The end, when it came, was surprisingly anticlimactic. The darkhaired adventurer walked quietly to the block, raised one quirky eyebrow at the offer of spiritual absolution, looked disdainfully at the executioner, and entered the chamber to keep his appointment with destiny.

Some time later, Sir George Cowley, head of His Majesty's Secret Service, shook his head sadly as the prepared body was removed to be drawn and quartered and the head buried in the Tower courtyard.

"'tis a good object lesson to all traitors of the crown. It would have been better if the execution could have been public, but this should still serve."

Lord Raymond Doyle, youngest son of the Duke of Northumberland, pulled his eyes away from the grisly sight. His attention returned to his superior in the Secret Service and he shook his head in shared disbelief at the stupidity of the plot. "People can always be convinced of the potential success of any plot, no matter how strange or how bizarre."

"Aye, lad, that is true. Well, our friend Mr. Fawkes will no longer have to worry about plots and counterplots. I must say, I am proud of your work on this case. If you hadn't received that letter in time, the King, the House of Lords and the entire government would have most likely been killed, in spite of our best efforts. I understand that His Majesty has been advised of your role in this matter and has expressed his congratulations to your father."

"That was very kind of His Majesty. I am only glad I was able to act in time. Remember, my father was in attendance, as were two of my brothers. However, the plot is over and we can now begin the new year with a sigh of relief for the civil war we have been spared. I only wish Bodie could share in the success."

"Too true, Lord Doyle. I am sorry about the man, but His Majesty had made up his mind. But tell me, what are your plans? Do you still intend to pursue your retirement from service?"

"Indeed, Sir George. I find I am tired of the turmoil of politics with its attendant machinations and assassinations. Besides, I am thinking of travelling to the East. I suddenly have an urge to visit new lands where I am a stranger and where Guy Fawkes and the nefarious plot are unknown."

Sir George nodded his understanding. for almost six months, Raymond Doyle and another agent had sifted through every rumor in London's Catholic section to discover the plotters and expose their plans. It had been hard, arduous work and at the very end, they succeeded only through Bodie's undercover work in the enemy camp. The skill of Raymond Doyle and William Bodie had overcome all of the odds. But William Bodie, Black Irish Catholic and loyal subject of James I, was dead, executed by Royal Decree. It was not fair, but it had been necessary.

His good friend, Doyle, had finally accepted the necessity of the act, even while trying desperately to find a way to save his friend. In the end, though, the Royal Decree had been implemented and William Bodie had kept his appointment in the Tower.

"Well, think about it, son. You know you will always have a place with my group. But I understand. I'm only sorry it had to be this way." Cowley clasped the younger man on the shoulder and turned toward the party of officials who had borne witness to the fact of the execution.

Standing alone, Lord Doyle looked around the inner courtyard of the Tower and shuddered. This place had seen so much pain and death and now Bodie's life had been unfairly taken from him. Damn, he hated politics and the ruination they made of lives. He would be well quit of England soon.

A light rain began to fall and Doyle glanced ruefully at the sky before pulling his cloak closer about his narrow shoulders and heading toward his carriage. His chestnut hair was caught in a sudden gust and damp curls were tossed into his eyes. He had reached the carriage and had paused to wipe the rain from his face when a strong arm came from the depths of the landau and pulled him into the shelter of the curtained interior.

"You have been a long time coming, Raymond. I am famished and parched. I never knew dying was such thirsty work."

Lord Doyle paused to arrange his cloak, then glared at his friend. "You are always famished and parched, Bodie. But this is foolish. You know the King directed you to leave the country. The Catholics would kill you on sight if they discovered how you betrayed them. The substitution of the body will only fool them if you are unseen."

"Yes, and I sail with the dawn from the royal docks at Richmond. But I will be damned if I spend my final night in England in the company of strangers. Besides, I may never see you again, my friend, and this night will be all that we will have." Suddenly Bodie's mood had turned sad, as if finally recognized what his service to King and adopted country had truly cost him.

Words were unnecessary as the two young men stared in dawning horror at the future. They had become even closer than brothers and now duty would separate them, perhaps for ever. "It's so unfair," railed Doyle for the hundredth time. "Surely we could have found a way without banishment."

"No, Raymond, His Majesty's way is best. If I was seen and identified there would be too many questions asked. It is best that Guy Fawkes, adventurer and soldier- of-fortune, died for his crimes. The fact that his death also means that William Bodie, adventurer and secret agent, must disappear is a small price to pay for saving the Crown."

"Yes, but...,"

"No. No more remonstrances. It is done. I gave my word of honor to leave. The only thing that remains is tonight and what we may share."

"I will never give you up, Bodie. I swear I will find a way to be with you. I can never prove it, but I am sure it was my father's words that set the King on this course of action. The good Duke saw this as the perfect way to separate us. But I tell you now, there are not enough oceans to keep us apart."

"Hush, my love. Don't spoil what time we have with hateful declarations. I only want to hear sweet words from your lips this night."

Doyle smiled in the particularly cat-like way that was his alone and Bodie knew that he would remember this night in all of the months and years of his exile.

---

EPILOG

The British merchant ship docked in the bay at Genoa amid much excitement and expectation. On the deck an auburn haired man searched the faces of those waiting on the docks. Suddenly, he saw the face he had been seeking and waved frantically in greeting. Impatiently, he waited for the gangplank and then rushed headlong into the arms that awaited him.

"William, it has been so long."

"My god, Raymond, you haven't changed. It's been ten years and you still look like a youth. Life has been good to you."

"Life has been good," agreed Doyle. "I've missed you, though. You've aged. Have times been that hard?"

"Things have not been especially easy," William admitted. "But that is all changed, now that we are together. God, I have missed you."

"I've missed you, too. Come, let's find a quiet spot while the ship is unloaded. I want to hear everything."

"It's been ten years. Surely, it can wait a little longer."

Another voice interrupted the reunion with a chuckle. "Raymond has talked of little else since we got your letter, William. After all, it has been ten years since he fled England with me that first day of February, 1606, and he has missed his family."

"But not my father, Bodie," Raymond bridled.

Laughing outright with the sheer love of life and times with Raymond Doyle, William Bodie, the most successful merchant banker in Genoa, ushered his lover and his lover's brother toward the waiting carriage. "No, Raymond," he agreed, "not your father."

-- THE END --