Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘Not as far as I know, sir,’ replied Silas. ‘He never mentioned any.’

‘A pity. You’d be surprised how many murderers turn out to be wives, husbands and sons. Did he have any enemies?’

‘I can think of none.’

‘Alas, Master Hill, it seems he had at least one. One who was searching for something. What could that have been?’

‘I doubt it was money. Abraham was not a wealthy man.’

‘It looks more like a document or information of some kind. The murderer must have hoped to find it in a book. What subjects did Master Fletcher teach?’

‘Mathematics, philosophy and a little divinity.’

‘What might be secret about those?’

‘Very little. He was just an elderly scholar who loved books and learning.’ Thomas was getting angry. He was feeling the strain of answering the coroner’s questions, and of having to lie. He did not know who the murderer was, but he was quite sure about the motive. It was about ciphers, and, most probably, the one under Thomas’s floorboards. But he could not risk telling the coroner that.

‘And why would he have been tortured?’ The little man was persistent, as coroners usually were.

‘Master Pearson, I really have no idea,’ said Thomas. ‘Abraham Fletcher was my friend. This has been a terrible shock, and I would like to go now.’

‘Before you do, sir, someone will have to come to my house formally to identify the deceased. I will have the body taken there as soon as I have inspected the room.’

‘I will come tomorrow,’ said Thomas. ‘May I go now?’

‘You may, sir. I know where you are if I need you.’

In the courtyard outside, Thomas was horrified to find a curious crowd of soldiers. The coroner must have been recognized, and word spread around the college. Soon it would be around Oxford. He wondered if that was the murderer’s intention. Ignoring the stares and whispers, he hurried past the soldiers and across the yard, hoping not to be accosted again by Fayne.

He opened the door to his room, and stood staring. In the time he had been in Abraham’s room, someone, and it was not hard to guess who, had been there. The bed had been stripped of blankets, papers were strewn across the floor and his clothes had been dumped in a corner. Fayne. The cowardly oaf had taken his revenge in this petty way. Then Thomas looked around. It was subtly different to the last time. Not only had the lock been opened with a key, rather than broken, but this time he had the impression that the room had been searched. The papers on the floor had been placed rather than thrown there, as if the intruder had gone through them. Thomas pushed aside the bed, moved the pot and pulled up the loose floorboard. The message and his workings were still there. He replaced the board and sat on his chair. He wrinkled his nose — there was the faintest trace of a sweet smell he did not recognize. He put the notion aside and looked about. The room reminded him of the bookshop after the soldiers had wrecked it. For some time he sat and thought. Erasmus Pole and Abraham Fletcher cruelly murdered, a message encrypted with the Vigenère cipher, an unseemly fight and his room ransacked. What in God’s name had induced him to come to Oxford? He went to fetch Silas.

Silas too was horrified. ‘Master Fletcher and now you, sir,’ he said. ‘As well you weren’t here, or …’ He stopped himself just in time.

‘Did you have a spare key made, Silas?’

‘No, sir. It was only yesterday you lost it.’

‘And you’ve had yours on your ring at all times?’

‘I have, sir.’

Had his key not disappeared down that stinking drain after all? And if it had not, who now had it? Certainly not three small boys, who had no idea which door it opened. He thought about it, and about all the other things that had happened, and it hit him. Surely not. ‘Silas, please send a boy for Father de Pointz at Merton. Ask him to come at once.’

‘At once, sir.’

‘And, Silas, tell no one about this. It would only complicate matters.’

If Silas was surprised, he did not show it. ‘As you wish, Master Hill.’

When Silas had left, Thomas made no effort to put the room back together. He wanted Simon to see it.

Simon arrived within the hour. ‘What’s been happening, Thomas?’ he asked. ‘We hear there has been a murder. Is this connected to it?’

‘It is. And it’s Abraham who’s been murdered. Murdered and tortured. Simon, his eyes were cut out. How could any man do such a thing?’

Simon crossed himself. ‘Someone who wanted something badly enough, and thought Abraham had it. Poor Abraham. He was a good man. I grieve that he suffered. I shall pray for his soul.’ He paused and crossed himself again. ‘When did it happen?’

‘The coroner thinks it was during the night. The door wasn’t forced. Abraham let his own murderer in.’

‘And this?’ He indicated the ruined room.

‘When I was at Abraham’s room.’

‘Then the murderer did not find what he wanted in Abraham’s room and came here to look for it. Did he find it here, Thomas?’

‘Thankfully, he did not. I have it safe.’

‘And can you tell me what it is?’

No more pretence. Thomas retrieved the message from its hiding place and handed it to Simon. ‘This is what he was looking for. A text encrypted with a Vigenère square, a cipher thought to be unbreakable.’

‘A Vigenère square? I recall your mentioning Vigenère in the inn at Abingdon. Is this the same man?’

‘It is. And you must have your second lesson. If anything should happen to me, it would be as well if someone else knew about it.’ Thomas patiently described Blaise de Vigenère’s square with its twenty-six possible encryptions of each letter of a text, rendering analysis of individual letter frequencies useless. Only a possessor of the keyword could decrypt a Vigenère text. He told Simon how the message had come to him, and that Abraham was sure it contained information vital to the outcome of the war. ‘Texts which use the square are laborious to encrypt and decrypt,’ he explained, ‘so it’s seldom used for military purposes. This message is hiding something the king needs to know, and his enemies will do anything to prevent him knowing. That’s why Abraham died.’

‘If you’re right, Thomas, you’re in grave danger. You certainly can’t stay here.’

‘Simon, what do you know of Tobias Rush?’

‘Rush? Come now, Thomas, surely you don’t think he’s behind Abraham’s murder? Rush is one of the king’s closest advisers. That would make him a traitor as well as a murderer. An unpleasant fellow he may be, but a traitor? Surely not.’

Thomas told him about Rush’s visit and the questions about his work. He described the journey from Newbury and the deaths of the coachmen, and he pointed out how easy it would have been for Rush to gain entry to Abraham’s room by pretending to be on the king’s business. And he told him about the ‘accident’ in the street and the loss of his key. He guessed that the boys who had knocked him down had been paid by Rush to steal his key. Simon listened carefully. When Thomas had finished his account, he said, ‘Thomas, even if Rush did murder Abraham, he could not have searched your room.’

‘Why not? He could have hidden in the college and watched me cross the courtyard.’

‘No. The king is away from Oxford and sent for him last night. He left around midnight and has not yet returned. I know because two of the queen’s men went with him as guards. If he were back in Oxford, so would they be.’

If the coroner was right about the time of death, Rush could have murdered Abraham and been back in Christ Church before the summons from the king arrived. But he could not have ransacked Thomas’s room. ‘Then he had an accomplice. Before departing to join the king, Rush sent someone to watch for a chance to enter the room, using my key, and to find the message. And I believe I know who it was.’