The Traitor’s Mark

by D. K. Wilson

  ‘Oh, and what did these well-informed experts say?’

  ‘There’s much talk of plots and conspiracies.’

  ‘What sort of plots and conspiracies?’

  ‘Some say the pope and the Emperor want to drag England into war with France and some of the king’s council want a league with the Lutheran princes to prevent it. There’s murmuring about a revolt of the bishops against religious change. I even heard someone claim he had it on good authority that the Earl of Hertford was planning to depose the king and take over the government in the name of Prince Edward, his nephew.’

  ‘Well,’ I responded, ‘I’m happy to tell you that you can ignore all those alarming ideas. They say more about common fears and anxieties than about the real state of political affairs.’

  ‘But there must be some reason for all these bishops and councillors and courtiers meeting in secret well away from the royal court.’

  ‘There are certainly matters of concern that some of his majesty’s closest advisers want to discuss.’

  ‘Why weren’t the Duke of Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester at the meeting? Is there a plot against them?’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, Bart, you do love intrigues! Cranmer is an archbishop, not an arch-rebel. And if such revolutionary ideas were being discussed at Croydon Palace, I certainly would not have been invited to share in them.’

  Bart was obviously not convinced. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘something’s going on – or, if it isn’t, people think it is, and that’s just as bad.’

  With that I could not disagree.

  We rode straight through the City to Aldgate and asked our way to the house of James Corridge, the magistrate.

  ‘’Ere, I know you! Stop! Hold, I say!’ We had almost reached our destination, when a bulky figure lurched out of a doorway and stood in our path. Constable Pett.

  ‘You’ve led me a merry dance, Bart Miller. Come now to give yourself up, have you?’ He took hold of the bridle of Bart’s horse.

  ‘Unhand my mare,’ Bart shouted, ‘or you’ll feel my whipstock across your face.’

  Pett leered up at him, ‘Oh, no, my fine fellow. You’ll not get out of my clutches a second time.’

  Bart raised his crop and I said hurriedly, ‘If I were you, I’d do as he says. We are peacefully on our way to the coroner’s house with a confession.’

  Pett released his grip. ‘Brought him to his senses have you, Master? Well, it’s not before time. Hand me the confession.’

  ‘Get out of the way, oaf,’ I said. ‘Our business is with Master Corridge and no one else.’

  Pett grunted. ‘Follow me, then, but if there’s any trickery ...’

  I spurred my gelding into a trot and the fat constable had to run to keep up. When we reached the house he knocked loudly as Bart and I dismounted. To the servant who opened the door he said, ‘Tell your master I’ve brought in the murderer, Miller.’

  The magistrate received us in the small room he used as his office. ‘Master Treviot, I’m right glad to see you again. Is it true what the constable says; have you brought your man to confess the crime of murder?’

  ‘I very much doubt whether Constable Pett can ever be relied on to speak the truth,’ I said. ‘Here is a document that will explain all.’ I handed him Black Harry’s confession.

  Corridge read it with raised eyebrows. ‘This certainly changes things, Master Treviot. May I ask how you came by this confession?’

  ‘It was written in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s jail and passed on to me by his grace himself. The assassin now awaits his trial for several crimes in the court of King’s Bench, which, as I’m sure you know, will be in session at St Albans in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  ‘Then the matter is out of my hands,’ Corridge said, ‘and I’m not sorry for it.’

  Pett thrust himself forward. ‘What’s all this, then? What knavery is here, Master Corridge?’

  The magistrate scowled at him. ‘Only the knavery you bring with you! Had you done your job and set up the hue and cry when the crime was committed we might have apprehended the real murderer long since.’

  ‘Aye,’ I added, ‘and prevented other killings, too.’ To Corridge I said, ‘’Tis not for me to tell you your business but in my opinion your ward is ill served by this bragging tosspot. I have evidence that he abuses his office. If you choose to look into his conduct I will happily fell you what I know.’

  Pett mumbled and muttered his protest but no one was listening.

  Corridge said, ‘I am obliged to you, Master Treviot. I have purposed for some time to set in hand just such an investigation. If I need any information I will certainly call upon you.’

  ‘Please do. Now, before I go, may I ask you to make a copy of this confession for your records? We will need to keep the original in case it is required in a higher court.’

  ‘Of course. I will do it myself. Unfortunately, I have recently lost my clerk to the pestilence.’

  When he had written a duplicate and I had endorsed it, Bart and I took our leave. As we closed the door behind us, we heard the sound of angry raised voices within.

  We spent the night at Goldsmith’s Row and set off back to Hemmings the next morning.

  A heartening sight met us as we entered the hall. Lizzie was seated by the fire busily knitting and Adie squatted close by, sewing a patch on one of the children’s items of clothing. But what was a relief to see was that the women were chatting and laughing together.

  ‘What is amusing you two?’ I asked as I warmed my hands at the heat from the burning logs.

  ‘Women talk,’ Lizzie replied. ‘You’re excluded.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ I said. ‘We have news that might be of interest to you.’

  ‘Really? And what’s that?’

  ‘Bart has something to show you.’

  Without a word, Lizzie’s husband handed her Black Harry’s confession. She read it through quickly, then jumped up from her stool, letting wool and needles fall to the floor. She threw her arms round Bart and the two hugged ecstatically.

  After several moments Lizzie disentangled herself. ‘Come upstairs and tell me all about it and I’ll give you a better welcome,’ she said to her husband.

  When they had left I took my place on Lizzie’s stool.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Adie asked.

  I explained how Morice had extracted a confession from Black Harry.

  ‘What marvellous news,’ she responded. ‘It is good to see them so happy.’

  ‘And ’tis good to hear you laughing,’ I said. ‘How are you now?’

  Immediately, the old pensive look returned. ‘I thank you, Master Thomas. I think I am as well as I can be.’

  ‘A strange answer. Come walk with me and explain it more fully.’

  We linked arms and I led her out on to the lawn.

  ‘I should not loiter long,’ she said. ‘The boys will be back from their lessons soon.’

  ‘Then they will have to wait. I want to assure myself that you are fully recovered and that we shall have no more jumping into streams.’

  She lowered her head. ‘I’ve caused everyone a lot of trouble.’

  ‘No trouble that we have not gladly accepted.’

  ‘You are all so good to me. I haven’t known such care since ...’

  ‘Since your parents died?’

  She nodded.

  ‘We’ve all known loss – mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, wives, close friends. Why, even Ned – or perhaps I should say, especially Ned – has known heartbreak.’ I told her briefly about Ned and Jed and their close relationship. ‘The poor man lost, first of all, his secure and meaningful life in the abbey, then the one person who meant everything to him. But, when you look at him, do you see a picture of brooding sadness?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No. That’s because he looks forward. He once told me that life is like a book with many chapters. As one closes, another opens. We are, of course, free to simply turn back the pages, try
ing to relive the earlier chapters, but the new ones have their own delights and fascinations and we should start on them fearlessly.’

  We were approaching the bridge. Adie’s steps became slower but I urged her forward. ‘I found that a very hard lesson to learn. When my Jane died I had no interest in turning the pages of my life. I could not think that I would find anything written there that could be of interest to me. For over a year I cared not whether I lived or died.’

  ‘What happened to change you?’

  ‘Someone else turned the page for me. But that’s a long story.’

  We had reached the bridge and I deliberately stopped. As we leaned against the parapet, I said, ‘This is solemn talk. Tell me what you and Lizzie were laughing about when Bart and I arrived.’

  ‘I was asking her about her earlier life.’

  ‘In the brothel?’

  ‘Yes. She has so many funny stories to tell about it. I imagined it must have been a terrible time but she didn’t let it affect her. She’s an amazing woman.’

  ‘Life in the Stews was hard. It still is for women locked into that existence. Fortunately for Lizzie, Bart came along and she found ...’

  ‘A new chapter?’

  ‘Yes.’ '

  ‘They are very much in love,’ she said wistfully. ‘I asked her how that could be.’

  ‘I don’t see what you mean.’

  Adie stared down into the water. ‘Well, letting lots of men do things to her that she didn’t want. How could she ever find pleasure in those things with Bart?’

  ‘Only she can answer that but I suppose ... Well, have you heard men speak of the philosophers’ stone?’

  ‘No, what is it?’

  ‘’Tis something that can change any other metal – copper, lead, iron, or anything else – into gold.’

  She looked up with wide eyes.

  ‘I’d like some of that.’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, ’tis only a legend – at least, I hope so. If anyone ever found this amazing mineral, I would be out of business. Would you buy gold if you could make your own? Well, I sometimes think that perhaps love is a kind of philosophers’ stone. It can transform bad experience into something beautiful and precious.’

  She looked down again into the swirling water and sighed deeply. ‘I think love must be just as rare as this miraculous stone.’

  ‘Perhaps it is not as good an example as I thought. People do find it – people like Lizzie.’

  There was a long silence and I wondered whether I should mention what was in my mind. At last I said, ‘Ignatius told me about your mother and father. It was a wretched thing to happen to you – and you little more than a child.’

  She made no answer.

  ‘But ’tis an old chapter. Let it float away on the stream.’ I took hold of her shoulders and gently turned her round. ‘Turn your back on tragedy. Just as Lizzie turned her back on the whorehouse and Ned turned his back on the monastery and I turned my back on wedded life.’

  ‘Have you found your philosophers’ stone?’ she asked.

  ‘No, but the important thing is that I believe in it. So I go on looking.’

  She smiled at me. ‘Then I hope you find it, Master Treviot.’

  ‘And I hope you find it, Mistress Imray.’

  We both laughed.

  That was the moment a servant came running across the lawn. ‘Master Thomas, Master Thomas, there’s a messenger come from the archbishop! He says ’tis urgent!’

  Chapter 30

  The expected summons was brief and to the point. I was to present myself as early as possible at the ferry stage at Gravesend on Thursday 28 October, two days hence, with whatever hand weapons I could muster. There I would place myself under the authority of the captain of the archiepiscopal guard.

  It would be an exaggeration to record that the message filled me with foreboding. But I certainly had a strong sense of dread. The policy that Cranmer and his friends had adopted was, in my opinion, dangerously faulty. I did not believe for a moment that Black Harry could be trusted. And I did not Want to be personally involved in any kind of military confrontation. Warfare was for the sons of noblemen and gentlemen, who seriously believed that there was honour in it, and for poor wretches unable to avoid being forcibly drafted into an army. The injunction to arm myself was alarming. It was one thing to be inveigled into this expedition because of my ‘close dealings’ with Walden. To be expected to fight was quite another.

  I took a bunch of keys from my chamber coffer and went to the room at the top of the house where we stored damaged furniture and other items that were temporarily out of use but which we did not want to throw away. In a corner stood an old chest that had lain undisturbed since my father’s day. I unlocked it and the scent of lavender assailed my nostrils as I lifted the lid. I rummaged among old clothes, fragments of tapestry, bent candlesticks and broken rushlight holders. What I sought lay at the bottom wrapped in cloth.

  I carried it back to my chamber and removed the coverings. The rapier, I saw, was in good condition. The blade bore no hint of rust and gleamed in the light from the window. I had acquired it some ten years before from a customer who was having difficulty paying a debt. I was then a young man indulging glamorous dreams of military prowess and hoping to impress girls with my skill in fencing. My father was furious at such foolish extravagance. Honest merchants had better things to do, he scolded, than ape their betters by swaggering around with swords. As I looked at it now I realised I had forgotten what a fine piece of workmanship it was. The blade was Toledo steel and the foundry mark showed up clearly. The hilt had been fitted by one of the best London armourers in Coleman Street. I weighed it in my hand. The balance was perfect. But the thought of using it in anger was abhorrent.

  The concern was shared by other members of the household. When I was observed harnessing the rapier to my belt, questions were asked. Questions. I could not answer. Bart said if I was going to a fight he wanted to come, too. Walt and one or two others asked if I wanted their support. I turned down such offers. It was bad enough that I had to set out on this foolhardy venture. There was no reason to involve anyone else. Yet, much as I made light of it, there was no ignoring the real anxiety that permeated Hemmings.

  On Thursday I was up before dawn. When I went into the stable yard Walt was already brushing down Golding, my grey horse.

  ‘Are you sure you want no company, Master Thomas?’ he asked, as he fitted the bit into the gelding’s mouth.

  ‘Quite sure, thank you. Please assure everyone that there’s no need for alarm. I expect to be back tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest.’

  ‘God go with you,’ he called as I rode out of the gate.

  I muttered an‘Amen’ under my breath.

  I was at Gravesend in less than a couple of hours. An extraordinary scene met me at the quayside. It was as though the contingent of a royal army were preparing to embark for a foreign war. There were horses and men everywhere. Some were already crossing the estuary on the ferry boats and other craft that had been commandeered. I threaded my way through the throng and eventually found Morice in conversation with the guard captain.

  He turned to greet me. ‘Ah, there you are, Thomas. Good.’

  ‘This is an enormous turnout,’ I said. ‘How many men have you got here?’

  ‘We want to be absolutely sure of our man,’ he replied. ‘You, yourself, impressed upon us how slippery Black Harry is.’

  ‘Where exactly are we going?’

  ‘“Exactly”? I’m not sure. Our guide is keeping the details very much to himself.’

  ‘I can’t help repeating myself,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘This is madness. You’re seriously letting this knave lead all these men on a wild horse chase? All he’s interested in is giving you the slip.’

  ‘He won’t do that. He’s in that wagon over there, securely bound and well guarded.’

  ‘Even so, I like it not. Have you no idea where we’re bound?’

  ‘His story is th
at Brooke has a small ship on an inlet further along the coast.’

  ‘Supposing that to be true, why hasn’t he gone already?’

  ‘Apparently, his craft can only get away on a high tide. Black Harry called for an almanac and calculated that this afternoon will be the first opportunity for Brooke to escape the country.’

  ‘This stretch of coast is shredded with channels, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, but few are navigable by larger vessels and the sands are treacherous. That limits his choice. If he did manage to slip away we have a galleass patrolling further offshore to give chase.’

  ‘Since you’ve made such elaborate preparations, I can’t see why you need me.’

  ‘Black Harry says he’ll only give directions to you.’

  ‘Black Harry! Black Harry! Black Harry! Who’s in charge of this expedition?’

  Morice frowned. ‘Thomas, you’ve made your feelings clear. What you have to remember is how much is hanging on the success of today’s events. If we capture Brooke ... well, I don’t need to tell you again what that would mean. Our friends at court have persuaded his grace that no opportunity should be lost, however slight. That’s why we’ve mobilised this large force. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get the wagon loaded.’

  By the time everyone had been transported to the Essex bank the morning was far spent. When we set off inland, Morice instructed me to ride behind the wagon. Black Harry obviously regarded my presence as a petty triumph. As I took up my position, he leered at me and nodded. I did my best to ignore him.

  When we reached a crossroads the prisoner stood abruptly and called out, ‘Stop.’ He made a great show of looking all around. Then he called out, ‘Master Treviot, if you please.’

  I drew alongside the wagon.

  He smirked. ‘How pleasant to be together again, Master Treviot. Do you not admire my retinue?’

  ‘Just give us the directions,’ I muttered.

  ‘Directions? Well, let me see. I think we’ll go ... right.’

  This play-acting was repeated every time we came to a junction or fork in the road. Black Harry gave the impression that he was making up the route as he went along. I became increasingly convinced he was deliberately leading us nowhere, just for the perverted pleasure of wasting our time and causing us maximum discomfort. A chill wind was blowing in off the German Sea across the marsh and we were all huddling into our cloaks as much as we could. As we meandered, apparently aimlessly, across the barren landscape the troops became increasingly restive. After a couple of hours my patience snapped. I spurred my horse, rode to the head of column and drew level with Morice and the guard captain.