Hands reached in through the open window for Will to touch. After he had shaken and clasped a few, he drew the curtain and let his public face fall away along with his smile.

"They love you, Master Swyfte," Walsingham observed, "which is as it should be. Your fame reaches to all corners of England, your exploits recounted in inn and marketplace. Your heroism on behalf of queen and country is a beacon in the long dark of the night that ensures the good men and women of our land sleep well in their beds, secure in the knowledge that they are protected by the best that England has to offer."

"Perhaps I should become one of Marlowe's players."

"Do you sour of the public role you must play?"

"If they knew the truth about me, there would be few flagons raised to the great Will Swyfte in Chichester and Chester."

"There is no truth," Walsingham replied as the carriage lurched into motion with the crack of the driver's whip. "There are only the stories we tell ourselves. They shape our world, our minds, our hearts. And the strongest stories win the war." His piercing eyes fell upon Will from the dark depths beneath his glowering brow. "You seem in a melancholy mood this night."

"My revels were interrupted. Any man who had his wine and his women dragged from his grasp would be in a similar mood."

A shadow crossed Walsingham's face. "Be careful, William. Your love of the pleasures of this world will destroy you."

His disapproval meant nothing to Will. He did not fear God's damnation; mankind had been left to its own devices. There was too much hell around him to worry about the one that might lie beyond death.

"I understand why you immerse yourself in pleasure," Walsingham continued. "We all find ways to ease the burden of our knowledge. I have my God. You have your wine and your whores. Through my eyes, that is no balance, but each must find his own way to carry out our work. Still, take care, William. The devils use seduction to achieve their work, and you provide them with a way through your defences."