Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘Take no notice, Thomas,’ whispered Simon. ‘You are the last person she wanted to find here. Better disappear.’

Taking the hint, Thomas waved a farewell to his friend and slipped out of the shop. A book of poetry for a literary friend who knew nothing about flowers was grounds for hope. But no more Milton, please. If John Porter had them, Shakespeare’s sonnets would be excellent. He would commit the best of them to memory when he was back in Romsey and time permitted. In Oxford, alas, time did not permit.

He could not dwell on the matter. He felt guilty enough at having missed most of a morning’s work, and he should get back to it without delay. The pile of paper would soon be growing again. Putting the lure of the meadows out of his mind, he went straight back to Pembroke.

The remainder of the day and part of the night were spent with quill and ink, encryptions and decryptions. Erasmus Pole must either have been a genius or, more probably, inclined to overlook some of the paper that came his way. It was hard to believe that one man could have coped adequately with the volume. When at last Thomas could do no more, his eyes and head ached and his hand was shaking from holding the quill.

Early the next morning he struggled awake to answer a knock on his door. It was Silas. ‘Good morning, sir. Master Fletcher asks that you join him at the gatehouse. I’ve just taken him there.’

‘Do you know why, Silas?’

‘He said something about seeing the town.’

‘But he can’t see.’

‘I know, sir. That’s why he wants you.’

Torn between duty and pleasure, Thomas had no difficulty in choosing pleasure. Another diversion, and Abraham’s company was always good. He pulled on a thick shirt and followed Silas to the gatehouse, where Abraham was waiting for him. There was an early-autumn chill in the air and the old man wore a heavy cloak and a hat. ‘Good morning, Abraham,’ called Thomas as he approached. ‘I gather you want a walk around the town.’

‘I do. And I need you to accompany me to make sure I don’t fall into any drains. I have enough problems without being covered in shit.’

‘I should be delighted, although I have had no breakfast and my pile of papers is a foot tall.’ Thomas took Abraham’s elbow and guided him out of the college. ‘Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?’

‘Around the meadow and by the river, along High Street and into a college. I want to find out if I can tell which one it is by the sounds and smells.’

‘Very well. Let us be off.’

They made their way cautiously down St Aldate’s as far as the entrance to Christ Church Meadow, where they turned in and walked towards the river on the other side. Here the sounds were of the comings and goings of soldiers and townsfolk about their business. Men and women were cleaning and polishing the long lines of artillery pieces. I suppose a clean cannon must be more deadly than a dirty one, thought Thomas. More impressive, anyway. Some thirty yards from the river bank, they stopped.

‘I can hear the river and I can smell it,’ said Abraham. ‘How is it looking today?’

‘It’s running slowly. The level is low.’

‘I thought so. The sound is gentle. Last winter it was running very fast down to the Thames.’

They walked along the bank, neither man saying much, until Abraham stopped again. ‘Last night, I had a premonition of impending death. It rather frightened me, Thomas. That’s why I asked you to accompany me this morning. I feel it might be the last time I leave the college.’

Thomas was taken aback. This was most unlike his old friend, the most rational of men. ‘Oh come now, Abraham. It’s not like you to pay heed to such a thing. I daresay you’ll live to be a hundred.’

Abraham laughed. ‘Good God, I do hope not. I’d be deaf and crippled, as well as blind. Still, it did shake me. Foolish, of course. I’m an old man and we all have to die some time.’

‘We do, but not yet, if you please. I’d have to carry you back to Pembroke.’

Another laugh. ‘I’d best hang on, then.’ They entered High Street at the eastern end and passed University College on their left. ‘Not University, then?’ enquired Abraham, who had sensed where they were. Thinking that he might make Abraham’s task more difficult, Thomas led him up Catte Street, along Broad Street and down Turl Street as far as Lincoln College. Inside the college gate, he stopped. Abraham sniffed the air and listened. ‘Trust you to try a deception, Thomas. It didn’t work, though. I smelled the coal smoke and heard the beggars. This is Lincoln.’

‘How do you know? It could be Exeter.’

‘It feels small and I can hear the kitchen. The Lincoln kitchen is just inside the gate.’ He sniffed again. ‘Fish for dinner, I think.’

‘Fish, certainly.’ Thomas’s nose seldom let him down.

‘There. One sense replaced by another. Although a nose is a poor substitute for a good pair of eyes.’

‘I sometimes wish my nose was rather less good. Especially in this town. Are you ready to return?’

‘I am. Thank you, Thomas. I have enjoyed the walk.’ They left Lincoln and walked along Market Street and down Cornmarket towards Pembroke. Both, as ever, were heaving with market stalls and traders, and Thomas had some difficulty in guiding Abraham through them without tumbling into a drain. On the corner of Queen Street, Thomas noticed a tall soldier and his lady walking away from them along High Street, and having what sounded like an animated conversation. With a shock, Thomas realized that the man was Fayne and the lady Jane Romilly. He stared after them. He saw Jane put a hand on the captain’s arm. He went cold. Abraham sensed his change of mood. ‘What is it, Thomas?’

‘Oh, nothing. I may have just had a premonition, that’s all.’

‘Foolish things, premonitions, I’ve been told. Put it out of your mind.’

‘Good advice. I shall try.’

With Abraham safely back in his room, Thomas left Pembroke again and returned to the meadow. He did not feel like being cooped up in his room and he wanted to think. He retraced their steps past the rows of artillery and towards the river, where he found a quiet place to sit. Jane had said that she was no more than acquainted with Fayne. Yet they were walking together, and she had put her hand on his arm. Then he remembered Fayne’s vulgar boasts about a high-born lady. God’s wounds, surely not Jane Romilly? It was beyond belief. What on earth would she see in a loud-mouthed, ill-mannered oaf like Fayne? And why had she lied? Or had he misunderstood? No, he had not misunderstood. At the masque, she had been quite clear. Clear but untruthful, it appeared.

For nearly an hour Thomas sat and pondered. He was angry and jealous. Angry with her for deceiving him, jealous of him for having Jane. Suddenly he got up. Enough of this, Thomas. You’re a fool. Her business is no business of yours. Forget it. You’ve work to do.

For two days, Thomas attacked the pile of papers with renewed vigour. The despatches were still as interesting as one of Knox’s sermons, but he set himself the task of getting through them twice as quickly as before. It helped to keep his mind off other matters. He left his room only for food and drink and brief bouts of exercise. He did not want to run into Fayne.

After one such excursion, however, he found that Fayne had run into him. Returning to his room, he found the lock broken and his clothes and papers thrown around the floor. He went at once to fetch Silas, who tut-tutted at the mess, arranged to have it cleared up and replaced the broken lock with a new one. While he was working on this, Thomas asked him about Fayne.

‘I don’t like him,’ said Silas. ‘He’s rude to the college servants and finds fault whenever he can. Do you think Captain Fayne did this?’