Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

The message, however, was thoroughly disobliging. For two more fruitless days Thomas wrestled with it, his frustration growing with the knowledge that the army would soon be on the move. If there was to be a battle, this message might have something to do with it. If he could only do his job, lives might yet be spared. Other than being sure that Monsieur Vigenère was behind the encryption, however, he had learned almost nothing about it. Sheets and sheets of paper, each one covered in combinations of numbers and letters making no sense whatever, littered the floor. He had got through gallons of ink and dozens of quills, and went to bed each night with a throbbing ache behind his eyes. Damnable Frenchman, damnable cipher. Damnable war, damnable Oxford. He longed to go home and forget about all of them. But he could not. He might be hanged for his trouble, and so might Abraham.

On the third morning, he awoke thinking of Jane Romilly. While he had been engrossed in the cipher, she had barely entered his mind. Today, however, she was there. The beautiful lady-in-waiting with eyes of different colours, who had walked with him in the gardens, asked about his family and lied to him about Francis Fayne. And had stomped out of his room, leaving him speechless. What was he to make of her?

Before he could begin to make anything of her, there was a loud knock on the door. Thomas struggled out of bed and opened it. It was Tobias Rush, who this time did not bother with pleasantries. ‘Master Hill,’ he said, ‘kindly make ready to travel. The king has returned from Gloucester and wishes you to accompany him to Newbury, where he will join forces with Prince Rupert.’

Not Gloucester or Reading then. No five guineas for the Dutch artilleryman. ‘Is the king expecting to fight?’

‘It is likely. We have information that the Earl of Essex, with at least fourteen thousand men, is also marching there. Prince Rupert is racing there with his cavalry and we will march to join him. We must reach the town before Essex does, to prevent his returning to London with his army intact. You are to be responsible for the security of the king’s despatches.’

‘When do we leave?’

‘By noon. Three infantry regiments with artillery are assembling on Christ Church Meadow. Present yourself there within the hour. I shall be accompanying you to Newbury.’ And with that, Rush hurried off.

Newbury, which Simon and he had avoided on the way to Oxford. About halfway home. Strategically important, Thomas supposed, either for an attempt by Essex and Fairfax to take Oxford or for a Royalist attack on London. Otherwise, a modest town of no great merit or distinction, which he had visited several times to buy books. Fourteen thousand of the enemy against how many of us? he wondered. Would he be obliged to carry arms? God forbid that he might have to use them. Simon had said that the king knew he would never take up arms against Englishmen, but in the heat of battle would the king care? Would he care himself? A sword in the stomach for Thomas, or a musket ball in the eye of the other fellow? He might be about to find out.

It took Thomas very little time to be ready. He packed his few spare clothes, quills, his sharpening knife and papers into his bag, and hid the encrypted message under his shirt. It felt safer there. He did not want to leave it behind, and he might have time to study it some more. His box of quills he wrapped in a shirt for safety. When he arrived at the meadow, a light rain was falling and the ground was a muddy mass of soldiers, tradesmen, women, horses, wagons, supplies, ammunition, carts and cannon. The camp followers and baggage train had joined the fighting men. He could discern no semblance of military order, nor of anyone attempting to impose any, and he could make little out of the incessant clash and clamour of an army preparing to march. Soldiers stood in small groups, apparently waiting to be told what to do, and grooms tried in vain to keep their horses calm, while lines of townsmen and women, supervised by young officers, loaded every transport with as many crates and boxes as it would take. As long as they had insisted on payment in advance, the butchers and bakers of Oxford were in for another quick and substantial profit. Thomas stood under an elm on the north side of the meadow and watched.

By the time the king and his entourage arrived, some form of order had miraculously appeared, and his majesty, enthusiastically greeted by his guards, rode a grey stallion to the front of the lines. He wore a gleaming breastplate, carried a heavy cavalry sword, and acknowledged the loyal cheers with a regal wave of his gauntleted hand. On horseback, his lack of height was less obvious, and he looked cheerful and confident. The queen, also mounted, approached the king and bade him a fond, very public farewell. The Generalissima and her unborn child would not be marching to battle.

Beside the queen’s horse walked her personal bodyguard and ladies-in-waiting. No spaniels or dwarves today. One of the ladies turned her head and stared straight at Thomas. He returned the stare. He was too far away to see them, but he knew her eyes were different colours. Neither of them smiled or gave a hint of recognition. Then she turned and walked on.

Thomas, unsettled at seeing Jane, and unsure where to go or what to do, stayed where he was and waited for instructions. They came from Tobias Rush, who appeared quietly beside him. ‘Master Hill, if you would make your way to the main gate of Christ Church, you will find a carriage waiting for us. I will join you as soon as the king has departed.’

Wondering how Rush had found him, Thomas edged his way around the meadow and up the path between Christ Church and Corpus Christi to the Christ Church gate. The carriage that awaited him was painted in royal blue, emblazoned with the gold monogram TR, drawn by four matched black geldings and driven by a magnificently uniformed coachman, whose assistant, equally magnificent, sat beside him. Inside, the seats were padded and covered in soft red leather. While the army trudged over mud, splashed through ankle-deep puddles, twisted its knees in ruts and holes and took its rest in dripping hedgerows, Master Rush and Master Hill would travel to battle in style. Thomas wondered whether the king intended to ride bravely at the head of his men, or to abandon his stallion for the comfort of a royal carriage.

It was not long before two college servants appeared carrying between them a large chest, which, with the help of the coachmen, they manhandled on to the coach. The chest was closely followed by its owner. Tobias Rush, angrily shouting at them to make haste and allow him room to board the carriage, swept them aside with his silver-topped cane and sat down opposite Thomas. ‘I do so dislike travelling,’ he said with a sigh, ‘and, with this rain, the journey will not be pleasant. Luckily, I know a tolerable inn in the village of Drayton, where we’ll spend the night. It’s about ten miles from here. Tomorrow we’ll continue to Newbury, another eighteen miles or so. The king, I believe, plans to stop at Wantage.’ Rush eyed Thomas’s small bag. ‘Is that all you’ve brought, Master Hill? We may be away for some days.’

‘Master Rush, it’s all I have,’ Thomas replied sharply. ‘I was not permitted to bring anything more to Oxford, and have not been inclined to make purchases here, with the prices three times those in Romsey.’

‘In that case, feel free to ask for anything you need. I will arrange for it.’ Rush smiled his thin smile, then called to the coachman, ‘Let us make haste. We must be away before the army sets off, or we’ll be trapped among them.’ Thomas heard the coachman snap his long whip and they were off, bumping and lurching over the cobbles. They left Oxford by the south gate, passed through the town’s defences and round three huge burial pits, and were soon on the road to Newbury. Somewhere behind them, the king and his Lifeguards marched to battle.