Traitor

by David Hingley

  She held herself back against the wall, pondering her options. There was no chance such negligence could have occurred by itself. The warders were not so careless. And so it meant one of two things: a ruse, to cement her guilt; or an opportunity, to permit her to escape.

  Which was right? Or rather, who could sanction such a contrivance? Surely only the King himself, or the Lieutenant of the Tower, had the authority to give her that chance – or else to order the guards to swoop when she was far from her cell, a traitor caught evading her judgement.

  But why do that? As a prisoner, she was already disgraced: only her uncle would stand to benefit from her further humiliation, and he could not orchestrate such a scheme without support. Did he know the Lieutenant of the Tower? She was not sure. But then why would the Lieutenant risk his position, having to explain to the irate King how her door came to be open in the first place?

  For a moment she was paralysed with indecision. But then she thought of the interrogator’s emotionless face, of the terror he had made her endure, and she determined it was worth the heady risk. Sir William had told her he had some kind of plan, that she had to be brave. And so brave she would make herself be.

  She left the confines of the Bell Tower, emerging into drizzle, a temperate breeze blowing the damp into her face. With a steady glance around her she hugged the tall wall and slunk beneath the battlements, taking slow steps until she reached the two facing turrets at the wall’s end, the so-called Middle Tower that protected the inner wards. And still there were no guards.

  She continued on, sidling beneath a raised portcullis, and then across an exposed drawbridge over a dry moat. Yet again, there was nobody to stop her, but when she passed through the Lion Tower near the entrance to the complex a strange squeal made her pause, until she remembered this was where the King’s menagerie was kept. Caged nearby would be all manner of beasts, but she did not mean to stop to admire them.

  Now only the barbican ahead was keeping her from freedom. Surely, she thought, there should be guards on duty at the Tower’s outermost point, and sure enough, with a sinking stomach she saw that there were, but almost immediately one called to the others, and although they stayed at their post, they all turned their backs.

  She crept ever closer, not daring to make a sound lest she were wrong and this was all incredible fortune, but by now it was evident she was being allowed to flee. She slipped past the guards, not one of them spoiling the deception by making any sign they could hear her. And then she darted round the entrance, clear of the Tower’s supposedly impenetrable bulk.

  There was no time yet to wonder why she had been so strangely released. Out in the open she hurried towards the city, intending to pass inside its walls and so lose herself in the darkness; best not to think of the folk who deliberately sought those shadows out. And then she thought, or was she imagining, that footsteps were pursuing, and she looked over her shoulder, fearing soldiers on her tail, but nobody was there. And then a hand reached out to grab her, and she gasped.

  ‘Quiet, my lady,’ came a voice. ‘Sir William told me to wait for you here.’

  ‘Phibae!’ she said, startled. ‘Come over here, in the shadow of the gate.’

  ‘No, my lady. There are guards. Come this way.’

  A shawl draped over her arm, Phibae walked briskly round the outside of the city wall, and only when they had gone five minutes did she stop.

  ‘Are you well, my lady?’ she asked.

  ‘As well as I can be. Phibae, what is this? Sir William’s doing, you say?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. Sir William explained how you’d been imprisoned on a false charge. And that I was to tell you that the King has decided to … look the other way. He said you’d understand what that meant.’

  ‘But why did they not just say I could go? Why all this secrecy?’

  ‘I only know, my lady, that I was told to take you somewhere safe, and so I shall. ’Tis in the east of the city, not too far. Here, take my shawl.’ She passed her the garment she had been carrying. ‘Wrap your head and keep close. There are bad people about.’

  Mercia took the shawl and cast it over her shoulders, pulling a fold over her head. She followed Phibae around the perimeter of the city until they came in sight of the Aldgate. Approaching the wall, she covered her face as best as she could as the guard at the gate stepped forward.

  ‘What are you two doing out here at night?’ He studied them closely. ‘You don’t look like whores.’

  ‘We were visiting a friend,’ said Phibae.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ The man grinned. ‘I keep on telling you, Phibae. I could be your friend.’

  ‘And I keep telling you, Sam Earles, I don’t think my husband would like that.’

  Earles laughed. ‘Well, you know where I am, daft wench. Get one of these lads to light your way.’

  He clicked his fingers at the pack of link-boys mewling on some nearby steps. As one, the brood lurched forward, baying for business like so many half-starved pups.

  ‘Just one of you,’ said the guard. ‘Toby, you’ll do.’

  The other boys howled but slunk back to their patch. The one called Toby, all of about twelve years old, picked up a nearby pole, lighting the lantern hanging from its end on the torch set into the gate. As the light caught, a sort of halo glowed around his face.

  ‘Very pretty,’ said the guard. ‘Now take these two where they want.’ He glanced at Mercia. ‘Don’t forget to pay him well.’

  Because you’ll take your share? she thought, but she remained silent, waiting for Phibae to give Toby her instructions and move on. But the boy had led them for barely three minutes before a pair of leering townsmen stepped from an alley, blocking their path.

  ‘Told you it was,’ said the shorter of the haggard duo. ‘Two rum morts for us to share.’ He licked his lips. ‘Fuck off, lad, there’s a good chit.’

  ‘But they ain’t paid me!’ protested the link-boy.

  ‘I said fuck off. You want to fight me?’

  Toby shook his lantern. ‘Aye, Joseph Dean. And I’d beat you, too.’

  Dean laughed. ‘You’ve got a ways to learn yet.’

  ‘The only one who’ll learn anything is you,’ came another voice, hidden in the darkness.

  ‘What’s this?’ laughed the taller of the ruffians. ‘Someone else want to fight us too?’

  Three men emerged from the doorway of a house, coalescing as if from nowhere. They surrounded the braggarts and folded their arms.

  ‘Fuck me,’ said Dean. ‘Did we just set sail and land in Africa?’

  He made a noise that would not have been out of place in the King’s menagerie, a derisive, repetitive squeal. The newcomers glanced at each other, before one thrust his outstretched palm into Dean’s mocking face.

  ‘Bastard blackamoor,’ said his mate, and he brought back his fist, striking out to begin a brawl. Phibae grabbed Mercia’s arm, pulling her to one side as Toby swung his light with relish, seemingly on a side all of his own. But neither the link-boy nor Dean and his mate were much of a match for the well-built trio, and soon enough they fled in shame, abandoning their would-be prey.

  ‘Should we run back to the guard?’ said Mercia, making to return the way they had come.

  ‘No, my lady. These men were waiting for us.’ Phibae gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I said there were bad people about. So we made sure there were more good than bad.’

  The group’s leader glanced across. ‘This your mistress, Phibae?’

  ‘This is her,’ she said.

  ‘Phibae’s my wife,’ the man explained. ‘She says you’re kind to her.’

  Mercia looked at him, but it was difficult to make much out. ‘I try to be.’

  ‘Then we’ll be kind to you. You need somewhere to hide, it seems. Follow me.’

  With little choice but to comply, Mercia nodded her assent, and the group set off, the men surrounding the women. They forsook a light, trusting to their muscles and their evident knowledge of the streets
to get them to their destination in safety. More than once Mercia cursed as she stepped in something soft, but she was glad of the men’s presence whenever other late-night walkers cravenly stared, as if assessing who would most likely survive a fight.

  After what seemed an age the group turned into a side street, where a line of forgotten washing swung from wooden beams above. At the end of the alley the men paused, looking back to be certain they had not been followed, and then one of the three knocked on the door in a pleasing rhythm: tap-ta-rap. The door opened, the men passed inside, and Phibae stepped back to allow Mercia in before her.

  Inside the light was low, nothing more than the embers of a fading fire, and for a moment Mercia feared she had been led into a trap. But the men made no move to grab her, instead surrounding a hefty chest that was set atop a rug. Moving it to one side, they lifted the rug to expose a thin strip of light that marked out a rectangle cut into the boards. One of the men crouched, inserting his fingers and so easing the trapdoor up.

  ‘Come, my lady,’ said Phibae. ‘Down here.’

  This time Phibae went first, the man by the trapdoor holding out a hand to steady Mercia as she turned to follow. Placing one foot on the top rung of a ladder, she descended to a hidden room below. Phibae’s husband came next, while his two companions closed the trapdoor and replaced the rug and chest, remaining up top.

  At the bottom of the ladder, Mercia held her arm in front of her face, squinting in the unexpected brightness of the basement. A large number of candles were interspersed around the walls, while a fire was burning in a recess opposite that must have fed into the chimney in the entrance room above. But it was the people she noticed most: four of them in all, two playing at cards, two simply talking, but they broke from their activities as the newcomers stepped in. Everyone besides herself was black.

  ‘This used to be a kitchen until we converted it,’ said Phibae’s husband. ‘Those doors there lead to old stores, which we use as a pair of bedrooms. And that cupboard is now a makeshift latrine.’ He shrugged. ‘Not the comforts of the palace, I fear.’

  ‘What is this place?’ she asked, feeling as though she had walked into some hidden secret. In a way, it reminded her on a larger scale of the priest holes she had seen in one or two grand country houses.

  ‘We call it Zion,’ answered Phibae. ‘’Tis a place where servants who fear for their lives can escape their masters until they are able to flee.’

  ‘A safe house!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Indeed, my lady. There may be no slaves in England, but that does not prevent ill-treatment. Often folk have nowhere else to turn.’

  ‘Come here, Mrs Blakewood,’ ordered her husband.

  ‘Ayo,’ said Phibae. ‘We talked about this.’

  ‘I know what we talked of, but it still must be said. Lady, this place is sanctuary for those who need it. We endanger it by bringing you here. If once you leave you speak of its existence, and these people are captured, I shall see that you answer. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘But you have nothing to fear from me.’

  ‘She won’t betray us, Ayo,’ said Phibae. ‘I told you how she’s helping Tacitus to read.’

  ‘Tacitus.’ He scoffed. ‘That boy is a fool. Can’t we use his real name here?’ He collapsed onto a rickety stool. ‘Well, you might as well get some warmth from the fire, such as there is.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Mercia. ‘Believe me, I sincerely appreciate what you have done.’

  He grunted and picked up a pamphlet from the floor. Although the basement was strewn with threadbare rugs, he still had to brush away specks of dirt.

  ‘The Intelligencer,’ she noted. ‘Is there news of interest?’

  He yawned, a deep intake of tired breath. ‘The fleet is assembled. They expect battle soon. We should be safe enough in London.’

  ‘So I am told.’

  ‘All we’ll have to deal with is the plague. Most likely you won’t have heard how it’s spreading. ’Tis only when the rich are threatened that anything is done.’

  ‘Not now, Ayo,’ said Phibae, suddenly appeared with a cracked mug; a sweet scent filled the enclosed air. ‘Let’s sit by the fire, my lady.’

  Mercia took the proffered drink and sipped. ‘Whey, just as I like. Thank you, Phibae. I should be glad to sit a while, now we are here. Will you introduce me to your friends?’

  Quickly, Phibae circled the room, but aside from a few short pleasantries none of the group seemed in the mood for conversation. One young man refused to speak at all, shutting his eyes when Mercia tried to greet him.

  ‘Don’t mind them, my lady,’ said Phibae, once they had sat. ‘They have little trust in … your folk, but that’s why they’re here. They’ve been beaten or threatened too many times.’

  ‘You do them a great service, then.’

  ‘My husband does, but no one’s really in charge here. ’Tis a common effort, my lady, of those who wish to help.’

  ‘Phibae, I think now we are here, there is no need to call me “my lady”. Please, use my Christian name. Mercia.’

  ‘I am not sure I could, my lady. It does not seem right.’

  ‘I do not mind.’ A wave of fatigue came over her, and she set the mug in her lap, feeling the heat even through the thickness of her dress. Holding the mug with her right hand, with her left she rubbed at her aching temples and eyes.

  ‘You need rest,’ said Phibae. ‘Do you want to sleep?’

  ‘Soon. I should rather know more of what is happening. What did you speak of with Sir William?’

  Phibae cast down her eyes. ‘He came to your rooms. I told him you weren’t there, but he ignored me, began to look around, and I …’ She swallowed. ‘… I protested he should not be doing that. He got angry, said he was trying to help you. I said if you were in trouble, that I wanted to help too, and of a sudden he began to talk, said you had been falsely accused. To speak true, my lady, he seemed desperate. I have seen the look before, in many pairs of eyes.’

  She nodded in thought. ‘There was nobody else he could turn to. Do not misunderstand me, Phibae. But it must have been hard for him to seek your aid.’

  ‘I told him I could help you hide. He wasn’t sure until I said, who would think to look for you among people like me?’ She smiled sadly. ‘But I haven’t told him where this place is, my lady. I trust you, but I cannot trust him. Even you would never have been brought here in the light of day. But please, if you tell anyone … I just wanted to repay your kindness.’

  ‘’Tis you who are kind, Phibae. In truth, you know me so little, and yet you have done this. I have seen so much that is wicked this past year, but when there are people such as you … the compassion you show – truly, it humbles.’

  ‘No, my lady.’ Phibae glanced up. ‘’Tis only how people should be.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She was surprised, the next morning, to realise she had passed the night deep in sleep. Having to share with two other women had made her worry she would not much rest at all, but her ordeal in the days before had lulled her into the void almost as soon as the sheets had embraced her in their warmth. For seconds on waking she could not remember where she was, but as she took in the bunks about her, and the snoring of one of the women, with a heavy heart she remembered the misfortunes that had brought her there and the urgency of her task.

  She pulled herself from bed. A lit candle was burning in a holder on a stool, clearly recently placed to assist the sleepers when they woke. Beside it was a discarded hand mirror, and she studied her reflection as best as she could in the dim light; she looked tired, the first sign of heavy skin under her eyes, and her hair was unkempt, an unruly clump sticking out to one side. A pail of water had been provided with the candle, and she dipped her fingers in the cool liquid, dabbing at the offending strands until they were tamed. Then dusting down the dress in which she had slept, she entered the common room just as Phibae arrived from above, bearing bread and ale in a large ba
g across her back.

  ‘Good morning, my lady,’ she said, setting down the bag to lay out five wooden plates. ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘Like I would not have thought possible.’

  ‘I left you a candle before I went out.’ Phibae shared out the bread. ‘Have some breakfast. ’Tis not much, but it keeps hunger away.’

  Mercia took the nearest plate, and when Phibae had finished pouring, she added a beaker of weak ale. The room was cold, the reborn fire struggling to keep itself alight, last night’s grey embers littering the hearth. But she was thankful for the meal, however sparse, and she sat in a chair, devouring her bread.

  ‘I have spoken again with Sir William, my lady,’ said Phibae. ‘At dawn. He said to give you this.’

  She reached for her sack and rummaged inside, withdrawing a coin purse and a sealed envelope.

  ‘But this is not for me,’ said Mercia. ‘It is addressed to a Sir Malcolm Stine.’

  Phibae frowned. ‘He said it was for you. That and the coins.’

  Mercia hesitated, but then broke the wax seal. She teased open the white paper and, reading the greeting, found it was meant for her.

  My dear Mercia,

  Forgive the invented name, but I needed to be certain that if your maid was stopped she would not be relieved of this letter by an overzealous guard. I have spoken with the King. Your absence in America, your previous loyalties, and the interrogation you suffered have helped me persuade His Majesty how you cannot be Virgo. But you have still been caught meeting a smuggler, and in the face of conflicting opinions (your uncle!), he has ordered you secretly freed so you may be judged by your actions. I suggest you dare not disappoint him.

  Reports have reached London from the Duke at the coast sooner than I had hoped, and we are ordered to travel today to the fleet, where as far as I know, your manservant remains trusted. I do not like to leave you, but in lieu of my presence, I have given some coin to your maid. Take great care. Burn this once it is read.