. Not creeping through a hostile village in the middle of the night, certainly.

There was an open area in front of the cottages, not as pretty as a village green. Rather it was an ugly patch of beaten grass and weeds, scattered with the debris of village life: a handcart tilted on its side, two discarded wheels, the remains of several broken barrels, a discarded fishnet, a rough table from which arose a pungent odour of fish, perhaps where the women gutted and filleted those sold ready prepared in the local towns. A stream ran across this area, no doubt providing water for the village, which was crossed by a sort of bridge, consisting of no more than two planks laid loosely across from bank to bank.

The house with the light was the last one in the village, facing this bridge, so we would have to cross the stream in full view of its windows. I sent up a quick prayer that no one would be looking out, nodded to Andrew, and we darted across.

Because the planks were loose, they tilted and slapped down again as we jumped off. Not much of a noise, but it seemed huge in that silent village. We ran on, across more rough turf to the edge of the beach. Andrew put out a hand to stop me.

‘Shingle,’ he whispered. ‘That’ll make a b’yer lady racket if we walk on it.’

He was right. I remembered how loud our footsteps had sounded in the morning, when there was no need to be quiet.

‘You’re right. Can we count the boats from here?’

Now we were grateful for the moon. I remembered that there had been six boats like all the other small boats we had seen, then the larger one drawn up on the shingle at the far end. We edged along the margin of the beach, taking care to stay on the turf. Four, five, six – the smaller boats were all here, leaning over and draped with their fishing nets.

‘The big one was further along.’ I barely breathed the words, but he nodded.

We sidled crab-like, following the top of the shingle, till we reached the spot where the stream spread out and emptied itself into the sea. The large boat was not here.

‘Now what?’ he said.

I thought for a moment. It was all too open down here beside the beach. The returning fishermen would see us at once if we waited here. We would need to make sure that they were indeed bringing in men and not smuggled wine. If we rushed back to Rye now with a false alarm, we would make fools for ourselves.

‘We’d better go back to the village, where there’s some cover and wait there.’

‘Look, the stream is shallower here, where it spreads out,’ he said. ‘We could wade across, then follow it along on the other side and get behind that end house.’

I nodded. ‘Good.’

The stream fanned out into a miniature estuary and was no more than ankle deep in the middle here at the mouth. As we climbed up the bank on the other side, however, we encountered a patch of shingle, hidden by the overhang, and the noise of our feet nearly made my heart stop. Andrew, who was ahead, reached down for my arm and pulled me up on to the bank, which was turfed.

‘Must be deeper in winter,’ he said. ‘That shingle would be under the water.’

I gave him a sickly grin. The noise had terrified me. What did we think we were doing? This was madness. What if we were caught?

Andrew led the way now. The stream ran close to a thicket of undergrowth here, interspersed with sea holly, and only a narrow strip dividing the two. I hoped we would be able to push our way through and not have to retrace our steps to the beach. After about twenty yards, the stream twisted away to the right, back towards the centre of the village, leaving us enough room to make our way ahead side by side. Just as the walking became easier, I heard something. I grabbed Andrew’s sleeve and laid my finger on my lips.

It was the sound of oars.

He had heard it too. I caught the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. Perhaps he saw this as no more than an adventure, away from the older soldiers. He might have no idea how dangerous men bent on killing the Queen might be. There was no time for explanations now. We crept forward, toward the end house with its lit window. We had nearly reached it when there came the loud grinding of the boat’s keel on the shingle beach, then men’s voices, not shouting, but not trying to be quiet either. Presumably everyone in the village knew what was going on, even if they did close their shutters and go to bed.

Pressed against the dark side of the house, Andrew and I watched as four men heaved the boat up the shallow slope of the beach. Two other men stood to one side. Since they must have paid well for their passage, it was no business of theirs to join in the hard physical labour of landing the boat.

An anchor was run out and stamped into the shingle, and another rope tied to a dead stump just above the line of the shingle. Of course, the tide must come in at some times of day and could lift the boats away, but in my ignorance I did not know whether it was low tide or high at the moment.

Now the men were walking over the plank bridge and toward the house where we were hidden. Someone inside opened the door and the yellow of a candle-lantern flowed out, lighting up for a moment the two men who had been standing to one side. I did not recognise either of them. I had half supposed one of them might be Poley, as he seemed to turn up everywhere, like my evil shadow, but these men were quite unknown.

I jerked my head towards the back of the house and mouthed in Andrew’s ear, ‘Back to Rye, as fast as possible.’

He nodded and ran off swiftly in the direction of the thorn thicket. I ran after him.