D. Wilson - The First Horseman

‘There is nothing personal about it,’ he replied. ‘I am a mere agent. If you have made enemies…’ He shrugged. I realised that he was savouring the moment.

Suddenly — miraculously almost — that realisation cut through my panic; allowed me to think. There was no one in these dense, silent woods who could come to my aid. Il Ombra knew this as well as I. He had no need to hurry. He had plenty of time to do a clean professional job. Could I, perhaps, play on his self-confidence… make him relax, just slightly. ‘Please, oh please, spare me,’ I whined.

The Italian shook his head. ‘ Impossibile .’

‘Then, in God’s name, give me a moment or two for prayer,’ I implored with a show of trembling helplessness.

‘Very well.’ He nodded and lowered his pistol slightly.

That was my chance. I leaned forward, pulled on the rein and tapped Golding’s flanks with my heels. ‘Stand,’ I whispered.

Immediately, the grey reared up, his front hooves thrashing air. The Italian staggered back, raising his hands defensively to cover his head. The pistol flew from his grasp, discharged with a bang as it hit the ground and lay hidden among the ferns. Il Ombra turned, looking for a path through the dense undergrowth. I did not wait for him to find one. I urged Golding forward, straight at the assassin. He fled along the track, his only means of escape. Within yards I ran him down. He flung himself among the ferns to his left. I leaped from the saddle and was on him instantly. We rolled around on the ground. He grasped my throat. I pummelled his face with my fists. My assailant was strong and lithe. He slipped from my grasp and staggered to his knees. I grabbed his legs and brought him down again. Now the fight began in earnest. My foe clawed with hands, struck out with booted feet and, when he could get close enough, tried to bite with his stained teeth. My responses were equally savage. Physically we were well matched but I had the advantage of unbridled fury. Weeks of grief and rage at what this man had done to my friend at last found their outlet. Anger at what I and others had suffered gave added puissance to my muscles. Slowly I felt my enemy weaken. He groaned. He shouted. He implored me, in his own language and in bastard English, to stop. His entreaties had the opposite effect. I pounded his face, my gauntlets tearing into his flesh. When eventually he lay silent I went on hitting him. Then I jumped up and aimed kick after kick at his inert body. Had I not been interrupted, I would certainly have killed the man but now I became aware of rapid hoofbeats and shouts.

I was surrounded by three of the king’s guards, all with drawn swords.

‘What’s all this?’ the captain demanded.

Struggling for breath, I tried to reply. ‘This fellow… tried to kill me… You’ll find his pistol… over there, somewhere.’ I pointed to the ferns and brambles where it had fallen. Then I sank to the ground, trembling all over.

The soldiers dismounted. One went in search of Il Ombra’s weapon while another examined the prostrate Italian. ‘He’s breathing,’ was the verdict, ‘but only just.’

‘Both of you have some explaining to do,’ the captain said. ‘Making affray in the purlieus of His Majesty’s house is a capital offence.’

His subordinate returned from among the bushes and handed over the gun.

‘Mother of God!’ the captain exclaimed. ‘What’s this?’

‘A wheellock pistol,’ I gasped.

‘I’ve heard of these,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never seen one.’ He cast a professional appraising eye over the weapon. ‘No one is allowed to carry firearms in the court except His Majesty’s guard. To do so is treason. You say it was brought here by this fellow?’

I nodded.

‘And how do I know it’s not yours?’ he asked.

‘You could see which one of us is carrying powder and shot,’ I suggested.

He gave the order and the Italian and I were searched. From a pouch still slung round Il Ombra’s neck one of the soldiers produced a powder horn and a handful of lead pellets.

‘Right,’ said the captain, ‘I’m not going to sort all this out. I’m taking you to the guard room.’

‘Of course,’ I said, getting painfully to my feet. ‘But you should know that I was on my way to an appointment with Lord Cromwell. This rogue was determined to stop me. It might be in your interest to inform His Lordship that you have taken me into custody.’

We made our way back to the palace. The captain led, followed by Il Ombra slung over one of the horses, then me on Golding and the other king’s men, one on foot. We were taken straight to the guard room where I was placed for safe keeping in the captain’s own quarters. The Italian was laid on a pallet in one of the cells and a physician was called to examine him. I was glad to lie down on the truckle bed and ease my sore, pummelled body. I was bruised and aching all over and my limbs trembled uncontrollably. It was some time before I was able to think clearly about the afternoon’s events. Then I remembered Ned’s warning about Hugh Seagrave. He had been right. Nathaniel’s brother had plotted my death and, despite his father’s supposed falling out with Doggett, had managed to secure the service of Il Ombra. Did that mean that he had also been responsible for the attack at Hampstead? Had I been wrong to blame John Incent? I was still exploring these disjointed thoughts when I fell into an exhausted sleep.

I was woken by one of the king’s guard. ‘Up you get,’ he said. ‘Lord Cromwell has sent for you.’

‘Gone six of the clock,’ the man replied. ‘You’d better smarten up.’ He indicated a towel and a bowl of water on the table.

I looked at my image in a small square of polished tin hanging beside the door. My face was streaked with blood and grime and fronds of grass still stuck to my hair. I cleaned myself as best as I could and brushed most of the dirt from my clothes. When I asked for my bonnet the soldier shrugged and shook his head. I realised I must have lost it in the fight. When I had done the best I could to make myself presentable, I signalled my guardian that I was ready to be escorted to Master Secretary’s quarters. Many were the curious looks I attracted as I was marched through the palace but when we reached Cromwell’s antechamber the room was empty apart from the halberdier standing guard. After a word from my escort the inner door was opened for me.

Cromwell was standing before the fire, reading a book by the light of a lamp hanging from a high bracket. He set the volume aside as I made my obeisance. ‘Thomas, Thomas, Thomas, you seem to have a positive genius for getting into trouble,’ he said, seating himself and motioning me to a chair on the other side of the hearth.

‘’Twas none of my doing,’ I protested. ‘The villainous Seagraves — ’

‘Yes, yes,’ he interrupted. ‘We’ll come to that in a moment. First, I want to continue our earlier discussion. We were talking about Gabriel Donne. Have you met him?’

‘No.’

‘Are you familiar with the family?’

‘I know his father and uncle by sight. They are leading members of the Grocers’ Company but I have never had any dealings with them.’

‘Very well and there’s nothing more you can tell me about Robert’s last trip to the Netherlands?’

I considered the question carefully before replying. ‘No, My Lord. I believe he carried out his commission faithfully and was bitterly disappointed that it did not succeed in achieving Tyndale’s release. If there was any other reason for his murder perhaps you will discover it by interrogating Il Ombra.’

Cromwell’s eyebrows rose slightly at mention of the name. ‘Are you sure about the identity of this assailant? How is that?’