Shortly after the end of the events in A Surfeit of Guns, Sir Robert Carey receives a letter from his father, commanding him to come to London post-haste. More than filial piety is at stake, for Lord Hunsdon, as Henry Carey is called throughout the novel, is also Lord Chamberlain to the Queen herself. Sir Robert, along with Land Sergeant Dodd, Robert’s faithful but disreputable servant Barnabus, and Barnabus’ nephew Simon make good time from Carlisle on the Scottish border down to London, sleeping little and changing horses at post stops along the route, though it often leaves them on low-quality mounts. Their last stage to London had been slowed by Carey’s horse throwing a shoe, and it is late afternoon before they approach from the northwest. “You could always tell when you were near a town from the bodies hanging on the gibbets by the main road, thought Sergeant Dodd. London was no different from anywhere else they had passed on their interminable way south.” (p. 9)

The delay turns out to be fortuitous. The very next turn in the road is deeply cut on both sides and is sharp enough that it was impossible to see around. Dodd has his suspicions and dismounts to send his mare running into the curve ahead of the party.

As she galloped up the road through the Cut, whinnying and shaking her head, Dodd heard the unmistakeable whip-chunk! of a crossbow being fired.
“Och,” he said to himself as he instantly changed direction and sprinted softly up the narrow path he had spotted on the right side of the Cut. “Ah might have guessed.” (p. 10)

A well-laid ambush.

Dodd had been storing up an awful lot of rage on the journey south from Carlisle. He gave an inarticulate roar at the sight [of another crossbowman], hopped like a goat down the high crumbling earthbank and cut down on the man with his sword.
The footpad had hear something coming, turned just in time to see his death, dropped the crossbow and reflexively put up his hands to defend himself. He took Dodd’s swordblade straight down through his armbone and the middle of his face. Dodd slashed sideways to finish the job, then turned at another man who was lungeing out of a bramble bush waving the biggest sword Dodd had ever seen in his life, a great long monster of a thing that the robber was wielding two-handed, his face purple with effort. (pp. 10–11)

The rest of the party catches up, and Sir Robert shoots another robber with a wheellock pistol (called a “dag” throughout the book) while Barnabas uses a throwing knife to kill the man with the gigantic sword, who had temporarily gained the upper hand when some of the road’s bank gave way beneath Dodd. After those losses, the other robbers take to their heels and flee the scene. But was it just the usual hazard of highway robbery, or did someone know they were coming?

Continue reading