Andrew Swanston: The King's Exile

As if he were quite accustomed to such requests, Lord Willoughby produced a leather purse from his pocket, counted out the sovereigns and handed them to Sir George Ayscue.

‘Thank you, your lordship,’ said Thomas. ‘I have two more matters to attend to and then I shall be ready to go home.’

The brutes’ gold first, then Rush. When he arrived at the track leading to the brutes’ hovel the next morning, Thomas dismounted and left his horse in the shade on the corner of the road. For a reason he could not explain he was nervous returning to this place, half expecting the brutes to jump out of the trees and set about him with their whips. Come now, Thomas, the brutes are gone, there’s no one here but you and it won’t take long to do what you’ve come for and be away. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he strode up the track.

But there was someone there. Tethered to the listening tree was a horse harnessed to a flat cart of the kind used for transporting barrels of sugar. Very cautiously he moved forward, alert to any movement or sound. Hearing a voice, he crept round the hovel, keeping within the cover of the trees. A shirtless man armed with a long-handled shovel was frantically digging at the privy. Thomas smiled. It was the new privy, not the old one where he suspected the gold was buried, and the man was covered in filth. Who the digger was he had no idea but he would not find the gold there.

When he glimpsed movement in the trees beyond, however, his smile disappeared. There was no mistaking the figure in black watching from the shade. And when he spoke, there was no mistaking his voice. ‘Get on with it, man. I’m not paying you to dig like an old woman. Bend your back or I’ll bend it for you.’ Tobias Rush had got there first.

Thomas could see that the filth-covered digger was exhausted and no threats from Rush were going to give him strength. He would soon have to rest.

‘I’ve dug out all the shit,’ the man grumbled, ‘and there’s nothing here. How deep do I have to go?’

‘As deep as I tell you,’ snarled Rush, ‘and be quick about it. I know it’s buried down there and I want to be away.’

The wretched man dug for another minute or so, then abruptly stopped. Leaning on his shovel and looking up at Rush, he cursed loudly. ‘That’s as far as I’m going. There’s nothing here. If you don’t believe me, dig it yourself. I’ll take my money and be gone.’

‘Money? You get no money from me, you idle pig. Dig or be damned.’

For a moment, the digger stared at Rush. Then he climbed slowly out of the hole. When he threw the shovel Thomas was just as surprised as Rush. It hit Rush in the face and knocked him to the ground. Rush dropped the silver-topped cane and, in a trice, the man was on him, his hands around his throat. Thomas did not move. There was a pistol shot and the man rolled off Rush. The flintlock must have been primed and hidden somewhere inside Rush’s cloak. The man lay still. Rush got to his feet, dusted himself down and picked up the shovel. He left the man where he lay, took off his cloak and climbed down into the hole.

Carefully keeping behind Rush, Thomas moved out of the shadows and crept towards the hole. Twice he thought Rush had heard him and was about to turn round, but he was too intent on his digging to notice anything. Thomas reached the cane and picked it up. He knew this cane well enough. He had another just like it at home in Romsey. Twisting the silver handle, he pulled out the narrow blade and tested the tip with his finger. Needle-sharp, just like its twin.

‘You won’t find anything there, Rush,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s the wrong privy.’ Rush stopped digging and turned slowly towards him. His head was little higher than Thomas’s knees.

‘Hill. So we meet again.’

‘Indeed we do. Now kindly drop the shovel. As you can see, I have luckily come across this swordstick lying on the gound. The blade is made of the finest Toledo steel, you know. Very sharp.’ Rush put down the shovel, his eyes never leaving Thomas.

‘And now what do you propose, Hill?’ asked Rush with a smirk. ‘If you kill me, you will never see your sister and her lovely daughters again.’

‘Is that so? Now that the truce has been signed, I will soon be on my way back to England. Lord Willoughby is arranging my passage. I shall find Margaret and the girls, whether you’re dead or alive.’

Rush snorted. ‘Not in England, you won’t. They’re here, hidden safely away and under guard. The guard has orders to kill them if I have not returned by tonight.’

‘I don’t believe you, Rush. Why would you bring them here and why would you tell me where they are?’

‘If I told you they were in England, I would be of no further use to you and you would kill me. As they are here, I will take you to them in return for my freedom. I brought them here because I thought they might like to see how you were faring with the Gibbes. It would have amused me to observe your nieces’ tears. The Gibbes may be dead but at least they’d told me where the gold would be.’

‘It seems they misled you. If there’s gold, it’s in the old privy over there.’ Thomas gestured with the sword.

Rush nodded. ‘In that case let me suggest a bargain. I will dig out the gold, which we will share. Then I will take you to your sister. She and her daughters will be yours.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘You don’t. But can you take the risk? Kill me and your sister and nieces will die.’

‘And if I don’t kill you?’

‘You must rely on my word. In truth, I’m a little tired of them. Pastures new for Tobias Rush, I fancy.’

Thomas considered the proposal. Rush’s word was worthless but could he take the risk? He would have to find Margaret before nightfall. ‘Very well, Rush, I agree.’ He stared at Rush, watching his reaction. ‘With one small change.’

‘Which is?’

‘You will first tell me where they are, then you may climb out of that shithole.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘You don’t.’

‘Touché.’ Rush thought for a moment. ‘As you wish. Your sister and her daughters are at a house on Long Bay, to the east of Oistins. I will take you there when we’ve found the gold.’

‘If you’re lying, Rush, I will kill you.’

‘I know. That is why I have told you the truth.’

‘Then you’d better start digging. Long Bay is a good fifteen miles away,’ said Thomas, stepping back to allow Rush room to clamber out.

Rush threw the shovel out and hauled himself up until his knees were clear of the hole. He knelt on the ground, as if to catch his breath. Thomas’s eyes never left him and did not miss the hand slipping under the shirt. Even before it emerged with the dagger, he had the point of the swordstick at Rush’s throat.

‘You lied, Rush. I knew you would. So did I.’ The sword slipped smoothly into Rush’s neck. There was a fountain of blood and Rush’s eyes widened in shock. Thomas pulled out the sword and used his boot to kick the dying man back into the hole. Then he took the shovel and heaped earth and filth over him until the hole was full.

Panting for breath, Thomas leaned for a moment on the shovel and looked for any sign of movement in the hole. There was none. Rush was dead — but he would have to move fast. He wasted no time in setting about the old privy, shovelling out heaps of soil and muck as quickly as he could.

The first bag was about three feet down, four more just below it. He heaved each one out. If there were more, they would have to stay there. Perhaps some lucky person would find them in a hundred years’ time.

It took him five trips to load five foul-smelling bags on to Rush’s cart. Rush had been dead an hour when Thomas climbed up and took up the reins. Then a thought occurred. He jumped off the cart and ran up the path to his hut. The door was open and he went in. On the table was the silver inkwell and under the cot was the list of adjectives. He put both in a pocket.