FROM JOHN PYM TO COLONEL CROMWELL OUR LATEST
APPROACH TO THE [KING]
HAVING BEEN SPURNED AND [LONDON] DEFENCES NOW
SECURE [OXFORD] PLAN WILL BE CARRIED OUT AS SOON AS
POSSIBLE. YOUR VICTORY AT GAINSBOROUGH
STRENGTHENS OUR HAND. [182?] AND [264?] ARE BUILDING
UP THEIR STRENGTH.
[775?] INFORMS US THAT [QUEEN] WITH CHILD AND MAY
LEAVE SOON FOR FRANCE.
IF WE STRIKE WHILE [QUEEN] IN [OXFORD], [KING] MUST
ACKNOWLEDGE OUR INFLUENCE THERE AND WITH [QUEEN] IN
OUR HANDS WILL BE FORCED TO SEEK TRUCE ON TERMS
FAVOURABLE TO [421?]. [775?] WILL ADVISE TIME
AND PLACE FOR APPREHENSION OF [QUEEN] WHO WILL BE
BROUGHT TO
[LONDON]. STAND READY. GOD WILLING WE SHALL BRING AN
END TO THIS WAR SOON.
He guessed from the context the codes for the king and queen, and for London and Oxford. 182, 264 and 421 probably did not matter much. The critical code was 775. If it could be shown who 775 was, the traitor and murderer would be revealed. A pity the letters of his name had not been encrypted with the cipher. He would wager his life that they would spell out RUSH.
Thomas sat and stared at the message. No wonder it had been encrypted with the Vigenère square, complicated further by numerical codes, and hidden in the messenger’s hat. Simon was due in the morning, but if the queen was in danger of being abducted to London, should he hurry immediately to Merton? Would he be heard, and would the king believe him? He decided that the queen would be safe in her lodgings at Merton, with the college gates closed and guarded, and her own Lifeguards on watch. Anyone attempting to apprehend her would surely do so when she had left the college.
Sleep was out of the question. He made careful copies of his decryption and of the encrypted message, replicating as best he could the encrypter’s hand. It was something he always did when making a copy, just as he always tried to find a way into the encrypter’s mind. Then he lay on the bed and waited for dawn.
CHAPTER 12
DAWN HAD ONLY just broken when Simon burst in. ‘No time to explain,’ he gasped, throwing a Benedictine tunic, scapular and hood on to the bed. ‘Put those on, get on your knees and pray. And keep praying until I say you can stop.’
‘Simon, what in the name of—’
‘Pray, Thomas, and make haste.’ And with that, he was gone.
There was an unusual urgency in Simon’s voice which made Thomas do as he was told. He slipped the tunic over his head, tied it at the waist with the cord from his Franciscan habit, buckled on the scapular and put the hood over his head. Then, feeling very foolish, he knelt by the bed as if in prayer. It seemed a good moment to ask whoever might be listening to take care of his sister and nieces while he was away, and, because he had never been able to take praying seriously, to request that, having now been both a Franciscan and a Benedictine, he would be spared the dreary black of the Dominicans.
He was trying to think of something else to pray for when there came the unmistakable sounds of soldiers clattering about on the flagstones in the abbey courtyard, and voices raised in anger and command. So that was it. Unwelcome visitors, probably on the instructions of Tobias Rush, and certainly searching for Thomas Hill. Simon must have got wind of them, and warned him just in time. He adjusted his hood to make sure his face was hidden and turned his head away from the door. The voice outside was harsh and insistent. ‘What’s in here?’
‘This is the room of our brother Peter. He stays here alone. His soul is troubled and his body sick. Please do not disturb him.’ It was a voice Thomas did not recognize.
‘My orders are to search every room.’
‘Then, if you must, I ask you to be gentle. Peter is easily frightened.’
Thinking that whoever Peter was, he was not alone in this, Thomas wriggled deeper into his tunic and hood. The door was thrown open and he heard the men enter. Tempted as he was to sneak a look at them, he managed to keep his head bowed in solemn prayer. ‘You there,’ demanded the soldier, ‘get up and show your face.’ Thomas ignored him and kept praying. ‘Get up, damn you, or I’ll get you up myself.’ Still Thomas remained on his knees.
The other voice spoke. ‘It would be a grave mistake to touch Brother Peter. His mind is deranged and he is infected by unholy poisons. I have seen this before. The infection can be passed by touch.’
‘Is that so? In that case, you get him up.’
‘That I cannot do. It might drive his mind still deeper into torment. Peter is sick and harmless. Can you not leave him to his prayers?’
‘Get him up and let me see him.’
‘I cannot.’
Thomas heard a sword being withdrawn from its scabbard and involuntarily tensed his back. ‘As you wish …’ The sword clattered on to the stone floor, and the man cursed loudly. ‘You’ll pay for that, you fucking monk.’ It was more than he could bear. Thomas looked up from his prayer and saw the back of a soldier of the King’s Lifeguards and the face of a tall Benedictine monk, the soldier’s sword in his hand. Only he was not a Benedictine monk, he was Simon de Pointz, a Franciscan friar. Quite unperturbed, Simon stared at the soldier, and spoke in the voice Thomas had not recognized.
‘I think not. Here we serve only God, and it is God who commands us to take care of this suffering creature. Search where you please. Peter will not be harmed.’ The soldier stared back. Then he turned and stormed out of the room. Simon signalled to Thomas to resume his praying, and followed the defeated soldier. He closed the door carefully behind him.
Still on his knees, Thomas wondered again at the extra ordinary presence of the man. Having arrived unknown and uninvited, he had convinced Thomas to leave his home and family and to travel with him to a foul, dangerous place, where sickness and death were everywhere, and now, without so much as raising his voice, he had faced down a soldier of the king intent upon carrying out his orders. And he had done so at great risk to himself. Fortunate for the king that the wayward Norwich boy had become a Franciscan, not a Parliamentarian.
Quite suddenly, the sounds of the search disappeared and the abbey grew quieter. Daring to hope that the troops had given up and left, Thomas got to his feet and stretched his back. He could guess what had happened. The men at Abraham’s funeral had reported back to Rush that two friars had been there, one of them looking after the other. Rush had assumed that Thomas had slipped through his net and sent men to search every monastery and abbey around Oxford. Thanks only to Simon, the fish had escaped the net again.
Or had it? Hearing footsteps approaching his door, Thomas was back on his knees in a trice, head bowed in solemn prayer. He heard the door open and held his breath. ‘You can stop now, Thomas, unless you have more upon which to ask for God’s guidance. They’ve gone.’ Thomas got up again and faced Simon, now back in his familiar grey habit.
‘Rush’s men?’
‘Yes. By a stroke of fortune, I passed them on my way here and arrived just in time. Otherwise you would be on your way back to Oxford Castle. Happily, the abbot had spare tunics to hand, including a long one, and I was able to dissuade their leader from dealing with you as King Henry’s knights dealt with Thomas Becket.’
‘Again I owe you my thanks, Simon. Do remember, though, that I am only here because of you, and I may yet have further need of your services.’
‘Let us pray not. Now, knowing that you make little sense until you have breakfasted, I have arranged for food to be brought. I am impatient to hear of your progress on the cipher.’
‘Good. Simon, why the voice?’
‘Ah, an interesting question. I am not entirely sure myself, except that I believe Richard Burbage liked to assume the voice of the character he was playing, even before learning his words. He claimed that it helped him to forget who he really was, and to become the character.’
‘As actors do.’
‘Actors, yes, and traitors. Good God, I almost
forgot.’ Simon took a letter from inside his habit and handed it to Thomas. ‘This arrived yesterday from Romsey. Good news, I trust.’
Thomas was about to open the letter when a loud knock on the door signalled the arrival of breakfast. It was brought by a slightly built friar who kept his eyes to the floor. ‘And we want to know how the work is going. Have you made progress?’
‘We?’ asked Thomas, looking pointedly at the other friar, who had so far kept his face hidden under his hood.
‘Ah. Of course.’ Simon nodded to his companion, whose hood came off to reveal a serenely smiling Jane Romilly.
‘Good morning, Thomas. We thought to surprise you, although the disguise was necessary to gain access to the abbey. The abbot would not approve of a lady visitor.’
Torn between Jane, the letter and the decrypted message, Thomas blathered. ‘Lady Romilly. Jane. An unexpected pleasure. How are you? Well, I trust. And the queen? Is she well?’
Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘The queen’s spirits are low, but she is well, thank you. As am I.’
‘Good, good. Excellent. That is a comfort. You must have been here when the search was on.’
‘I was. Disguised as a Benedictine and making an excellent mutton stew in the abbey kitchens. Our friends will have a good dinner tonight.’
‘You weren’t searched?’
‘Thankfully not,’ laughed Jane. ‘The poor man might have died of shock.’
Or delight, thought Thomas. ‘It’s well that you’ve come. I have news. The message is decrypted. Here it is.’ Thomas passed his decryption to Simon, who read it twice and handed it to Jane.
‘The brackets, Thomas? Guesses?’ asked Simon.
‘Guesses, yes, from the context. 182 and 264 could be any of their commanders, and 421 may be Parliament. They matter little. It’s 775 we need to know.’
‘It’s Rush, isn’t it?’
‘We know it is, but this is not proof. Rush would just laugh at it.’
‘Are you quite certain of the decryption, Thomas?’ asked Simon.
‘Quite certain. The idea I mentioned worked.’
‘Then, proof or no proof, the queen is in grave danger of being abducted. We’re lucky they haven’t already tried, if this is their plan. The king must be told at once. Jane and I will leave immediately.’
‘Why me?’ asked Jane. ‘You’ll travel faster without me, and I can add nothing to the task. Go alone, Simon, and I will wait here until you return.’
‘Leave you here? The abbot would never speak to me again if he found out. A woman alone in the abbey. My soul would be in mortal danger. Yours too, I daresay.’
‘Nonsense, Simon. Your soul is quite safe, as mine shall be. Thomas will make sure of it, won’t you, Thomas?’
‘Certainly I will. Go, Simon, and return as soon as you’ve warned the king. I’ll show Jane how a Vigenère cipher works.’
‘Very well,’ replied Simon with a nod to Jane. He handed her a key. ‘Lock the door after me. And be here when I return.’
‘Read your letter, Thomas,’ said Jane when Simon had gone, ‘and then we’ll eat.’
Thomas broke the seal and read the letter. It was short and direct. Margaret thanked him for writing, albeit belatedly, and was glad to learn that he was in good health. She and the girls were also well, but missed him greatly. Lucy asked if he would be home for her birthday at the end of October. The town had been quiet since he left. News of the war arrived daily, occasionally something about the king and queen in Oxford. And, finally, she had received two unsigned letters advising her to take great care of herself and her daughters in these troubled times. The hand was untutored and the grammar poor, and she had dismissed them as the work of some mischief-maker. Still, she hoped they would see Thomas soon. They all sent fondest love.
Uncertain quite what to make of this, Thomas read it out to Jane.
‘I’m sure it’s no more than a local man with his eye on a handsome widow. While you’re away, perhaps he’s hoping to persuade Margaret that she should take a husband. Can you think of anyone who might do that?’ she asked.
‘Several, but I’m not so sure. Margaret wouldn’t have mentioned it unless she had some concern.’
Jane rose and took his hands in hers. ‘Be calm, Thomas. Margaret and your nieces merely want to see you safely home. We must deliver you to them just as soon as we can. Now let us eat our breakfast.’
‘Why are the queen’s spirits low, Jane?’ asked Thomas, as they ate.
‘Her majesty’s mood is a mirror of the king’s. When he laughs, so does she. When he is despondent, so is she. When he is anxious, his stammer gets worse, and that makes him angry. Then the queen is angry, and the mood at court is black.’
‘Was it Newbury that so affected him?’
‘Partly, yes. The carnage, they say, was fearful, and he lost many friends. Falkland especially he mourns. And Essex has reached London with most of his army intact. Newbury was a disaster. Three thousand men lost, and for nothing. But there has also been news from the north. The Scots have signed Pym’s Solemn League and Covenant. They have promised military support against the king in return for a guarantee of no interference in the Scottish Church, and reforms to the Church of England. Her majesty is particularly vexed, and the king now expects the Scottish Covenanters to march south in the new year. For a Scot, it is doubly hard to bear.’
‘And it could alter the course of the war. If the king has to strengthen his defences in the north, his forces will be greatly stretched. Parliament will seek to take advantage. I fear we’ll see a good deal more bloodshed next year.’
‘If only a peace could be negotiated. Talks have been going on for months, yet that is all they are. Talks. And, by all accounts, ill-tempered talks. Ill-tempered talks, and no listens. Talks without listens achieve very little, Thomas, don’t you think?’
‘I do. And I think you should be a writer, Lady Romilly. You have a way with words.’
‘And what should I write? Plays, essays, philosophy?’
‘You should write poetry. Lady Wroth’s poems have become quite popular, and I’ll wager this war will find more ladies putting quill to paper. Love, war, death, misery – the very stuff of poetry. Why not try your hand?’
‘Would you be my tutor, Thomas? I should need guidance.’
‘Naturally. That is exactly why I suggested it. Shall we begin at once?’
‘We shall.’
Three hours later, tutor and pupil, arms and legs entwined, awoke in the narrow bed. ‘You’re an excellent pupil, Lady Romilly. Alas, however, I have neither wine nor sweetmeats to offer you. Instead, would you care for instruction in the matter of the Vigenère cipher?’
‘I think not, Thomas, thank you. I have enough to remember for one day. And I have something important to tell you.’
‘Then perhaps we should clothe ourselves. Simon has seen my naked form before but not, I trust, yours. He might be laid low with guilt.’
‘Simon is not alone in bearing the burden of guilt. Sit down beside me, please, Thomas,’ replied Jane, clothed again. ‘This is not going to be easy, and whatever your reaction to what I am going to tell you, I shall understand. If you wish it, I shall leave and you will never see me again.’
‘Good God, Jane, after what we’ve just shared?’
‘Especially after what we’ve just shared. Had I told you earlier, it might never have happened.’
‘I’m listening, Jane.’
Jane reached into her habit and produced a key. She held it up. ‘The key to your room, Thomas.’
‘Where in the name of God did you get it?’
‘Tobias Rush gave it to me.’
Thomas stared at the key, then at Jane. Her face was expression less. He pushed himself off the bed and went to the far corner of the room. He stood with his back to the wall and looked at her. His voice was icy. ‘You had best explain.’
‘Very well. As you know, I left my parents in York to accompany the queen to Oxford. My loyalties
were divided, but I decided that service to her majesty must come first.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Now I’m not so sure.’ Thomas said nothing; he was watching her eyes. ‘Tobias Rush first approached me in the summer. He said that he knew about my parents and would ensure that they were safe as long as I carried out some simple tasks for him.’
‘Simple tasks?’
‘That was what he said. And remember, the king trusted him, so I had no reason not to. I was to keep him informed of the queen’s plans and of anything she said about the king. It seemed a small price to pay for my parents’ safety. I told him whenever the queen was planning to leave Oxford and what she said about the king’s mood and his intentions. He knows she is expecting a child.’
‘So you knew that Rush was a traitor.’
‘At first, I persuaded myself that he just gathered information because it increased his power. It was only when he gave me the key and told me to look for a coded message hidden in your room that I could deceive myself no longer.’
Thomas recalled seeing Rush at Merton the day he had walked in the meadow with Jane. ‘Yet you still did as you were told.’
‘Yes. I was frightened.’
‘Why did you leave the room in such a state?’
‘He told me to.’
A thought occurred. ‘Were you wearing a new perfume that day?’
‘I was. The queen gave it to me. Sandalwood.’
Thomas nodded. ‘And how did you know that my room would be empty that morning?’
‘I didn’t. But the gatehouse was deserted when I arrived, so I took a chance. When you didn’t answer my knock, I let myself in.’
‘And looked for the message.’
‘Not very hard, and I didn’t find it. I wanted to get away. Luckily, the gatehouse was still deserted when I left. Rush was furious.’
‘You told me that you had no knowledge of a particular message, yet you had.’
Jane nodded. ‘I lied because I feared losing you.’
‘Did you lie about Abraham?’
The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) Page 20
