by Paul Walker
It is a short journey back to West Cheap. Askham looks to me for an explanation for the hurried departure and what may have gone before. I remain silent, wrapped in thoughts about the strangeness of the meeting and what, if anything, it may signify. When we arrive home I ask the Captain to sit with me for a while before he leaves. We settle in the library with a glass of claret.
I say, ‘It was a peculiar meeting and confess that I find the company of the Earl something of a trial.’
‘I am pleased your engagement was short. I was in the company of several of the Earl’s companions who regarded me as a curiosity to be stared at. I was offered no refreshment or conversation.’
Askham does not question me on the subject of our meeting and I feel obliged to enlighten him. ‘It seems that he was informed about my connection with Hawkins’ expedition and sought to discover the workings of the new mechanism of navigation I have proposed.’ I pause to ponder again on who may have been the source of his intelligence. Could it be Hawkins or Gilbert; Mylles perhaps; Morton; or Darby Wensum? ‘There was mention of a potential financial investment as the source of his interest, but I have heard that the Earl has vexed Her Majesty because of his difficulties with money.’
‘It may be that he wishes his position to rise in her eyes through a reflection of the glory from a successful expedition.’
That may be true, but I suspect that he may have considered there is financial gain through the manufacture and trade of the instrument.
‘Well, Captain, I thank you again for your consideration of my security and I am sorry that you did not have an enjoyable visit to Oxford’s house.’
Twenty-Eight
I am sitting with John after our breakfast. He has received a note from Mylles which informs that he has seen Capton and Perse again, but their questioning did not yield any new information. I suspect that this interrogation was gentler than that suffered by Richard Joynes due to their connection with Oxford. I turn the conversation to the Earl and enquire about John’s knowledge of his temperament and leanings. He confirms his previous statements about his immaturity and excessive liking for the shallow aspects of life. In common with a good number of nobles, he mistrusts his religion and suspects the harbouring of a devotion to Catholicism. Unfortunately, this leads John to offer a long and somewhat tedious retelling of the history of the Protestant cause and our relief from the profanities of the old religion. I am relieved when Hicks arrives with a note to interrupt our discourse. It is from Hawkins who declares that the sea trials of the instrument have exceeded his expectations. He is mightily pleased and he begs me to arrange for its manufacture for all ships in the fleet. John is understanding that I must leave his company to consult with Hicks on this matter.
I say, ‘Hicks, we must send a note to Master Chap to attend here without delay.’ The memory of Oxford’s probing is fresh and I should be wary in case my movements from this house are observed by his men. ‘You may think me over-cautious, but I should like you and Harry to ride at the same time in separate directions away from Master Chap. Gregory will then depart a short time later and deliver the message to him.’
I see from his expression that Hicks is not fully convinced that my caution is warranted, but he agrees to do as I ask. He may be right, and the attack on Hutchison’s person and property was coincidental, but I will not take that risk with another good family. I will ask Sir George and Hawkins to arrange protection for Master Chap once his work is underway.
*
Master Chap and his son arrive as the bells ring for the hour of three after noon and we adjourn to Hicks’ chamber of business in the courtyard. I confess that I am excited at the prospect of the wide use of my instrument of navigation. There will be financial reward, but I am not without vanity and it is the imagining of the enhancement of my reputation as a scholar that is foremost in my mind.
The details of the proving passage are described in some detail by Master Chap and it is plain that he shares my enthusiasm for the project. Many measurements were taken over the course of a day and a half at sea. The results from my instrument were compared with those obtained from cross-staffs, and in all cases the accuracy of latitude was improved.
Chap says, ‘You are to be congratulated, Doctor. This may be a momentous time for the safer navigation of ships in the seas away from sight of land. I am fortunate to have a small association with its beginnings. You should put a name to your design.’
‘A name?’
Hicks agrees and suggests that my own name is the clear choice. Does my conceit stretch to this? No, it is too grandiose for a thing barely born and not yet subject to the rigours of open and heavy seas. Chap suggests, ‘un baton d’ombre’.
‘Shadow staff; an excellent notion, Master Chap. Let us use that term in future.’ I take my draft drawings of the improved version and lay them flat on a table. ‘Please take a look at this proposal for a renewed design and offer your opinion.’
Chap, his son and Hicks examine the sketches closely while I explain the potential improvement offered by the replacement of a fixed shadow transom for a graduated vane. It is not a simple matter and there is much discussion about the pros and cons of a release on the angle limitation versus the danger of incorporating an untested variation. Further, Chap considers that the changed design will increase the labour required for manufacture bringing us close to, or surpassing, the planned date for the fleet’s departure. Our conversation stretches into late evening and I send word for a light supper to be brought to our room in the courtyard.
Harry enters with our refreshment and we move from the table of sketches to a smaller one prepared for our meal. I notice that Chap’s son, Peter, is uncommonly quiet. When I pass him a plate of boiled eggs he refuses, complaining of a belly ache. His face is flushed and when I place the back of my hand to his forehead there is too much heat. I say that I will go to my still and prepare an infusion of mint and meadowsweet to cool his fever and aid digestion.
There is an icy edge to the air in the courtyard and I pull my cloak tight to ward against a freshening wind. Wisps of straw from the stables swirl and skitter over the cobbles and some are caught against a small mound, which I take to be a pile of rags. Who would leave this jumble here? It is too dark to see, so I kick the bundle with my foot. What? There is something within; heavy, but soft. I bend to examine further. I stretch my hand and touch… woollen cloth, then hair. I bend and press further. I feel a warm stickiness on my fingers. It is on my shoes. I am standing in… blood. A man’s blood. But who? And how? I see a flicker of light to my left side. The shape of a man… A quick movement and then another… a torch is lit in the far corner of the courtyard. I am fixed, unable to force movement into my limbs. What to do? I turn my head sharply. There is no-one behind. Should I shout for help, or try and retreat to Hicks’ chamber? I rise slowly. My thoughts are set. Twenty paces to Hicks’ doorway. I creep back to where I came, thankful that my outer clothing is black. I open the door, knowing this movement will be seen from the light inside. I close the door behind me and set the latch.
‘We are attacked. Be quick. Do we have swords; other weapons?’ My voice is hoarse; words whispered, but too loud.
They stare at me as though I have lost my senses. The stillness among us is broken by a shout from outside. Chap is the first to react and uncovers his dagger. Hicks has two swords in the chamber and a large wood axe. I take the axe in my good hand, Hicks and Chap take the two swords. Peter and Harry are each handed a dagger.
‘I have a musket, but it will take time to load; an old matchlock,’ says Hicks.
‘Then do it. We will bar the door if they come. They plan to fire the house, so we must confront them or the lives of those inside are in peril.’ My thoughts are fevered, running too fast. ‘We will create havoc, a commotion that will halt their determination; as much noise as we can muster.’ It is a flimsy plan. What will follow our initial surprise? We five will be no match for trained soldiers. I must hope that Askham’s me
n are close by or that others will join our defence.
The musket is taking an age to prime. I hear voices draw near. I speak in a whisper to Harry telling him to open the door on my command, then ask Hicks to stand by the door and open fire if a figure threatens. I will lead a charge into the courtyard, followed by the others. Chap shakes his head and shoulders me out of the way, protesting that the injury will hinder my effectiveness. There is no time to argue.
I signal to Harry. He opens the door. Two dark figures stand there, motionless for a second as our light surprises. One raises his arm and makes to enter. A crack from the musket splits the air and hits the senses as a physical shock. Chap roars, points his sword and rushes through the doorway, followed by Hicks. Another sound; screaming; is it me? I stumble over a body and I’m in the open whirling my axe and shouting. Three torches flutter in the wind – men; standing; watching us. My legs take me towards them. Chap is at them waving his sword… and Hicks. One turns, drops his torch and runs. I hurl my axe at his back. It misses and clatters into a wall. Peter brushes past me and lunges at a hooded figure who steps aside. Peter trips and falls. The man’s eyes meet mine, then dart to one side as Chap screams at him and flails his sword. He backs away, then turns and runs. My ears sing. A door opens in the house; it is Mother. I yell that she must go back inside. But, what if the house burns? Is an assailant inside?
I take hold of my dagger and edge towards the door, with my weapon held out and my eyes staring around for danger. All is confusion. How many of the shadows flitting in the torchlight are ours? I open the rear door to the house. No-one is in there. Through to the parlour, I find Mother, John, Mistress Hilliard and the cooks huddled in a corner. I instruct them to stay where they are. My words startle them. I have shouted too loud. I exit the room and go to my library – all is clear. I check the other rooms on the ground floor and find nothing amiss. I visit the kitchens last. There is a stink of tar and burnt wood. Shutters are broken and there are broken shards of pots on the floor by a bucket and a torch which has been extinguished, but still smoulders. I pick it up, walk through the rooms and throw it in the courtyard. I stop. My head hums with the musket discharge, but there are no other sounds. The feeling is strange; like standing in a large church, alone save for the company of a busy beehive. Four figures are outlined against a flickering torch on the ground. Are they my men? One of them approaches. I tighten my grip, but the dagger is not there, then remember I dropped it in the kitchens. It is Hicks who closes and my breath escapes noisily as my stiffness eases.
‘They are gone, sir. We are all unharmed.’
I clasp Hicks on the shoulder and mutter, ‘Thank God,’ several times.
We are joined by the others and I give profound credit for their courage. I close my eyes and offer a silent prayer of thanks to God that able and willing men were here to repel the attack. I dare not think too hard of the consequences if they were not in attendance.
Chap says, ‘We have one of them in the doorway. He was caught by the fire of the musket and I used my sword on him.’
Harry and Peter pick up lighted torches and we move to the doorway of Hick’s chamber. A man lies there on his back. He lives. There are gasping noises in his throat. His eyes are wide, he lifts an arm, points and stares into the blackness. His body twitches, his mouth opens to release a long, slow breath, his arm falls and he subsides. There is a wound at the base of his throat and the pink corruption of his innards show through a tear in his belly. I kneel to feel for a throb in his neck. There is none.
‘He is dead.’ Someone mutters a curse in French. It will be Chap. Then, I remember… ‘There is another body over there.’ I point towards my still and drying room.
I lead the way and ask for the torches to draw near to the dark mound I encountered some time earlier. When was it? Only minutes, but it seems an age has passed. The body lies face down and I know before I turn it over who I will find. It is Gregory with his throat slit. Oh, poor Gregory, undeserving of such an ugly death. His teeth are bared in a terrible fixed smile and empty eyes stare at the heavens. I close his eyelids as gently as I am able with trembling fingers and say a silent prayer for the peace of his young soul.
A hand rests on my shoulder. I have been kneeling here too long. My bones feel old and I get to my feet with some difficulty. I run the back of my hand across my face to wipe away the dampness of tears.
Chap says, ‘Master Hicks has gone to meet with men from this neighbourhood who have gathered here for our assistance.’
I straighten my back and shake my head to rouse my senses. I must see to Mother and others in the house. There is much to arrange. I will send word to Captain Askham and ask for protection. What of Chap and his son?
Hicks has organised notice to be sent to the local justice and constable. Two of Askham’s men are with the dozen or so collected in the courtyard and inform that another of their band has gone to Whitehall to send news to the Captain. None of the other attackers were apprehended and I guess they will have melted into the streets and alleys towards Cripplegate. A man in the crowd asks if any were recognised or if descriptions can be given. The dead man is a stranger to me and the rest… it was all chaos and black splintered by flashes of yellow light from the torches. I recall the eyes of the hooded man, but nothing else.
‘There were four or five who came with evil intent.’ It is Chap speaking. ‘They were clothed in black with their heads covered. One was a large man, almost a foot taller than the others. More than that I cannot say.’
The assembly moves to the body of the slain attacker, while I state that I will attend to my mother and servants in the house, and go in the opposite direction.
Mother and John are seated in the parlour. There is a heavy quiet with John’s face set grim and Mother bearing a frown of deep perplexity. She tells me that the servants are making good in the kitchens.
‘What happened here, William? Why have we been marked for this outrageous assault?’ There is a hint of accusation in her tone.
‘I do not know Mother. Walsingham has many enemies and it may have been an attempt to remove John and me from his corps of advisors. Or, it may be…’ My voice trails away and I shrug my shoulders.
‘Indeed, you have it right, William,’ John declares. ‘It will be the evil of Rome. In particular, they recognise the value of your intellect and skills in the struggle to retain our true religion.’ He leans over and pats my mother’s lap by way of reassurance and apology.
She says, ‘Is there another possibility, William? You appear uncertain.’
‘We were discussing my invention for the navigation of ships and I had thought… No, it would be too extreme a measure for such a thing.’ I breathe deeply to prepare for my next statement. ‘I fear that Gregory is killed. His young life has been taken in most cowardly and horrible fashion.’
Mother opens her mouth, but words are caught in her throat. She buries her head in her hands and rocks gently to and fro in the chair. John murmurs something, which I cannot understand. When all is quiet, I say that I must check the house again and attend to our security for this night.
Outside, our number has grown and formed a circle in the middle of the courtyard. I find Chap and pull him to one side.
‘Master Chap, you will be eager to return to your house.’
‘Yes, Doctor, I would go now if you are content.’
‘You must have an escort. I do not know if our association over the shadow staff is the cause of our hurt, but we must not take this hazard lightly. I will request that two soldiers from Walsingham’s guard accompany you this night, and I will seek protection for your family and house from Sir George Morton thereafter.’
‘Walsingham? Do you have influence with Mister Secretary?’
‘A little, although my association has nought to do with the shadow staff.’ I see from the set of his eyes that Chap suspects there is a deeper meaning to my words, but I can say no more.
Twenty-Nine
I slept, but
fitfully. My waking moments were filled with images of mortal wounds, staring eyes and the grimace on Gregory’s face. I rose before dawn and broke my fast by taking bread, eggs and ale from the kitchens to my library. I have brought my sword down from my bedchamber and idle away time by flexing my sword arm undertaking the exercises taught by my weapons tutor in my youth. The stiffness in my moves ease after a while. Although it is many years since I unsheathed my sword, it seems the lessons are not easily forgotten. Despite my injury, I feel a sense of shame that I did not lead our charge into the courtyard. I should not have allowed Chap and Hicks to bear the brunt of our encounter with the attackers. I will wear my sword and protect those dear to me while this peril remains. Does danger lie in the conspiracy uncovered at Barn Elms, or from my association with Morton and Hawkins? My mind sways in both directions. I must settle this puzzle – and quickly.
Sounds of activity build outside my library. It is time to find Hicks and consult on our priorities for today. The constable came last night to take away the corpse of the attacker. There was nothing on his person to aid identification and we must hope that further enquiries will yield some intelligence. Hicks is in his chamber with Harry. Gregory’s body is laid on a table covered with a linen cloth. The air has a strange quality of hollowness and we speak in hushed voices, not wishing to disturb the sadness around his mortal remains. Mother will arrange for Gregory’s removal to St Giles for his funeral and Hicks will inform his family when this date is set.
I ask, ‘Do you know when the Justice will come?’
