The Traitor’s Mark

by D. K. Wilson

  ‘Bishop Gardiner says he would give six thousand pounds to pluck down the archbishop. I have that on good authority from a friend on the Privy Council.’ The speaker was an austere man with lank black hair. I immediately recognised Sir Anthony St Leger of Ulcombe, a man high in the king’s confidence and but recently returned from acting as viceroy in Ireland. I joined his group.

  ‘How does Gardiner intend to achieve that, do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I keep clear of religious infighting,’ St Leger replied. ‘I leave that sort of thing to my brother, Arthur. He’s a prebendary at Canterbury.’

  Someone else said, ‘I gather all the prebendaries and senior clergy at Canterbury heartily wish to be rid of Cranmer.’

  ‘But again I ask, how are they going to do it?’ I persisted. ‘Brave talk is easy but I understand that Cranmer stands very high in his majesty’s affections.’

  ‘I agree with Thomas.’ Peter Flett, from Hadstead, near Tonbridge, like me, was one of the younger members of the gathering. ‘When there was all that trouble at Windsor, a few weeks back, everyone was saying that the archbishop would be caught up in it, but nothing has happened.’

  ‘As far as you know,’ St Leger suggested. ‘It matters not what “everyone” is saying; ’tis what is being said and plotted in secret that is important. When Cromwell was brought down who could have foretold it? For all the world knew, he stood high in his majesty’s affections. Yet, within a few hours, the upstart’s reign was over. My guess is that it will be the same with Cranmer. He is much unloved by people who matter. They will not suffer him to remain at the king’s right hand much longer. Anyone who is wise will be careful not to get too close to our dear archbishop. When ships sink, little boats can get caught in their wake and founder also.’

  At that moment, a bell sounded and we were called to dinner. This had been laid out on a long table in the upper part of the hall. As the company took their seats, I had the distinct impression that they were dividing into two sections. St Leger, Thwaites and others of a similar disposition seemed to be settling around the right end of the table. Those who might be considered to be well disposed to Cranmer occupied the other end. Moyle, of course, took his place in the centre, facing down the hall. He was backed by a huge tapestry of some allegorical scene. On his right was a man wearing a clerk’s gown. I was careful to fill one of the gaps almost opposite our host. If he wanted to gauge my allegiance I would not make it easy for him.

  The dinner was impressive – at least seven messes – and Moyle seemed in no hurry to conclude it and bring us to our business. When at length he did so, he spoke in the confident tones of a man well versed in chairing meetings.

  ‘Gentlemen, I thank you for coming. As you know, we are gathered to consider the best ways we can assist the archbishop in putting an end to religious discord. I have asked his grace’s secretary, Ralph Morice’ – he indicated his neighbour – ‘to be present in order to report on our deliberations to the archbishop in person.’

  ‘This is a religious matter,’ someone to my right said. ‘Surely the clergy should be dealing with it.’

  ‘By your leave, Sir Thomas, I’ll answer that.’ Morice, a fair-complexioned man of middle years, directed his gaze up and down the table. ‘This body carries his majesty’s commission as head of the Church. Doctrine, as defined by the king in council with his bishops and parliament, is now enshrined in statute law. The king – and the archbishop – simply require that you enforce the law.’

  There were murmurings to my right and left but no one spoke. Moyle resumed control. ‘His majesty has set forth true Christian doctrine in the manual published last May and commonly called the King’s Book.’

  ‘Are we supposed to commit it all to memory and examine our parish priests on every detail?’ another man wanted to know.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Moyle assured him. ‘We simply have to make sure the clergy swear to teach from it and from nothing else. If we hear that anyone is preaching something unauthorised, we are to take testimonies and send them with the offenders to the quarter sessions. Once example has been made of a few disobedient clergy, I’ll warrant we shall have little more trouble.’

  I don’t think anyone was convinced by Moyle’s assurances but, in the presence of the archbishop’s representative, no one was prepared to give voice to criticism. We spent another half-hour or so exchanging information on possible troublemakers and dividing the county into smaller regional units for more effective united action. In mid-afternoon the meeting was formally closed and members drifted away. Through the windows high in the old walls we could all see the grey-black clouds crawling across the sky and we were anxious to start for home. However, I wanted to have a word in private with our host and lingered by the outer doorway, waiting for an opportunity. It was then that Ralph Morice came across and, taking me by the arm, steered me outside.

  As we stood on the broad steps leading up to the entrance, watching members of the party mount their horses, assemble their servants and ride off towards the gateway, Morice said, ‘So, Thomas, which of these men can be trusted?’

  ‘I’d be loath to speak ill of any of them,’ I replied evasively.

  ‘A charitable answer, but not a wise one. We both know that some of our neighbours are set in their old-fashioned ways. Some are protecting clergy who long to refill their churches with popish paraphernalia. Some have friends in high places and will be hastening to report to them on today’s meeting. Some are ready to distribute arms to their tenants and lead them in what they would call a war against heresy. So, I ask again, who can the king and the archbishop rely on and who must we watch carefully?’

  ‘Well, I have no evidence of rebellious intent but, if you press me for my suspicions ...’ I mentioned half a dozen names, including those of Thwaites and St Leger. Then I saw Moyle come out of the house. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I need to have a quick word with our host.’

  ‘Very well,’ Morice replied quietly, ‘but don’t forget your oath to report anything suspicious.’

  As I approached the elegant figure standing proprietorially before the massive oak door of his splendid house I heard a murmur of distant thunder.

  ‘I fear you may be in for a wet ride, young Treviot,’ Sir Thomas said as he shook my hand.

  ‘Indeed, Sir Thomas. I must not delay my departure, but I wanted to have a quick word in confidence.’

  He nodded gravely. ‘Then let us go back inside.’

  When we were standing in the hall once more, close by the outer door, he said, ‘Please, speak freely.’

  ‘I have heard of a group of men – desperate men – who are in the pay of the archbishop’s enemies and are intent on his ruin. They will stop at nothing – including murder.’

  Moyle frowned. ‘That is a very serious thing to say. Is it any more than country rumour?’

  ‘Two weeks ago a young man was stabbed to death in Aldgate.’

  ‘At Master Holbein’s house? Yes, I heard something about it, but what has that to do with the archbishop?’

  ‘I discussed it with his grace and we are both convinced the assassins were trying to prevent him receiving from Master Holbein information of a plot against him.’

  ‘If that is true, these men must be found.’

  ‘Exactly, Sir Thomas, that is why I thought you might be able to help. You have wide interests in and around London. I beg you to tell me if you have heard anything about this gang.’

  ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘We believe their leader is a savage hellhound by the name of Henry Walden, though he prefers to be called Black Harry. I’ve been obliged to offer protection to Holbein’s children. They are safe in one of my cottages at Hemmings.’

  ‘I’ll certainly make enquiries. Be sure to let me know if you hear any more. We must rid the realm ...’

  ‘Good even, Sir Thomas. I’m taking my leave now.’ The speaker, emerging from the shadows beside the door, was Edward Thwaites. ‘Will you ride with us?
’ He smiled at me. ‘I think your friend and neighbour, James Dewey, is already fetching your horses from the stable yard.’

  Within minutes we had collected our party together and were on our way northwards. The sky was growing steadily darker and, before we had travelled more than five miles, the storm crashed violently all around us. Lightning jagged the sky. The rain was more like a waterfall.

  Thwaites pointed to a cluster of buildings close to the roadside and we spurred our horses towards the only visible shelter. Our refuge was three cottages and a tiled barn. Thwaites took instant command. He sent the servants into the barn for shelter with the horses, then ran towards the nearest cottage, with James and I following, our cloaks held tight around us. Thwaites kicked the door open and we tumbled into the dim interior. A young woman sat spinning by the light of a small lamp. Two small children sat close to her on the rushes and looked up frightened as we burst in.

  Thwaites removed his cloak and shook it vigorously, showering water all over the floor. ‘Good day, Mistress. Seats for me and my friends and set our clothes by the fire to dry.’

  Wordlessly, the woman vacated her stool and indicated a bench close to the wall. She took our sodden garments and busied herself arranging them on hooks by the hearth. The infants retreated to a corner where they sat huddled together, staring at us with wide eyes.

  ‘When you’ve done that, fetch us some ale.’ Thwaites lowered himself on to the stool and stretched his legs before him.‘Dear God, what weather!’

  We gazed out through the still open doorway into what appeared to be an opaque wall of water. I turned to watch the woman impassively obeying her instructions. It brought back memories. One was very recent: my arrival, well-soaked, at Lizzie’s house and the cheerful willingness with which she made me comfortable. The other – a painful childhood recollection but just as salutary – was of a sound thrashing I had received from my father when he caught me insolently giving orders to one of our servants.

  ‘What do you think, Thomas?’ I was aware that James was speaking.

  ‘Sorry, I was daydreaming.’

  ‘Edward is offering us his hospitality.’

  ‘We’re not far from my house. You must spend the night there,’ Thwaites said.

  ‘That’s good of you, Edward,’ I replied, ‘but I must get home today.’

  ‘What! Through this? You must do no such thing. I won’t hear of it. If you try to travel on, you won’t reach home by nightfall and like as not you’ll be stopped by another savage tempest and lucky to find even a hovel like this for shelter. No, when this rain eases you’ll come to Chilham. We’ll see you well supped and rested and set you back on the road tomorrow as soon as the weather is fit for Christians.’

  ‘I’m concerned for my people at Hemmings,’ I protested. ‘I ought—’

  ‘If they’ve any wits, your people at Hemmings will be well bolted in,’ Thwaites persisted. ‘They won’t need you to show them how to keep the weather out.’

  James said, ‘He’s right, Thomas. We’d be churls to reject Edward’s offer. I’ve certainly no stomach for riding on through this.’

  I could see the sense of what they were saying and, despite my anxieties, I accepted Thwaites’s hospitality. An hour or so later we made the short journey to his house at Chilham, where he was as good as his word. I certainly felt refreshed by the time our little party was back on the road soon after dawn on Sunday morning. Still our progress was slow. The storm had left showery weather in its wake, as well as roads that were deeply mired. Twice we had to stop while workmen cleared trees that had fallen across the highway and near Allington a swollen river had taken away the bridge, forcing us to ride downstream until we found a fording place. Noon was passed before I bade goodbye to James and headed along the wooded road to Hemmings.

  My man and I had not gone another mile before we saw a rider coming rapidly towards us. Seeing us, he reined in and I recognised Andrew, one of my stable hands. He was in great distress.

  ‘Master Treviot, is that you? Oh, praise the Lord! I’ve been sent to look for you. I thought not to find you so soon. You must come! You must come! Something terrible!’

  Chapter 7

  At Hemmings everything was in a state of shocked confusion. Women were crying. Men were either sullenly silent or noisily blaming each other. Only out of Walt did I manage to obtain a coherent account of what had happened. Standing in the doorway of the long barn, he gave me his report.

  ‘It was soon after cock crow, Master; not fully light. It was time to change the guards. We assembled here in the yard. I went with Andrew to the south gate. I was taking over there and he was supposed to be patrolling Long Wood. When we came to the cottage where Adie and the children were, I stopped to check with John Thatcher, the man I had set to do the night watch. I found him on the floor lying in a pool of blood.’

  ‘God in heaven! Was he ...’

  ‘Dead? No, Master, praise be, but he’d taken a bad blow to the bead. We’ve got him abed now and the physician from Ightham has been in to bandage him up.’

  ‘And Adie and the children?’

  ‘Gone, Master – all save the baby, who was crying as though he would burst open. This was fixed to the door.’ He handed me a scrap of paper. Its scrawled message was brief: ‘THE GIRL AND THE BEARNS FOR THE PAINTER LONDON BRIDGE THREE DAYS’.

  The words were like a blow to the stomach. ‘Curse me for an idiot! This is Black Harry’s work. I should have been here. How did the rogues get past our guards?’

  ‘’Twas cleverly done, Master. Devil knows how they got into the grounds. What I think is that they had a good look round under cover of darkness. When they saw John guarding the cottage they must have realised that was where our visitors were staying. The doctor said John hadn’t lost much blood, so he couldn’t have been lying there long before we found him – perhaps half an hour. Long enough to bind and gag young Adie and the children or terrify them into silence then leave the same way as they came. We found evidence that horses had been tethered in a thicket close to the east gate. I sent out search parties along all the roads leading from here ... but ... nothing.’

  ‘They would have gone cross country. A group of horsemen carrying children would have been too conspicuous riding through villages and hamlets.’

  ‘We have had one report. Some woodmen clearing storm damage on the Tonbridge road near Mereworth saw them travelling along forest tracks.’

  ‘Going east then.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I wonder ...’

  ‘Master?’

  ‘Where are they heading for? They’ll have to hide somewhere, and soon. They must know where to go; where to find someone who will shelter them. Who is it?’

  ‘Impossible to say, Master. We could search the country for weeks and never find them.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. Oh, how stupid, stupid, stupid I’ve been! This was the one thing I wanted to prevent happening.’

  ‘So what’s to be done, Master?’ Walt looked to me for a decision, and several others stood nearby waiting to hear my answer.

  What was I to say? I was too stunned by what had happened to give my people the lead they expected of me but I had to do something. With a confidence I certainly did not feel, I gave my orders. ‘I’ll write letters to the magistrates and all the gentry. Get together whatever men you can spare and have them ready to ride all over the shire. If we alert as many landowners as possible we should be able to discover where this gang is hiding.’

  I went to my chamber and called for ink and paper. I had scrawled no more than three messages when the door burst open. Lizzie marched in with Ned Longbourne a few paces behind her.

  ‘You cackbrained clotpole! What have you done?’ She stood before me, hands on hips, dark eyes flashing. ‘You get this old man to bring me here for “safety” and what do I find as soon as I arrive, my children taken by a gang of cutthroats. I’ll never see them again.’

  Ned stepped forward. ‘It seems the baby
is safe and in good hands,’ he ventured diffidently.

  ‘Close your maw, you old fool!’ Lizzie raged. ‘I’m thinking of my little Annie. She’ll be frightened to death – if she isn’t already dead.’ She turned away and paced the room. ‘There are three witless gulls here. You two haven’t a brain to share between you and I’ve been lunatic enough to listen to you.’

  I stood up and took a step away from the table. ‘It’s good that you’re here, Lizzie ...’

  ‘Don’t you soft-talk me!’ She raised her hands, fingers outstretched like claws and lurched forward.

  What she would have done if Ned had not stepped between us I know not. He took hold of her arms and guided her to a chair. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘We’ve all been foolish. But now we share the same grief and anger. What we must do is channel our feelings, pool our folly and see if we cannot, between us, find a few grains of wisdom. Thomas, can you tell us exactly what has happened? We have had only garbled accounts from the servants.’

  He settled on a stool beside Lizzie while I outlined the sequence of events from my departure the previous day to my arrival home again.

  Ned looked puzzled. ‘Why do these desperate men think you know where Master Holbein is hiding?’

  ‘It must be because they know I’m looking after his children. Their safety is my only concern. I’m just writing letters to all the main landlords,’ I concluded. ‘I mean to alert the whole shire. That way we should hear news of these villains.’

  Lizzie glared at me across the table. ‘More folly!’ she shouted. ‘What’s the first thing they’ll do when they know they’re being tracked?’

  Ned and I exchanged glances. We both knew Lizzie was right. To be sure of avoiding capture the murderers would not hesitate to get rid of their hostages.