Fayne had won six shillings in the last two hands, and could afford to raise the stakes. ‘Two shillings it is, gentlemen,’ he announced, putting the coins down, ‘and a main of eight.’ That’s better, thought Thomas. A man who thinks his luck is in, and is willing to lengthen the odds against himself in order to tempt the gamblers. He took two of the remaining four shillings from his pocket and placed them on the table. The other two players did the same.
Fayne gave the dice an extra shake and rolled them out. Seven. A good number for the caster, and a bad one for his opponents. Fayne put another two shillings on the table, indicating that he was betting on throwing a seven before an eight. The odds favoured him. Thomas had no choice but to put down his last two shillings. With sixteen shillings on the table, Fayne picked up the dice and shook them. Thomas closed his eyes. It was not the money – he would survive the loss of six shillings – it was the thought of losing to Fayne. If he lost this hand, he would just have to put on his bravest face. There would be gloating and taunting and accusations of being feeble. It would not be pleasant.
When he heard Fayne curse, he opened his eyes. Two fours make eight, and Fayne had thrown two fours. Thomas had recovered his four shillings and was back in the game.
Fayne also lost the next two hands and passed the dice to Philip. Philip won a hand, then lost three in a row. Thomas took the dice. For five consecutive hands he chose a main of seven, winning each one. He had twenty-five shillings in his pocket. Fayne had gone very quiet and looked as if he might strike someone.
‘Damn your luck, bookseller,’ he muttered. ‘Put down a guinea, and we’ll see who’s the winner.’
It was strictly against the etiquette of the game for a player other than the caster to suggest a stake, but Fayne did not look in the mood for etiquette. A guinea. Much more than Thomas had ever played for, and if he lost he would be unable to pay all three opponents. That would be dangerous. He really should walk away.
‘As you wish, Captain Fayne. But on condition that the hand is played by the two of us only. I should be embarrassed to relieve you gentlemen of your guineas.’ He looked enquiringly at the other two.
‘I am content to watch,’ said Tomkins.
‘And I,’ agreed Smithson.
‘Very well, bookseller,’ hissed Fayne. ‘Just you and I.’
Two guineas went on the table and Thomas nominated seven as the main. He shook the dice and rolled them out. A one and a three. He would have to throw again, and now the odds were against him. If he threw a seven, Fayne would win. He picked up the dice and threw them down. Two fives. He must throw again, and still the odds favoured Fayne. He shook the dice hard and let them roll along the table. Both dice showed two. Fayne stood up and cursed.
‘Damn your eyes, you lucky little runt.’
For a moment Thomas thought Fayne was about to hit him. Then the captain turned on his heel and stormed out. Smithson and Tomkins shrugged apologetically and got up. Tomkins put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and said quietly, ‘Well played, sir. Francis is an ill-mannered beggar when he loses. Take care, won’t you. He’s a vindictive beggar, too.’
Another man telling him to take care, and Thomas could well believe it about Fayne. For now, however, with forty-six shillings in his pocket, he could afford to order another rabbit pie and a bottle of the Crown’s best claret. An hour later, his stomach full, he walked back to Pembroke trying not to look smug. If only the message would be as obliging as the dice, all would be well.
CHAPTER 7
THE MESSAGE, HOWEVER, was thoroughly disobliging. For two more fruitless days Thomas wrestled with it, his frustration growing with the knowledge that the army would soon be on the move. If there was to be a battle, this message might have something to do with it. If he could only do his job, lives might yet be spared. Other than being sure that Monsieur Vigenère was behind the encryption, however, he had learned almost nothing about it. Sheets and sheets of paper, each one covered in combinations of numbers and letters making no sense whatever, littered the floor. He had got through gallons of ink and dozens of quills, and went to bed each night with a throbbing ache behind his eyes. Damnable Frenchman, damnable cipher. Damnable war, damnable Oxford. He longed to go home and forget about all of them. But he could not. He might be hanged for his trouble, and so might Abraham.
On the third morning, he awoke thinking of Jane Romilly. While he had been engrossed in the cipher, she had barely entered his mind. Today, however, she was there. The beautiful lady-in-waiting with eyes of different colours, who had walked with him in the gardens, asked about his family and lied to him about Francis Fayne. And had stomped out of his room, leaving him speechless. What was he to make of her?
Before he could begin to make anything of her, there was a loud knock on the door. Thomas struggled out of bed and opened it. It was Tobias Rush, who this time did not bother with pleasantries. ‘Master Hill,’ he said, ‘kindly make ready to travel. The king has returned from Gloucester and wishes you to accompany him to Newbury, where he will join forces with Prince Rupert.’
Not Gloucester or Reading then. No five guineas for the Dutch artilleryman. ‘Is the king expecting to fight?’
‘It is likely. We have information that the Earl of Essex, with at least fourteen thousand men, is also marching there. Prince Rupert is racing there with his cavalry and we will march to join him. We must reach the town before Essex does, to prevent his returning to London with his army intact. You are to be responsible for the security of the king’s despatches.’
‘When do we leave?’
‘By noon. Three infantry regiments with artillery are assembling on Christ Church Meadow. Present yourself there within the hour. I shall be accompanying you to Newbury.’ And with that, Rush hurried off.
Newbury, which Simon and he had avoided on the way to Oxford. About halfway home. Strategically important, Thomas supposed, either for an attempt by Essex and Fairfax to take Oxford or for a Royalist attack on London. Otherwise, a modest town of no great merit or distinction, which he had visited several times to buy books. Fourteen thousand of the enemy against how many of us? he wondered. Would he be obliged to carry arms? God forbid that he might have to use them. Simon had said that the king knew he would never take up arms against Englishmen, but in the heat of battle would the king care? Would he care himself? A sword in the stomach for Thomas, or a musket ball in the eye of the other fellow? He might be about to find out.
It took Thomas very little time to be ready. He packed his few spare clothes, quills, his sharpening knife and papers into his bag, and hid the encrypted message under his shirt. It felt safer there. He did not want to leave it behind, and he might have time to study it some more. His box of quills he wrapped in a shirt for safety. When he arrived at the meadow, a light rain was falling and the ground was a muddy mass of soldiers, tradesmen, women, horses, wagons, supplies, ammunition, carts and cannon. The camp followers and baggage train had joined the fighting men. He could discern no semblance of military order, nor of anyone attempting to impose any, and he could make little out of the incessant clash and clamour of an army preparing to march. Soldiers stood in small groups, apparently waiting to be told what to do, and grooms tried in vain to keep their horses calm, while lines of townsmen and women, supervised by young officers, loaded every transport with as many crates and boxes as it would take. As long as they had insisted on payment in advance, the butchers and bakers of Oxford were in for another quick and substantial profit. Thomas stood under an elm on the north side of the meadow and watched.
By the time the king and his entourage arrived, some form of order had miraculously appeared, and his majesty, enthusiastically greeted by his guards, rode a grey stallion to the front of the lines. He wore a gleaming breastplate, carried a heavy cavalry sword, and acknowledged the loyal cheers with a regal wave of his gauntleted hand. On horseback, his lack of height was less obvious, and he looked cheerful and confident. The queen, also mounted, approached the king and bade
him a fond, very public farewell. The Generalissima and her unborn child would not be marching to battle.
Beside the queen’s horse walked her personal bodyguard and ladies-in-waiting. No spaniels or dwarves today. One of the ladies turned her head and stared straight at Thomas. He returned the stare. He was too far away to see them, but he knew her eyes were different colours. Neither of them smiled or gave a hint of recognition. Then she turned and walked on.
Thomas, unsettled at seeing Jane, and unsure where to go or what to do, stayed where he was and waited for instructions. They came from Tobias Rush, who appeared quietly beside him. ‘Master Hill, if you would make your way to the main gate of Christ Church, you will find a carriage waiting for us. I will join you as soon as the king has departed.’
Wondering how Rush had found him, Thomas edged his way around the meadow and up the path between Christ Church and Corpus Christi to the Christ Church gate. The carriage that awaited him was painted in royal blue, emblazoned with the gold monogram TR, drawn by four matched black geldings and driven by a magnificently uniformed coachman, whose assistant, equally magnificent, sat beside him. Inside, the seats were padded and covered in soft red leather. While the army trudged over mud, splashed through ankle-deep puddles, twisted its knees in ruts and holes and took its rest in dripping hedgerows, Master Rush and Master Hill would travel to battle in style. Thomas wondered whether the king intended to ride bravely at the head of his men, or to abandon his stallion for the comfort of a royal carriage.
It was not long before two college servants appeared carrying between them a large chest, which, with the help of the coachmen, they manhandled on to the coach. The chest was closely followed by its owner. Tobias Rush, angrily shouting at them to make haste and allow him room to board the carriage, swept them aside with his silver-topped cane and sat down opposite Thomas. ‘I do so dislike travelling,’ he said with a sigh, ‘and, with this rain, the journey will not be pleasant. Luckily, I know a tolerable inn in the village of Drayton, where we’ll spend the night. It’s about ten miles from here. Tomorrow we’ll continue to Newbury, another eighteen miles or so. The king, I believe, plans to stop at Wantage.’ Rush eyed Thomas’s small bag. ‘Is that all you’ve brought, Master Hill? We may be away for some days.’
‘Master Rush, it’s all I have,’ Thomas replied sharply. ‘I was not permitted to bring anything more to Oxford, and have not been inclined to make purchases here, with the prices three times those in Romsey.’
‘In that case, feel free to ask for anything you need. I will arrange for it.’ Rush smiled his thin smile, then called to the coachman, ‘Let us make haste. We must be away before the army sets off, or we’ll be trapped among them.’ Thomas heard the coachman snap his long whip and they were off, bumping and lurching over the cobbles. They left Oxford by the south gate, passed through the town’s defences and round three huge burial pits, and were soon on the road to Newbury. Somewhere behind them, the king and his Lifeguards marched to battle.
Conversation in the carriage was difficult, and little was said until they approached Drayton, when Thomas asked about his duties.
‘If we face Essex,’ replied Rush, ‘despatches will be coming in and out all the time. Orders to our commanders, their reports, and intelligence from our observers as to Essex’s movements. Some will be encrypted. And there is always the chance of interceptions. If they are to be of any use, you will have to decrypt them immediately. Otherwise the moment will pass and any advantage will be lost.’
‘Do we know what ciphers they will use?’
‘We don’t, but, like ours, they will perforce be simple. In battle, there is no time for complexity. Please give some thought to the cipher you will use, and advise me of it. I will communicate it to our commanders in the field.’
‘As you wish, Master Rush,’ replied Thomas, thinking that a simple alphabetical shift might be best suited to a simple military mind. Certainly not Vigenère squares.
At Drayton, the carriage pulled up outside Rush’s inn. The carriage driver’s assistant jumped down and opened the door for them. Thomas picked up his bag and was about to step out of the carriage, but Rush would not hear of it. ‘The men will take your bag, Master Hill. Leave it for them.’
‘It’s only light,’ protested Thomas. ‘I can easily manage it.’
‘Nonsense, that’s what servants are for. They’ll bring it with mine.’ Reluctantly, not wishing to make a scene, Thomas put down the bag and alighted. The innkeeper emerged, all smiles and hand-wringing, to greet them.
‘Gentlemen, welcome to the White Hart. Your rooms are ready and your dinner is being prepared. The stables are at the back.’ Rush nodded and strode into the inn. Thomas followed him. A fire had been laid in the hearth, the floor had been swept and the tables wiped clean. There were no other customers. The innkeeper had been warned. Tobias Rush did not like unwelcome company or unnecessary discomfort. While Rush supervised the unloading of his chest, Thomas was shown upstairs to a small room. There he found a straw mattress on the bed, a woollen blanket, a bowl for washing and a jug of water. It was clean enough, smelt only slightly of mice, and was superior to either of the inns he and Simon had sampled on their journey from Romsey.
The coachman’s assistant soon arrived with his bag. ‘Here you are, sir,’ said the young man with a grin. ‘Not too heavy. We can’t get the chest up the stairs, so it’ll have to spend the night downstairs by the fire, same as us. Master Rush isn’t too happy about that.’
Thomas thanked the young man, and opened the bag. He knew at once that it had been tampered with. His box of quills was no longer wrapped in the shirt, and a corner of one sheet of paper was slightly torn. Either the coachmen had been looking for coins, or Master Rush had seen fit to conduct a search. For what? wondered Thomas. Doesn’t he trust me? No, it was probably the coachmen. Too bad they had found no coins. He decided to say nothing, but to keep the encrypted message with him at all times. That, if nothing else, must not fall into the wrong hands.
The innkeeper had certainly made an effort with their dinner. After bowls of hot vegetable soup, they were served a good pigeon pie with pickled cucumbers, and a sweet apple tart with cream. While Thomas tucked in happily, washing the meal down with half a bottle of claret, Rush ate and drank little. And he would not be drawn in by Thomas’s questions about himself. He admitted to having been born and brought up in London, but that was about it. Nothing about his family, his education or his home. By the end of the meal, Thomas had given up and turned the conversation, instead, to the battle that lay ahead. ‘If Essex has fourteen thousand men,’ he asked, ‘will he outnumber us, or we him?’
‘I believe the king will have the advantage in cavalry numbers, and his enemies in infantry. As to artillery, about the same. Much like Edgehill.’
‘Were you at Edgehill?’ asked Thomas, surprised. He had not thought of Rush in battle.
‘I was, as a member of his majesty’s household. But for Prince Rupert’s cavalry who preferred to chase a broken and fleeing rabble rather than wheel and charge at the rear of the enemy centre, we should have enjoyed a great victory. As it was, we could only claim one.’
‘It was certainly reported as a victory in the newsbooks.’
Rush smiled. ‘Yes. For that, I must take some responsibility. The king insisted upon as glowing a report as I could write. The truth, however, is that the battle was inconclusive. Many are.’
‘On that we agree,’ said Thomas. ‘Inconclusive and pointless. Much suffering, little progress. Will we never learn?’
‘Who knows? For now, our task is to win. When the king is back in London, we will turn our attention to the future. There is much to do to secure England against our enemies, and to expand our influence and interests overseas. Sugar, cotton and tobacco from the Caribbean islands and Virginia, spices from the East Indies, slaves from Africa. The opportunities for wealth and prosperity are limitless, as long as we have the courage to take them. If we don’t, the French and the
Dutch will.’
‘How will we do it?’
‘The navy. A strong navy is the key. If we control the trade routes we control the trade, and if we control the trade we control its sources. The Americas, Africa, India. We must build a navy that cannot be challenged by our enemies.’
Thomas did not respond. He had never thought much about such matters. Rush clearly had. Abraham had called him an ambitious man. Ambitious and clever. Looking to the future, and ready to take whatever opportunities came his way. Not a man to be trifled with. He changed the subject. ‘Do you know Lady Romilly well?’ he asked.
Rush looked surprised. ‘Not well. I have little reason to speak to her, or, indeed, to the queen. My time is taken up with serving his majesty. Why do you ask?’
‘Mere curiosity. I understand that she is a widow with family in York. I wondered why she had left there to accompany the queen to Oxford. It seems an odd thing to do at such a time.’
Rush shrugged. ‘Loyalty, like beauty, is a matter of taste. Lady Romilly must have put her devotion to the queen before her duty to her family.’ He grinned unpleasantly. ‘Either that or she’s looking for another husband.’ Rush raised his eyebrows and looked hard at Thomas. ‘A courtier, I imagine, Master Hill, rather than a bookseller.’
As he had at the masque, Thomas let the insult pass. He did not want to get on the wrong side of this man. ‘Possibly, Master Rush, although she gave me the impression that her service to the queen would take precedence over marriage, as it has over her family.’
‘So you have spent some time with the lady, have you?’
‘A little. She seemed interested in why I was in Oxford.’
Again the eyebrows were raised. ‘Did she now? And what did you tell her?’
The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) Page 12
