The Traitor’s Mark

by D. K. Wilson

‘What else can we do?’ I asked.

  Lizzie answered promptly. ‘Give them this man they’re looking for.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘But we don’t know where he is, Lizzie.’

  ‘Then try harder.’ Lizzie stood up, tight-lipped. ‘I’m going to take my baby.’

  For some moments after she had gone Ned and I stared at each other in helpless silence. ‘So the children are doomed whether we act or whether we do nothing,’ I said at last.

  Ned nodded. ‘We are in what the mystics call the dark forest of fear. Yet, what makes our case worse is that we are not the only ones lost in it.’

  ‘Your meaning?’

  ‘Well, for sure Black Harry (and it must be him we seek) lives in dread of the hangman. Adie and the children must be suffering from we know not what terrors. Poor Bart and this Master Johannes you tell me about are frightened into hiding.’

  ‘Aye, and it stops not there.’ I told Ned of my meetings with Cranmer and Marbeck. ‘All these things must be connected. For example, I believe I may know why this raid was made today.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  I wandered to the window and gazed out across an overgrown patch of lawn where water had gathered in the depressions. ‘I have been very careful not to mention the name “Black Harry” to anyone I do not trust completely, because I do not know who might be among his patrons. Yesterday afternoon I’m fairly sure someone overheard me speak the name.’ In my mind I saw again the figure of Edward Thwaites emerging from the shadows in Moyle’s hall. ‘That same person is a sworn enemy of the archbishop. Later he pressed me – very hard – to stay the night with him.’

  ‘To keep you away from Hemmings?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Because he knew the children were here?’

  ‘I think he must have overheard that, too.’

  ‘Even if you are right about this fellow ’tis not information you can use. Lizzie’s judgement is sound: we dare not let Black Harry and his associates think we’re on his trail. You see what I mean about us all blundering around in the same darkness. Not only do we need to find our own way out; we have to avoid bumping into each other.’

  ‘Mary and all the angels, what a mess! I suppose Lizzie is right. We must find Master Holbein.’Tis the only way.’

  ‘How, if he will not be found?’

  ‘I know someone who is a party to his plans; I’m sure of it.’ I told Ned about Jan van der Goes. ‘I’ll seek him out tomorrow.’

  ‘And you think you can persuade this man to betray his friend and then persuade Master Holbein to surrender himself to the assassins?’

  ‘Perhaps. Once he knows that his children are in mortal danger, he might do the right thing.’

  ‘Is it the right thing? What of his importance to Cranmer ... and your own solemn oath? Heaven knows, I’m no lover of our archbishop but you are sworn before God to serve him. Will you so lightly put your immortal soul in danger?’

  ‘Don’t preach at me, monk!’ I glared across the room. ‘I need no one to draw the cords of conscience tighter than they already are. If you’ve nothing more useful to say, you’d better be away back to Southwark.’

  *

  The party that set out for London the next morning was in a sombre mood. Lizzie, as was her wont, rode astride and she had baby Jack well swaddled and strapped to her chest. I had chosen fresh horses for her and Ned. Several of those in my stable were tired, having been ridden hard along treacherous muddy tracks the previous day in search of the abducted children. We were accompanied by six of my strongest men. After the events of the weekend I was taking no chances for the safety of myself and my friends. I set as brisk a pace as the conditions would allow. Although the weather had brightened, the highway was still badly rutted and pitted. Some of the parishes along the way had taken their statutory responsibilities seriously. Groups of workers were out with spades, picks and carts of stone, filling holes and smoothing the surface. There was less wheeled traffic than usual, presumably because carters were wary of wasting long hours freeing their vehicles from the mud. That, at least, made travelling easier for horsemen. I had hopes that we might reach the City by day’s end and could set about our quest for the painter early on the morrow. Keeping up a good speed while, at the same time, watching for hazards ahead, left us little time for conversation. We were only able to discuss our plans in spaced-out, disjointed episodes.

  ‘I should come with you when you go to Bart,’ I suggested to Lizzie.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Tis my fault his daughter is in jeopardy.’

  ‘Like as not he’ll blame himself for starting all this trouble.’

  ‘That’s another reason for me to see him. I want him to know that I don’t reproach him. He stumbled quite innocently into matters of high state. He couldn’t have known of the dangers involved. Probably he still doesn’t.’

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t.’ Lizzie scowled. ‘What’s it all about, Thomas? If I’m on the point of losing my husband and my child, I’d rather like to know what cause they’re being sacrificed for.’

  ‘Lizzie, as long as there’s blood in my body, I’ll do all I can to save them – both.’

  ‘We know that’s not possible.’

  ‘You mustn’t think that.’

  ‘Mustn’t?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve been thinking of nothing else all night. If we save the children by giving this Black Harry you talk about what he wants, he’ll remain at liberty and Bart will still be an outlaw wanted for murder. But if we track down the gang in order to clear Bart’s name they’ll kill their hostages. So, don’t give me empty promises. Just explain what higher purpose this is all supposed to be serving.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie, I wish I could. I don’t fully understand it myself. It’s all about ...’

  ‘Politics?’

  ‘Yes – politics and religion.’

  ‘Dear God, the games these kings and great men play, using us for their cards and counters.’ Her angry bluster was an outlet for her anxiety, just as mine had been the previous day when I snapped at Ned.

  We were coming into a small village. A little family group stood at the roadside – a mother and three young children, barefoot and ragged. They held out their hands to the passing travellers.

  Lizzie found her purse and threw down some coins. ‘Do you think they care about kings and popes and archbishops?’

  ‘Probably no more than kings and popes and archbishops care about them,’ I said.

  ‘Then, in the name of all the saints in heaven – or wherever they are – why should we put everything at risk to keep one single nobleman or bishop in power or bring down another nobleman or bishop? Can you honestly tell me that this wretched business matters – 1 mean, really matters?’

  In simplified terms I tried to explain that Cranmer and his enemies could not agree about the kind of church life England should have, that each was passionately attached to his understanding of truth and that for them, and many others, it was a matter of life and death. I don’t think I convinced her.

  Sometime afterwards I brought my gelding alongside Ned’s horse. We had scarcely spoken since the previous afternoon.

  ‘I spoke rashly yesterday,’ I said. ‘Please put my foolish words down to worry.’

  The old man smiled his usual calm smile. ‘We read in the Book of Proverbs, “A man of discretion controls his anger; it is his glory to overlook wrongs”. You were under great strain. You had to shout at someone. I’m glad it was me.’

  ‘I wish I had your placid nature. You never lose your temper.’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, don’t you believe it. There are times when I swear more colourfully than a London drayman.’

  ‘Who do you swear at?’

  ‘Oh, God, usually.’

  ‘Doesn’t he mind?’

  ‘I comfort myself with the thought that he’s heard it all before. Now, what about our problem? Have you had time to lock away your fears and start thinking clearly?’

  ‘There’
s not much to think really. The man we have to see is a close friend of Master Holbein by the name of Jan van der Goes. When we last met he said he did not know where the painter is hiding but I’m sure he was lying.’

  ‘His friend is obviously in great danger. He would hardly reveal his whereabouts to a stranger. And what you’re asking him to do now is much more serious.’

  ‘Yes, to deliver his friend up to certain death. All I can do is tell van der Goes, or John of Antwerp as most people know him, that Holbein’s children are in mortal danger. If he explains that to the artist, perhaps he will come out of hiding. It is asking much but I think few fathers would sacrifice their sons for a cause, however important. I know I wouldn’t.’

  Ned smiled grimly. ‘It has been known,’ he said. ‘Have you given any thought to your commitment to the archbishop?’

  ‘Yes, you were right to remind me of that obligation. If Holbein will trust me with the information he has gathered I will pass it on to Cranmer. With any luck Black Harry won’t suspect anything.’

  ‘That could be dangerous but I’m sure it is the right thing to do. Now, to more immediate matters. Where do you plan to stay while you are in London?’

  ‘I’ll go to Goldsmith’s Row.’

  ‘But the house is shut up and the servants gone.’

  ‘I can manage for a couple of days.’

  ‘More sense for you to stay with me. If you are to keep your wits about you, you will need good food and a well-turned bed.’

  It was agreed that we would make the Southwark house our headquarters and I passed this on to Lizzie a little later.

  ‘Could you, please, bring Bart to meet us there,’ I urged.

  She looked doubtful. ‘He made me swear not to take anyone into my confidence, not even you.’

  ‘Things have changed a lot since you made that promise. I need to speak with him. If he’s been trying to identify the murderers, he may have discovered something useful.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t see him often and when I do he tells me nothing. He says it’s safer for me to remain ignorant.’

  ‘Well, now it’s time to pool our knowledge. Any scraps of information could prove helpful.’

  When we parted company outside St Olave’s Church in Southwark in the deepening dusk of that September day it was in the knowledge that the morrow would bring events that would change our lives and, whichever way things went, would probably result in death for someone.

  Chapter 8

  It was still dark on Tuesday when Ned roused me after a night of very heavy sleep.

  ‘There’s cheese and ale downstairs and two visitors,’ he said.

  I dressed quickly, refreshed myself with cold water and descended the narrow stair. In the room below, Lizzie was seated at the table with Ned. Between them, to my immense relief, was Bart. He jumped up as I entered.

  ‘Master, I’m so sorry. Everything’s going wrong and ’tis all my fault.’

  I grasped his hand warmly. ‘We’ll have no more of that talk. I’m so pleased to see you safe.’

  I looked at Bart closely. He was a sorry sight. There was little sign of the boisterous, carefree man I had known so long. His clothes were crumpled. His chin wore several days stubble and his red-rimmed eyes suggested that he had been crying.

  ‘Safe? Aye. Would I were not. I’d give anything to have little Annie standing here instead of me. Oh, God in heaven, what have I done to put her in such danger. We will save her, won’t we, Master?’ He drew a hand across his cheek where fresh tears were flowing. ‘When Lizzie told me ...’

  ‘Come and. sit again, Poppet.’ Lizzie put an arm round him and led him back to his stool. ‘Such talk doesn’t help. We’ve plans to make.’

  ‘She’s right, Bart,’ I said. ‘We have to find Master Johannes and persuade him to come with us to London Bridge tomorrow. We don’t have a moment to waste on blaming ourselves or bewailing the past. Has Lizzie explained everything to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘It seems such a complicated mess.’

  ‘Yes, it is rather. That’s why we need cool heads to untangle everything.’ I spoke with a confidence well above anything I felt. Trying to boost Bart’s morale gave the impression that I was optimistic of the outcome of the day’s activities. ‘Now, first, have you anything to tell us? What have you been doing this last three weeks? Have you discovered anything about the murderers?’

  ‘It’s been difficult. With the magistrate’s men looking for me and, probably, the gang as well, I haven’t been able to move about much. The watchmen are on the lookout for a one-armed man. Difficult to disguise this.’ He patted his empty sleeve. ‘I go about mostly at night. I’ve visited just about all the more disreputable ale houses, especially the ones down by the river. Can’t ask too many questions. Folk are very quick to get suspicious.’

  ‘So, have you found out anything?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, ’tis the Black Harry gang that butchered that poor lad, as you’ve already worked out. There’s many a tale told about them. They’re ... well, if half the things folk say are true London’s never seen anything like them. They’re not just violent; they’re ... evil.’

  ‘What does that mean; that they love violence for its own sake? They don’t kill and maim in order to get power or vengeance or money?’

  ‘Oh, they like money well enough but that’s not what drives them.’

  ‘I can tell you what motivates them,’ Ned said. ‘It is hatred – and hatred of the worst kind.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘Fanatical hatred, spiritual hatred, if you like. Satanic hatred.’

  ‘You’ve heard the stories about Black Harry, then?’ Bart asked. ‘Children murdered in front of their mothers; men slowly roasted ...’

  ‘No. I don’t need to.’ Ned scowled. ‘I know enough of his career to recognise a phenomenon any student of theology is familiar with – evil of the most concentrated kind ... the very essence of evil. You see my alembic over there by the fire. If I could nicely measure out portions of the seven great sins, put them in my apparatus and set it to the fire, what would be distilled would be unadulterated, terrifying, irredeemable evil. All the great saints have encountered it in their conflict with the forces of hell. I, thank God, have only met it once. Then, I saw the devil looking out at me through human eyes and knew the soul within lived for nothing but dissolution, decay and destruction of every good, merciful, generous, holy impulse. The creature before me was possessed of a blind, obsessive malice which was oblivious not only to the good of others but even to its own good. I fear that is what we are facing here.’

  We listened motionless, scarcely breathing, to Ned’s impassioned, yet calm and measured words.

  Bart said, ‘Well, that certainly explains things I have heard about Black Harry. Folk say he doesn’t just enjoy cruelty; he lives for it; feeds on it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ned agreed. ‘And that means we must be absolutely on our guard in our dealings with him. We must not make the mistake of thinking that we can reason with him, trust him, believe anything he says. We must be on the watch for any deceit, any lies, any treachery that he may fancy serves his purpose.’

  Lizzie stared aghast. ‘Do you mean that he might promise to hand over the children, then kill them anyway?’

  ‘I think that’s exactly the kind of thing he might do unless we set up the exchange in such a way that prevents any such trickery.’

  I turned to Bart. ‘Have you managed to find out who this monster is working for.’

  ‘Surely,’ Lizzie protested, ‘no decent man would pay such a creature to do his bidding.’

  Ned said, ‘As I’ve already explained to Master Thomas, Black Harry worked for the Inquisition in Spain and carried out some of their worst atrocities.’

  ‘But that sort of thing doesn’t happen in England,’ she said.

  ‘Three men were sent to the stake in Windsor a mere few weeks ago because they believed the wrong things,’ I said.
/>   ‘That’s not the same thing at all,’ Ned observed. ‘I deplore the burning of heretics. It’s bad theology and it doesn’t work. It only creates martyrs. But, at least when the Church hands unrepentant, misguided people over to the magistrates for execution there has been an open process of law. What powerful patrons use Black Harry for is work done in secret: removing obstacles from their path, silencing noisy opponents, disposing of critics.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bart agreed, ‘that’s exactly what people say Black Harry does. Dr Banfry, the vicar at St Thomas-in-the-East, was fished out of the Thames just after Easter. He had preached mightily against religious images and attracted large crowds. The bishop couldn’t drag him into his court because he had preached before the king and his majesty liked his style.’

  ‘So was it the bishop behind the Aldgate murder?’ I asked.

  ‘Possibly. There are various rumours but no one really knows. There’s one person I’ve heard talk of, but I only remember him because of his name – Dr London.’

  ‘London,’ I exclaimed. ‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. He was behind the Windsor burnings, though he’s only a tool in the hands of more powerful men. But all this high politics is not to the point. We’re here to save Adie and the children from someone who is a complete stranger to morality and human decency. Bart, is there anything else you know about Black Harry; any information that will arm us against him?’

  Bart’s brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘Folk say his gang is small – men who’ve been with him a long time. He doesn’t trust newcomers. There’s scapegraces as would like to join him, but he’ll have none of them. Apart from that I don’t know ... Oh, yes, one other thing: his base is somewhere in Essex.’

  ‘Then that’s where they’ll have taken their hostages,’ I said. ‘Not that it helps us much. We don’t have time to mount a search. All we can do is make sure we get Holbein to the bridge tomorrow. He is our bargaining counter – with him we can force Black Harry to do a deal. Ned, can you come with me to see van der Goes? We’ll escort Lizzie safe home on the way. Bart, you had better stay here now that it’s light. Keep out of Sight and don’t answer the door if any of Ned’s customers come calling. So’ – I stood up – ‘the time for talk is over. Let us go – and pray God our mission is successful.’