D. Wilson - The First Horseman

‘After my conversation with Doggett, it was not very difficult to recognise the man employed by the Seagraves in their trap. A foreigner, expert in the very latest firearm technology — it had to be Il Ombra.’

‘Then your quest is ended,’ Cromwell observed quietly.

‘Almost, My Lord. Only two things now remain.’

‘And they are?’

‘To see justice done upon the assassin and to have his paymasters unmasked.’

Cromwell tapped his nose thoughtfully with the small book he was carrying. ‘As to the first, I can satisfy you immediately: Il Ombra is dead.’

I was stunned by the news. ‘Dead? But his injuries did not seem… I was sure I had not killed him… Does this mean I’m to be charged…’

He looked at me with a quizzical, cynical smile. ‘You? Charged? What with?’ The smile vanished to be replaced by a concentrated stare. ‘Whatever occurred here this afternoon did not involve you.’

My obvious bewilderment must have appeared comical, for Cromwell laughed. ‘Let me describe to you the unfortunate incident that occurred at Greenwich on the Feast of St Stephen in this year of our Lord, 1536. Princes, as you know, always have to be on their guard against assassination attempts. Regrettably, there are always madmen, fanatics and agents of foreign powers whose twisted thinking convinces them that the violent removal of a head of state will make the world a better place. Our gracious sovereign lord is no less a potential target than other kings and, like other kings, takes careful precautions for the safety of his person, especially in these troubled days. The palace grounds here are kept under constant surveillance by royal guards. This afternoon such a patrol came upon an armed desperado, skulking in the woods not far from where His Majesty was hunting. When challenged, this villain discharged his firearm at the king’s men. There was a struggle in which the evil interloper was killed. The king was saved. The executioner was spared a job. All in all, a satisfactory outcome, would you not agree?’

I sat back with a gasp. ‘This is what the king believes?’

‘This is what the king wishes to believe and it is, therefore, true. Were the story any more complicated it might give rise to speculation, and, in politics, speculation should whenever possible be avoided. Such incidents as this have to be dealt with swiftly and decisively. Then no awkward questions can be asked.’

I felt… well, truly, I know not what I felt — outrage, relief, disappointment, distaste. I could only stare gloomily into the fire. ‘Doubtless, that story will please the Seagraves,’ I muttered.

‘Ah, the Seagraves.’ Cromwell nodded. ‘I suppose you would like to see them dragged into the law courts and made to pay for their murderous attempts on your life.’

‘I would like to see justice done, My Lord. I am a simple man and I hold to the simple man’s conviction that law and justice bind a kingdom together. Without them…’ I shrugged.

‘Without them,’ Cromwell said, in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘we have politics. It may not be as stout a cord as law and justice but when it is all we have, we would be wrong not to use it. Take the Seagraves, for example. A trial would have brought numerous facts to light that many people, perhaps including yourself but certainly including the king, would prefer to keep hidden. As it is, Sir Harry and his brainless son are now tight fastened by political shackles. They know that I have information against them that I can use at any time. Should they ever behave in a way harmful to His Majesty and the realm my sword of Damocles will fall.’

‘They are close to the Duke of Norfolk, are they not?’

Cromwell looked up sharply. ‘Why do you say so?’

‘The brainless son boasted of it this afternoon and told me many things because he was sure I would not live to repeat his indiscretions.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘He warned me not to become too closely involved with Your Lordship. He hinted that one day you would fall and that then the duke and his supporters would take control.’

Cromwell laughed. ‘Aye, and whisk the country back to the baronial wars of the last century, when he and his kind wrestled for the crown. Well, we must make sure that doesn’t happen, mustn’t we?’

‘He also said the king was ill and becoming difficult to serve.’

The minister avoided the subject. ‘You will have no more difficulty with the Seagraves. I can promise you that,’ he said.

‘’Tis strange,’ I mused, ‘that the Seagraves and John Incent both employed the same killer.’

‘Not really,’ Cromwell replied. ‘You know, don’t you, that they are related?’

‘No.’

‘They are of old Suffolk families. Sir Harry’s brother is married to the eldest Incent girl. Together they all make up as nice a brood of papists as you could ever wish not to find.’

‘And unscrupulous. Defending their doctrine excuses any evil, any crime. Is there a good reason, My Lord, why we should not proceed against John Incent for Robert’s murder?’

‘Absence of proof,’ Cromwell declared quickly. ‘Without Il Ombra there is no one who knows who paid for the murder.’

‘There is one man who does know. I’m sure of it. His name is John Doggett.’

Cromwell laughed aloud. ‘You’ve come across that scoundrel! You must know he’d be little help to us. If you could get him into a court of law — which is extremely unlikely — no sane jury would believe a word he said.’

‘But could you not put pressure on him?’ I asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, ‘if I did not have a thousand and one other things to do.’ He stood up. ‘Thomas, be content. You have found Robert’s killer and he has paid for his crime. You are beyond the reach of your own enemies. For tonight, lodging has been arranged in the palace. The guard who brought you here will escort you. In the morning, go back to your trade. Make a success of it. Be a credit to your father and to the Honourable Goldsmiths’ Company. And may God prosper you.’

With those words I was dismissed. They were sensible words. There was no one who cared for me or had my interest at heart who would not have heartily endorsed Cromwell’s sage advice.

So why was I unwilling to take it?

‘By all the saints, Thomas, what have you been doing now?’ Ned Longbourne was genuinely shocked when he called on me the next day. Everyone was — and with good reason. My face was badly bruised and one eye half closed. I walked with a limp and a pain in my chest made me wince whenever I took a deep breath or coughed. I was still resting on my bed when Ned arrived. I got up, hobbled to the table and poured out two tankards of ale. Then I reported briefly on the events at Greenwich while Ned listened in wide-eyed wonder.

‘God in heaven and all the saints be praised that Il Ombra is dead, and at the king’s order,’ he said. ‘I trust we shall see his carcase in chains at Tyburn with a placard of his sins hung round his neck.’

‘I fear not. His activities and his very existence are to be kept secret.’

‘But why?’

‘Cromwell’s strict instructions. The armed assassin was captured in the palace grounds. If that news leaks out, it could cause general panic and also encourage the king’s enemies. I shouldn’t be telling you but I know you will let it go no further.’

Ned nodded and stroked his beard. This was now of collar length and streaked with grey. ‘Was he interrogated? Did Master Secretary’s torture specialists extract details of his crimes?’

‘I don’t know. If they did, the information is not for general circulation.’

Ned took a long draught of ale and set down the pot with a sigh. ‘So you are no nearer discovering the identity of his paymaster.’