The First Horseman: Number 1 in Series (Thomas Treviot)

by D. K. Wilson

  She shook her head. ‘It does not surprise me. Augustine goes on and off the boil – like an unwatched pot. When he has drunk too much he is the bravest man in the world. Then comes the sober dawn and his ardour droops like a plucked rose. But perhaps he is right. If you were to come under suspicion; if something… happened… to you, as it did to Robert… well, I should never forgive myself.’

  ‘Margaret,’ I said firmly, ‘you’re not even to think like that. If I decide to get to the bottom of his murder it will be entirely because of the debt I owe him. Over the years he did so much for me. There remains only one thing I can do for him. If it lies within my power, I shall not fail him. Now, is there anyone else who might also have been involved with Tyndale?’

  She stood up and moved across to the fire, holding out her hands towards the crackling logs. ‘I don’t know if I should.’ She looked round, obviously troubled. ‘Robert made me promise. It was just another of his business ventures. Probably nothing to our purpose.’

  ‘Margaret, I don’t want to press you, but, if there is any chance…’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do see that the Brothers might have something useful to tell you.’

  ‘The Brothers?’

  ‘That was what he called them – his Christian Brothers. There were usually three of them, though others came from time to time. They always met here late at night. I know not what they talked about. But Robert was insistent that I should never tell anyone they had been here.’

  ‘Do you know their names?’ I probed gently.

  Margaret hesitated. ‘’Tis probably nothing, Thomas. They are all prominent citizens, no less so than Robert himself.’

  ‘I have nowhere else to turn, Margaret. If any of these Brothers can shed some light on Robert’s death, they will surely want to do so.’

  ‘I don’t know… He said there was danger for anyone who was identified.’

  ‘Perhaps that prophecy has come true,’ I urged. ‘Robert may have been marked as one of the Brothers. In that case his friends could be at risk.’

  Margaret sighed again – a long drawn-out sigh. ‘Perhaps you are right, Thomas. But if I tell you, you must promise to tread carefully. Robert would ask no less of you.’ She paused again, then spoke the names slowly, as though reading them from a list. ‘Geoffrey Robinson, William Locke and Thomas Keyle. They’re all mercers. Humphrey Monmouth of the Drapers’ Company. Thomas Poyntz, grocer, but he was only here once… or possibly twice. I don’t know any of the other names.’

  Shortly afterwards I took my leave but not before Margaret had several more times exhorted me to take the utmost care in my investigations. She was clearly as much in two minds as I was. However, it seemed to me that there could be no risk in contacting Robert’s close friends. In all likelihood they would not agree to meet me but nor would they inform on me to the bishop’s agents. It was not difficult to locate the men Margaret had named. I knew them all by name if not by sight. The mercantile and civic leadership of London is vested in a comparatively small community of successful traders who are jealous of their own dignity and regard their leadership of livery companies, City corporation and church guilds as essential to the wellbeing of the capital. Every ambitious freeman sees himself as being on a Jacob’s ladder reaching to the heavenlies where these furred and velveted mayors, aldermen and company wardens exercise sway over the municipality. The names of the aristocrats who govern our little realm are common property. So, I knew, for example, that Geoffrey Robinson was Senior Warden of the Mercers’ Company.

  Knowledge was one thing. Making effective use of it another. How was I to approach these grandees and persuade them to discuss with me matters of the utmost confidentiality? That afternoon I carefully composed letters to the men Margaret had named. I explained that, as a close friend of Robert Packington, I was concerned about the manner of his death and would welcome an opportunity to discuss that shocking affair with any who might be able to cast light upon it. The following morning (Monday 20 November) I despatched messengers to find the recipients and deliver my request. Scarcely had I done so when news arrived concerning one of the addressees.

  I was with the Dean of Gloucester, who had called about a new suite of gold altar furnishings for one of the cathedral chapels. As with all important customers, I received the cleric in my parlour and we were in the middle of cautious haggling when I received news that Ben Walling was in the shop asking to see me on an ‘urgent’ matter. As soon as I could do so politely, I concluded my negotiation with the dean, who must have been surprised that I so quickly agreed to a figure well below what he had, undoubtedly, expected to pay.

  Ben looked excited as he came into the parlour and he declined the ale I offered.

  ‘I’ve found the grocer,’ he said. ‘Or, rather, I haven’t.’

  ‘In God’s name, Ben,’ I growled, ‘try to speak sense. Sit down, if you can remember where your backside is.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He grinned as he pulled up a stool. ‘What I mean is I’ve discovered who he is but I don’t know where he is now.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very helpful,’ I muttered.

  ‘Wait till you’ve heard the whole story. This morning I went gossiping along the grocers’ shops in Bucklersbury, as you suggested. Of course, several people had heard about the disturbance in the coroner’s court and they knew who was responsible. His name is Thomas Poyntz – something of a troublemaker by all accounts.’

  I pricked up my ears at the name. ‘Go on,’ I said eagerly.

  ‘Well, I went to his shop and asked to see the master. “He’s not here,” his assistant said. The man was quite clearly frightened. When I asked where I might find Master Poyntz, his lips closed tighter than a Whitstable oyster. Not wanting to seem too curious, I thanked the man and left – and not a moment too soon.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  ‘I’d not gone more than a few yards down Bucklersbury when I heard a commotion behind me. I turned and saw four armed men getting off their horses and marching into Poyntz’s shop. I stayed around as a member of the crowd which straightway gathered to watch the fun. There was a great deal of shouting and crashing from inside the shop. Then the soldiers came out pushing three of Poyntz’s men before them, their hands tied, and off they all went.’

  ‘No sign of Poyntz?’

  ‘No. He was long gone. I overheard some of the neighbours talking about him. It seems he left yesterday morning on horseback. Probably trying to make the coast. By all accounts he spends a lot of time in the Low Countries – Antwerp mostly.’

  Antwerp. Where Robert had been until recently. I knew that he used the English merchant quarter there as his base when his business took him overseas. That was where there had been trouble… where the heretic Tyndale had been tracked down. Tyndale! Wherever I turned in this maze I always seemed to come face to face with him.

  ‘Well, let’s hope Poyntz escapes the bishop’s clutches,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, these weren’t Stokesley’s men,’ Ben said.

  ‘City militia, then?’

  ‘No, not them either. These soldiers were in royal livery. Odd, that. Why would the king bother himself with the ravings of a bishop-hating grocer?’

  ‘To show he’s no supporter of heretics, I suppose.’

  Ben scratched his head. ‘Odd thing is some folks were saying it was done on Cromwell’s orders. I can’t believe that. If Lord Cromwell is intent on pulling down the abbeys, curbing the power of the Church and putting up New Learning preachers in our pulpits, why would he try to silence people like Poyntz for foul-mouthing Stokesley?’

  ‘There are people who blame Cromwell for everything they don’t like.’

  ‘Aye, no doubt that’s the truth of it… though I still can’t see…’

  ‘If you want to keep a sane head on your shoulders, Ben,’ I said, ‘don’t try to make sense of politics. Any news of this Il Ombra fellow?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, and I’ve been thinking about that. Why would someone
“shadowy”, someone who doesn’t want to be identified, use a fancy name?’

  ‘Bravado?’ I suggested. ‘This wretch is a craftsman. He’s proud of what he does.’

  ‘And a craftsman needs clients. How does he find them?’ Ben brushed his bush of fair hair back from his forehead. ‘Suppose you wanted to hire his services. How would you locate him? You couldn’t look for a shop with a sign outside – “Get your murders here”.’

  I pondered the question. ‘I see what you’re suggesting,’ I said. ‘I would have to let it be known that I was looking for an assassin.’

  ‘Exactly. You’d ask around in the places where thieves, whores and vagrants congregate – like Mother Bennett’s, hard by Bethel, or the ale houses on the road beyond Finsbury Fields. Breathe the name Il Ombra there and say you want to buy his services and, as sure as the Devil’s in hell, your man will come and find you.’

  The suggestion was brilliant, obvious, and I had been too mired in detail to see it. ‘Of course! That’s what I must do – make him come to me,’ I said.

  ‘Hold hard now, Master.’ Ben looked genuinely alarmed. ‘You can’t just arrange a cosy meeting with a professional killer. I have a better plan.’ The young man drew his stool closer. He looked excited. Too excited.

  ‘Go on,’ I said cautiously.

  ‘Let me put out the word that a wealthy man – perhaps even one of the king’s courtiers – wants to arrange a revenge killing. If our luck is in, Il Ombra will take the bait and suggest a time and place to see you. Now, it’s bound to be somewhere secure. He’ll be wary of a trap.’

  ‘Then that’s where your plan falls down.’ I was beginning to see where Ben’s ideas were leading. ‘He’ll be suspicious. He won’t want to be recognised. As soon as he realises that I don’t come in good faith he’ll be gone.’

  ‘Oh yes, and he’ll probably kill you first,’ Ben said cheerfully. ‘That’s why you mustn’t go alone. I’ll be waiting for him with some of my friends.’

  I laughed, trying to make light of the suggestion. ‘So that he can kill us all? Have you forgotten that this man is an expert with firearms?’

  ‘I can gather half a dozen apprentices who are very nimble with cudgels and staves.’

  I could see that he was very much in earnest. ‘Ben, I really appreciate the offer but this is not your quarrel and it isn’t a May Day frolic. If I went to meet this assassin I would take a band of the constable’s men.’

  ‘A brilliant idea,’ he scoffed. ‘Our friend would recognise them on the instant and disappear.’

  There was certainly sense in what Ben said. Seeing my hesitation, he pressed on. ‘I reckon this Ombra fellow will choose a busy place where he can vanish in the crowd if he suspects anything. Well, we can be anonymous members of that crowd. He won’t escape all of us.’

  ‘And suppose he decides to meet on open land where he can be sure no one else is around?’

  Ben was ready with his answer. ‘Then we’ll be there well ahead of time, concealing ourselves behind any bush or rock or tree that lies to hand.’

  ‘Wherever this encounter takes place,’ I protested, ‘someone’s going to get killed. If not you, then one or more of your friends. Does that not worry you?’

  He shrugged. ‘What is life worth without risk?’

  Suddenly, I realised that, at one time, I would probably have made the same nonchalant answer. How much I had changed in the four or five years that separated us. Just as others were telling me to be cautious, so I now wanted to urge my enthusiastic friend to be cautious. I said, ‘Well, Ben, I’ll give your idea some thought, but —’

  He jumped to his feet. ‘Good. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.’ With that he was gone.

  Meanwhile, my own lines of enquiry were proving fruitless. Geoffrey Robinson sent back a polite reply regretting that he was unable to offer assistance. The messenger I had sent to William Locke’s impressive house in Milk Street was informed that Master Locke was spending a couple of days at his lodge on Hampstead Hill. My other envoys met with curt refusals. Frustrated, I decided to follow up the only lead I had. I would ride out personally to Hampstead that very afternoon and see if I could persuade Locke to talk to me. Accordingly, I told John Fink where I was going and left him instructions to shut up the shop at close of business. I had a quick, light dinner and was about to leave when Ned Longbourne bustled into the shop, breathless and distraught.

  ‘I’ve just had a visit from Lizzie,’ he gasped. ‘She was in great distress.’

  Chapter 19

  I hurried Ned into the parlour. ‘Has something gone wrong at Hemmings?’ I demanded. ‘Has anything happened to my mother? Is my son safe? Lizzie had no business abandoning him.’

  Ned dropped heavily into the chair opposite. ‘She is an impulsive creature, as you know. She came to Southwark on a whim, bringing the boy with her. All at your house are unharmed but Lizzie fears they are at risk. She actually wanted to leave young Ralph with me to return to you. I had the Devil’s own job to persuade her to go back.’

  I felt a dagger thrust of panic in my stomach. ‘What is the problem? Do they need more protection? Should I send more men to Hemmings to guard them?’

  ‘You will have to ask her. I promised her that I would bring you to Hemmings to see the situation for yourself. She says the household is surrounded by enemies, like a besieged castle.’

  ‘No hint of who these “enemies” are?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘She can come to no harm at Hemmings, Ned. Of that I am sure. Do you not think she is just letting her own worries get the better of her? She’s in a strange place. She misses the support of her St Swithun’s friends. She needs time to settle down.’

  He shook his head firmly. ‘Lizzie may be headstrong but she is not given to fantasies. If she is anxious she has good cause to be. You would do her a disservice to dismiss her fears as feminine whims.’

  I thought long and hard. ‘You place me in a difficult position. I am already committed to a plan to put an end to all our troubles. I am going to draw the assassin into the open. That’s the only way to stop this nightmare and make sure that Lizzie and my family are safe.’

  ‘In God’s name, let it be, Thomas!’ Ned glowered across the table with a look of anguish, such as I had never seen before. ‘Don’t go to the stake for your friend.’

  I stared back momentarily stunned. ‘What in the name of all the saints does that mean?’

  ‘It matters not. Forget I said it.’ Ned waved a hand, as though brushing words away. ‘What matters is whether you will come with me to Hemmings to see what ails Lizzie and set her mind at rest.’

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed, ‘but I cannot come today. I will meet you in Southwark in the morning – but only if we can make an early start. I must get to Hemmings and back again in a day.’

  As soon as Ned had gone, I set out with three servants. We rode up West Cheap and out through Newgate. We skirted Gray’s Inn and the lawyers’ quarter and headed along the busy road that slowly inclines via heath and woods to the ridge of Highgate. Grudgingly I paid the toll demanded of all who crossed Bishop Stokesley’s hunting ground, wishing that His Grace was as assiduous in maintaining the road as he was in collecting his dues. We kept to the sides of the track, avoiding as far as possible the wagon-ruts and wide puddles that splashed our mounts with mud up to their chests. It was not raining but the pewter sky threatened a possible downpour and gusts of wind tore at our cloaks as we reached higher ground.

  Locke’s timber-framed house stood at the edge of a copse and, as we approached, a small party of horsemen emerged from the stable block. Leading the group on a magnificent black mare was a ruddy-complexioned man of middle years, huddled in a fur-lined cape. It was obvious from his expensive clothes, his fine mount and his beard of formal, yet fashionable cut, that here was a man of substance and one who, in all probability, moved in court circles. On his left wrist he carried a hooded lanner falcon. I introduced myself and Master Locke smiled
his welcome.

  ‘Ah yes, you are a friend of Robert Packington. I received your letter. That was a shocking business, deeply shocking. I’m just training a new hawk but by all means ride with us.’

  I fell in beside him as he led the way out on to the heath. ‘A fine-looking bird,’ I said, by way of opening the conversation.

  ‘Yes, I brought her back from France a few weeks ago. She’s a little skittish but she’s responding well to training.’

  ‘You are fortunate to have this land close to London to hunt over,’ I suggested.

  ‘’Tis the king’s land but, thanks to our queen of blessed memory, I had grant of hunting rights and was permitted to build my little lodge three years ago.’

  ‘Queen Catherine secured you these privileges?’