The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1)

by Swanston, Andrew

  Then another report came from Sir John Byron. It too was in clear text and respectfully begged to inform his majesty that his friend Lord Falkland had been killed. Falkland’s death would be a cruel blow to the king, who was known to be fond of him. A second despatch came from an aide of Prince Rupert, and was encrypted. The cavalry had at last broken through the enemy lines, and was engaged in attacking their infantry from the rear. They had been temporarily stalled, however, by renewed resistance on the part of the Parliamentary pikemen and musketeers.

  Then the Earl of Carnarvon was reported killed, as was the Earl of Sunderland. Two more cruel blows. On it went all afternoon and into the evening. Thomas imagined cannonballs crashing into ranks of infantry, cavalry horses shying away from raised pikes, wheeling, trying again and shying again, and musketeers picking off targets from the safety of hedgerows and ditches. Through all of it, he carefully carried out his duties. In one hour several reports might arrive; in the next, none at all. As far as he could tell, by five o’clock neither side had achieved much, other than a severe reduction in their numbers.

  As the autumn dusk fell, the cannon at last began to grow silent, and the air to clear. On the far left, Thomas could then see that Prince Rupert had failed to break through the enemy infantry from the rear, and had withdrawn to his original position. Both infantry centres had done the same, and only the remains of Sir John Byron’s cavalry, now well short of Round Hill, were fighting in the fields below it. Everywhere, bodies and bits of bodies lay mangled on the field, spent muskets and broken swords among them. The walking wounded were being helped to safety by their colleagues, those without hope being left to die where they had fallen. Thomas, horrified, could only stand and stare, until Rush hurried up and handed him another order. Thomas forced himself to encrypt it and sent it off. He barely noticed that it instructed Sir John Byron to withdraw immediately and to return to the king’s headquarters.

  Sporadic fighting went on even after darkness had fallen, but by about nine o’clock it was over. The king had departed the field, and Tobias Rush had accompanied him. Thomas watched bodies being stripped and carted away for burial, exhausted soldiers, their hands and faces blackened by powder, staggering off in search of water, and bewildered horses, many fearfully wounded, wandering forlornly among the dead. Some soldiers found a stream from which riderless horses were drinking, and, desperate for water, lay down on their bellies in it. In one day thousands had died, hundreds more would die, and many more had lost arms, legs and eyes. After a day of hacking each other to pieces, would either side, he wondered, claim victory? Unable any longer to think clearly, he drifted off in the direction of the town.

  By the time he reached the market square, lit up by a fire set in the middle to provide warmth and light, Thomas too was exhausted. He had wielded neither musket nor sword, he had suffered no wound, he had never been in real danger, and he had had enough water to drink. Yet his back and neck were knotted with tension, he was filthy, his head ached from the powder, he could barely speak and his hands were shaking. God alone knew what state the fighting men were in. Barely registering a troop of infantry led by a tall, fair-haired captain march into the square from the direction of Wash Common and towards an inn on the far side, he entered the house, clambered up the staircase, fell on to his bed and passed out.

  When he awoke twelve hours later, his head still ached, his throat was still sore and he was still filthy. He held out his hands; they at least were steady. Rising with difficulty from the bed, he stripped off his clothes, retrieved the Vigenère message which fell from under his shirt on to the floor, and did his best to wash off the worst of the dirt and powder. In his bag he had the change of clothes provided by Silas. He put them on. Then he went to see what news there was.

  Downstairs, Tobias Rush was in the entrance hall, busily supervising the two coachmen who were carrying his chest outside. ‘Master Rush,’ said Thomas hoarsely, ‘what news is there?’

  Rush looked up sharply. ‘Master Hill, good morning. The king leaves within the hour for Oxford, and I am to travel with him. You may have my coach. Prince Rupert will stay in Newbury until Essex leaves. If he marches towards London, the prince will pursue him. Our troops will follow us to Oxford.’ Rush’s voice seemed unaffected by the gunpowder.

  ‘What of the battle?’

  ‘There is little to report, other than heavy casualties on both sides.’

  ‘Can we claim victory?’

  The thin smile. ‘Alas, no. Even I would be hard put to write an account of a victory, even Pyrrhic. If Essex does reach London, however, he might very well claim one.’

  ‘Master Rush, may I ask another question?’

  ‘You may, of course.’

  ‘How did we allow the enemy to occupy the high ground on both wings? Shouldn’t we have taken it before they arrived?’

  For a moment, Rush was silent. ‘I too have pondered that. One does not care to comment on military matters, but one does wonder about some form of deception.’

  ‘What sort of deception?’

  ‘False intelligence, perhaps, or an intercepted message. Either might have led the prince to believe that we held the ridges, until it was too late to act.’

  ‘Surely that would be unlikely.’

  ‘Who knows? But enough, Master Hill. I must join the king. My carriage is at your disposal. We will expect you in Oxford within a day or two.’

  Well, I suppose it’s possible the prince was misled, thought Thomas when Rush had gone, although drunk and incapable seemed more likely.

  CHAPTER 8

  THOMAS INTENDED TO cover the thirty-odd miles to Oxford in a single day. He did not care to stop overnight, and urged the coachmen to make all speed. After the horror of Newbury, he wanted solitude and he wanted to get back to work on the message. If he could break the cipher, he might shorten the war. A shorter war would mean fewer Newburys, fewer widows and orphans, fewer lives pointlessly wrecked. The battle had given him new purpose.

  Having settled as best he could into the cushioned seats of Rush’s carriage, he shut his eyes and tried again to concentrate on the problem. Was there a way to break the Vigenère square? Twenty-six possible encryptions for each of twenty-six letters, and, in this message, numerical codes added for good measure. Instinctively, his hand went to the paper hidden under his shirt, and a thought struck him. Was it safe there? What if the carriage broke a wheel and he was tossed out on to the road? Might a helping hand not happen upon it while he was unconscious, and, with the best intentions, remove it? Feeling only a little foolish, he took the paper out, rolled down his left stocking, carefully folded the paper up as tightly as he could, slipped it under his foot and adjusted the stocking. There. Surely even the most helpful hand would not want to examine his left foot.

  They made good time to the hamlet of Chilton, rattling along even over the roughest stretches of road. At Chilton they stopped at a coaching inn to give the horses a rest and to refresh themselves. Thomas had made not a jot of progress on the cipher but he had been reasonably comfortable, Rush’s cushions having absorbed the worst of the bumps and lurches. In a wooded area two miles beyond Chilton, however, just as Thomas was becoming drowsy, there were two loud cracks, and the carriage shot forward so violently that he was thrown from his seat. Unsure what had happened and unable to get to his feet to look out of the window, Thomas lay on the floor, rolling from side to side with the swaying of the carriage. If the noise had frightened the horses, the coachmen should have reined them in. A carriage pulled by four bolting horses would not stay upright on a road such as this for very long. He offered a silent prayer to the God he chose to believe in on such occasions, and hung on to a seat as best he could.

  It seemed that his prayer had been answered. The horses slowed and the carriage soon came to rest. He got shakily to his feet, stumbled out and went to speak to the coachmen. At once it was clear why they had not reined the horses in. Both were sprawled across their seat, one on top of the other, bloo
d pouring from their heads. He did not need to look more closely to know that they were dead. And the two men who had shot them were holding the leading horses’ bridles. They must have galloped after the carriage and caught it. Each man was hooded and masked, and had a pistol in his belt and another in his hand, pointing at a spot between Thomas’s eyes. Thomas stood motionless and stared at them.

  ‘Lie down with your face to the ground,’ ordered one of them. Thomas obeyed. ‘Keep the pistol on him, and I’ll search inside.’

  He heard the man dismount and climb into the carriage, thinking that a couple of murderous highwaymen would not be best pleased to find nothing but his bag containing paper, quills and a few clothes, and a handful of coins in his pocket. He heard the seats being ripped up, and his bag being emptied on the ground.

  ‘Nothing,’ said the leader. ‘Just paper and rags. Empty your pockets, little man.’ Thomas sat up, fished out three shillings and threw them on the ground. ‘Is that all? Three shillings from a man in a carriage like this? There must be more.’ He walked towards Thomas, his pistol held unwaveringly in front of him.

  ‘There’s no more,’ said Thomas. ‘The carriage is borrowed from Tobias Rush, adviser to his majesty the king. I advise you to do it no more damage and to be off while you can. Master Rush is not far behind, and he is not a man who will take kindly to his coachmen being murdered and his carriage destroyed.’

  The man laughed. ‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Stand up and take off your shirt, boots and breeches and roll down your stockings.’

  When Thomas stood in just his drawers and rolled-down stockings, the highwayman walked around him, patted his backside and groin to make sure nothing was hidden there, and then swore loudly. ‘The devil’s balls. You really are a pauper, aren’t you? I haven’t even the heart to shoot you.’ He walked to his horse and took from a leather bag hanging from the saddle a short-handled axe, with which he split the spokes of one wheel. While he did so, his companion kept his pistol aimed at Thomas. ‘You’re a lucky man, my friend,’ said the man with the axe, ‘and you can tell your Master Rush so from us.’ And with that, they wheeled their horses and galloped off towards Chilton, leaving Thomas staring after them. They had not even taken the three shillings.

  This was not the time to wonder why he was still alive. He must get away from there at once, and back to Oxford. He pulled up his stockings, thanking providence that he had changed the hiding place of the message, and put his shirt and breeches back on. The carriage was unusable, the horses unsaddled and possibly unused to being ridden. Still, he was a good rider and there was nothing else for it. Not even stopping to heave the dead men off the carriage, he unhitched the leading horses, holding grimly on to one of them by the long reins. Before the horse could bolt, he grabbed it by the mane and sprang on to its back. It was a trick he had used to impress young ladies – an advantage of being light and agile. He pulled hard on the bit to gauge the horse’s reaction, and was relieved when it stood still. This one had certainly been ridden before.

  Thomas started at a trot and went to a canter as soon as he felt the horse was used to him. Without a saddle, a canter was smoother and easier for a rider than a trot. He did not care to risk a full gallop, so a canter home it would have to be. And, in any case, with only three shillings to his name, he would not be able to buy another horse if this one became lame or exhausted. Horse and rider would pace themselves over the distance.

  North of Abingdon, the road ran over a narrow stream, where they stopped to drink. Until then, Thomas had concentrated entirely on not falling off. Now, sitting on a grassy bank, the horse tethered to a tree and quietly nibbling grass, he thought about the incident. Both coachmen shot dead by men who knew how to use pistols, the carriage searched, his three shillings ignored and his life spared. Damned odd. More to the point, what would Tobias Rush make of it all? He had not been joking when he said that Rush would not take kindly to the deaths of his men and the damage to his carriage, and he might very well want to know why Thomas had allowed it to happen, and how he had escaped being shot. All manner of reasons might occur to Rush’s suspicious mind, and he did not look forward to making his report.

  The image from the night before of the troop of infantry led by the fair-haired captain also came back to him. It was Fayne, no doubt about it, and looking for all the world as if he had spent a peaceful day fishing. No signs of blood or battle on him or his men, despite their regiment having reportedly been in the thick of the fighting. Thomas stored the unspoken thought away. One day it might be needed.

  Now, he had to reach the safety of Oxford. After a short break he remounted, and, still at a canter, made steady progress along the road, trying to ignore the stares of the few travellers he passed, and untroubled by the lack of a saddle or the state of the road. In an odd way, he found himself rather enjoying it. When his father was alive, they had often ridden together over the downs and through the woods, sometimes bareback, and the old sense of elation came creeping back. It was certainly less grim than his last journey to Oxford in that flea-ridden habit. He grinned at the memory.

  When the late-September light began to fade, however, he was still six or seven miles from the town, and the Oxfordshire countryside was no place to be after dark. Deserters from both sides, none too particular about whom they robbed and killed, and bands of clubmen, armed with axes, scythes, cudgels and whatever else they could find, were known to hide out in the woods all over the county. The clubmen were becoming a serious problem for both sides, ferociously attacking anyone who strayed into their locality and might be a threat to their villages and families. And there were highwaymen, of whom Thomas had had quite enough that day. A solitary rider would make an easy target for any of them, especially one going at no more than a canter.

  As it grew dark, Thomas found himself looking nervously over his shoulder and peering into the shadows at the side of the road. He started when a dog barked, then laughed at himself in embarrassment. God’s wounds, Thomas, he thought, you are a feeble creature. There are only a few miles to go, so make haste and stop being spineless.

  He knew from the stench when he was nearing the town. It came from the burial pits outside the walls, drains overflowing with human excrement, rotting middens and animal carcasses left to fester in the streets. When a breeze from the north blew the mixture straight into his face, Thomas gagged, and only just kept his seat. Not daring to risk holding the reins in one hand, he left his handkerchief in his pocket and tried not to breathe.

  With relief, he entered the town through the south gate, and, just as he had with Simon a month earlier, made his way up St Aldate’s towards Pembroke. By this time, the streets were quieter, and he was soon able to hand the horse to one of Silas’s boys, with an instruction to look after it well. He walked stiffly across the courtyard to his room. There he rubbed his backside, stretched his back and took off his clothes. He retrieved the message from its hiding place and unfolded it carefully. It seemed none the worse for the journey, and its secrets were as safe as ever. Thomas laid it on the table and sluiced himself with water from the jug; trust Silas to keep it full for his return. Much as he wanted to eat and sleep, he tucked the message under his shirt and set off for Christ Church. Master Rush would have to be faced sooner or later and it might as well be sooner.

  When Thomas arrived at Christ Church and asked for Tobias Rush, he was instructed to wait in a small room just off the gatehouse. ‘Master Rush does not care for visitors to call at his rooms. Wait here, if you please, sir, and I will send for him,’ said the guard.

  Thomas stood waiting and tried to rehearse what he was going to say. When Rush swept in, he looked anything but pleased to have a visitor. ‘Master Hill, after a long and unhappy journey from Newbury with the king, I was at my dinner. What brings you here? Have the coachmen not taken my carriage to the stables?’

  ‘My apologies for disturbing you, sir. I did not think this matter should wait. On the way from Newbury, we were attacked
by highwaymen who killed your coachmen and ransacked your carriage.’

  Rush peered at him. ‘Were you harmed?’

  ‘Strangely, I was not.’

  ‘Both coachmen killed, yet you were allowed to escape? That is strange indeed.’

  ‘I cannot account for it.’

  ‘I imagine not. And what of my carriage?’

  ‘I left it with the dead men and three of the horses two miles north of Chilton. I rode the fourth horse back. The carriage is damaged but not, I think, beyond repair.’

  ‘Did the criminals take anything?’

  ‘Nothing. Not even my three shillings.’

  ‘Yet they let you live to tell the tale.’

  ‘Master Rush, I have no more idea than you why that is so. I am not familiar with the ways of such men.’

  ‘One would hope not.’ Rush’s black eyes were boring into Thomas’s head, as if trying to see into his mind.

  He does not believe me, thought Thomas. ‘There is one other thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Before we departed for Newbury, my room in Pembroke was broken into and turned upside down.’

  Rush looked surprised. ‘Why did you not tell me this earlier?’

  ‘I did not wish to trouble you. I think it was the work of the man who occupied the room before me, Captain Fayne. He resents my having taken his room, and he is a gambler. He might have been looking for money. Both the intruder and the highwaymen were certainly looking for something.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  Absolute discretion, Abraham had said. Not a word. ‘Again, Master Rush, I have no idea. All the despatches I have dealt with so far have been trivial in the extreme. Not a hint of a military secret from either side.’

  ‘So nothing was taken from your room either?’