Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

He knew from the stench when he was nearing the town. It came from the burial pits outside the walls, drains overflowing with human excrement, rotting middens and animal carcasses left to fester in the streets. When a breeze from the north blew the mixture straight into his face, Thomas gagged, and only just kept his seat. Not daring to risk holding the reins in one hand, he left his handkerchief in his pocket and tried not to breathe.

With relief, he entered the town through the south gate, and, just as he had with Simon a month earlier, made his way up St Aldate’s towards Pembroke. By this time, the streets were quieter, and he was soon able to hand the horse to one of Silas’s boys, with an instruction to look after it well. He walked stiffly across the courtyard to his room. There he rubbed his backside, stretched his back and took off his clothes. He retrieved the message from its hiding place and unfolded it carefully. It seemed none the worse for the journey, and its secrets were as safe as ever. Thomas laid it on the table and sluiced himself with water from the jug; trust Silas to keep it full for his return. Much as he wanted to eat and sleep, he tucked the message under his shirt and set off for Christ Church. Master Rush would have to be faced sooner or later and it might as well be sooner.

When Thomas arrived at Christ Church and asked for Tobias Rush, he was instructed to wait in a small room just off the gatehouse. ‘Master Rush does not care for visitors to call at his rooms. Wait here, if you please, sir, and I will send for him,’ said the guard.

Thomas stood waiting and tried to rehearse what he was going to say. When Rush swept in, he looked anything but pleased to have a visitor. ‘Master Hill, after a long and unhappy journey from Newbury with the king, I was at my dinner. What brings you here? Have the coachmen not taken my carriage to the stables?’

‘My apologies for disturbing you, sir. I did not think this matter should wait. On the way from Newbury, we were attacked by highwaymen who killed your coachmen and ransacked your carriage.’

Rush peered at him. ‘Were you harmed?’

‘Strangely, I was not.’

‘Both coachmen killed, yet you were allowed to escape? That is strange indeed.’

‘I cannot account for it.’

‘I imagine not. And what of my carriage?’

‘I left it with the dead men and three of the horses two miles north of Chilton. I rode the fourth horse back. The carriage is damaged but not, I think, beyond repair.’

‘Did the criminals take anything?’

‘Nothing. Not even my three shillings.’

‘Yet they let you live to tell the tale.’

‘Master Rush, I have no more idea than you why that is so. I am not familiar with the ways of such men.’

‘One would hope not.’ Rush’s black eyes were boring into Thomas’s head, as if trying to see into his mind.

He does not believe me, thought Thomas. ‘There is one other thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Before we departed for Newbury, my room in Pembroke was broken into and turned upside down.’

Rush looked surprised. ‘Why did you not tell me this earlier?’

‘I did not wish to trouble you. I think it was the work of the man who occupied the room before me, Captain Fayne. He resents my having taken his room, and he is a gambler. He might have been looking for money. Both the intruder and the highwaymen were certainly looking for something.’

‘And what would that be?’

Absolute discretion, Abraham had said. Not a word. ‘Again, Master Rush, I have no idea. All the despatches I have dealt with so far have been trivial in the extreme. Not a hint of a military secret from either side.’

‘So nothing was taken from your room either?’

‘As far as I could tell, nothing.’

For a few moments, Rush was silent. Then, abruptly, his mood changed and he smiled. ‘It seems to me unlikely that the two events are connected. How would the men who attacked you know you were alone in my carriage on the Newbury road? And I daresay you are right about your room. Fayne was most reluctant to hand it over to you. The important thing is that you are unharmed. The deaths of the coachmen are of course regrettable, but in war there are casualties. I will send men to bring their bodies back to Oxford, and to arrange for my carriage to be repaired.’

It was the longest speech Thomas had ever heard Rush make. Almost effusive. ‘Thank you, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, it has been a tiring day for me too.’

‘Quite so. Put the whole thing out of your mind and leave me to deal with matters. The king will wish you to be at your best for the work that lies ahead.’

Somewhat confused, Thomas made a swift exit and walked quickly back to Pembroke. What a strange man indeed. His mood could shift in a trice, and for no apparent reason. Still, better a friend than an enemy.

The college kitchen was as obliging as ever, and, with a full stomach, and exhausted in mind and body, Thomas was asleep within the hour. The message was safely hidden beneath a floorboard under the bed, with a pisspot on top of it, and there it would stay when he was not working on it.

Ten hours later, his first thoughts on waking were of Margaret and the girls. Conscious that there had been other matters to occupy him, and that he had given them less thought than he should have, he allowed himself the indulgence of lying on his bed and watching them in his mind’s eye. He saw them in the kitchen, Margaret reading, Polly and Lucy playing one of their games or struggling with the sewing stitches they were trying to master. He saw them at the market, with baskets of eggs and vegetables. And he saw them asleep in their beds. God forbid that any harm should come to them, and God forbid that he should be apart from them for much longer. If it had occurred to him, he might have ridden that horse straight to Romsey, not Oxford, and damn the consequences. He missed them terribly.

Then he thought of Jane Romilly. What exactly was her relation ship with Fayne? ‘Just an acquaintance’, as she had claimed, or something more? It had certainly appeared more when he had seen them in the street. Yet Jane had called on him in this very room and brought him the book of sonnets she had bought in John Porter’s shop. There was only one thing for it. He would call on her in Merton. First, however, he must visit Abraham.

The old man was in his usual place by the window, his unseeing eyes looking out on to the courtyard. He heard Thomas knock and enter unbidden. ‘Is that you, Thomas?’ he asked.

‘It is, Abraham. How are you?’

‘Much as before, thank you. More importantly, how are you? I hear you’ve been to war.’

‘Reluctantly, and, thank God, I did no fighting.’

‘Was it as bad as they say?’

‘Whatever you’ve heard, it was worse. Thousands dead and maimed, families destroyed, and for nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Prince Rupert and the king have now returned to Oxford, and Essex will march on to London. If it goes on like this, the war will end only when there are no men left to fight.’

‘Yes. I sometimes think we’d do better if we left it all to the women. We men make such a bloody mess of everything.’

‘I don’t know, Abraham. Queen Elizabeth claimed to have the heart and stomach of a king and threatened to take up arms herself. And she cut off more than a few heads.’

‘Had them cut off, I think you mean, Thomas. Now, what else have you to report?’

‘Rush lent me his carriage for the journey home. He travelled with the king. We were attacked by two highway men, who shot both coachmen and searched the carriage.’

‘Good God. Did they shoot at you?’

‘Oddly, no. They wrecked the carriage, found nothing of value and made off. I rode home on one of the carriage horses.’