Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

Realizing that he was doing just as he did when faced with a new cipher, Thomas smiled and tried something else. Starting from the top left corner, he began counting the stones in the wall. He counted along the rows, noting that the odd-numbered rows began with a small stone and the even-numbered ended with one. The same occurred where a row met the door. He counted two hundred and sixteen stones in the wall. Building a wall must be like decrypting a cipher. It had to be done stone by stone. One stone out of place and the wall would be weak, and would fall. One mistake in a decryption, and the system would fail. Lay a strong foundation, take careful measurements and lay one stone squarely on top of another. Check your work regularly. Wall building and decryption. Much the same.

By the following evening, Thomas was ravenous. No more bread had been brought by the gaolers, and no bodies removed. His stomach was racked with cramps, and he longed to stand or stretch his legs. But whenever he tried to, his legs were grabbed and twisted until he moved them back. He tried to think about the cipher. He saw letters and stones, shapes and patterns. He saw Vigenère’s square as a rippling wave and as a wall of stones. He knew that something important was eluding him, but lacked the strength to search for it. He fell into a sleep which was not a sleep. He saw shapes and heard noises, but he could not tell whether they were real or imagined. He no longer noticed the stench, or the sounds of men retching and defecating. His world began at the wall behind his back and ended at his toes.

Some time that night, the door was opened and the fat gaoler came in again. He unlocked Thomas’s chain and pulled him roughly to his feet. Thomas immediately fell, and was hoisted up by his arm. He struggled to stand.

‘You’ve a visitor, ’ill. Downstairs.’

Thank God. Simon, or even Jane. The gaoler tied his hands behind his back with a short length of rope, and led him by the chain around his neck through the door and down the stone steps to the guardroom.

‘’ere ’e is, sir. I’ll be outside.’

Thomas went in and heard the gaoler lock the gate behind him. In the room were a small table and two chairs. On one of them sat Tobias Rush.

‘Master Hill,’ said Rush, not bothering to stand. ‘I’m greatly distressed to find you here. Do sit down.’ As always, Rush was all in black, hands resting on the silver-topped cane. Thomas sat. ‘News of your arrest reached me only yesterday. I came as soon as I could.’

It was a lie. Thomas stared at him and said nothing.

Rush continued. ‘Master Pearson, the coroner, tells me that there is evidence against you for the murder of Abraham Fletcher. I could scarcely believe it, and told him so. Absurd, I said. Why would Thomas Hill murder Abraham Fletcher?’ He paused. ‘Did you murder Master Fletcher, Thomas?’

You know I did not, Rush, because you did, thought Thomas, saying nothing. Rush’s voice turned menacing.

‘Nothing to say? Then let me assist you. The coroner believes that the murderer resided in the college. An intruder would have had difficulty hiding and would have been noticed. His inquiries have turned up nothing to suggest this. On the contrary, he is certain that the murderer was well known to Master Fletcher. As to motive, the culprit was obviously looking for something, and was prepared to kill to get it. I wonder what that could have been. Have you any idea, Thomas?’

Still Thomas remained silent.

‘No? Let me remind you that you are suspected of a murder for which you have no alibi. Whatever secret Abraham Fletcher was guarding, it would have been dangerous to someone, and who is to say that that someone isn’t you? And I warned you to guard your tongue. Oxford is full of spies and traitors to the Crown. No one is above suspicion, even a lady-in-waiting to the queen.’ He sneered. ‘Now the coroner suspects you of being one of them. If you do not confide in me, there is little I can do to help you. At the very least, you will hang.’

Thomas stared across the table at the black eyes, and saw the evil in them. ‘Thomas, this is foolishness.’ Again Rush’s voice had changed. ‘If you tell me everything, I can help you. I have influence with the king. If you know why Master Fletcher was killed, I urge you to tell me. Otherwise …’

Thomas rose and went to the door. Rush leapt off the chair and exploded in fury.

‘You stupid little man. Tell me what you know, and you may live. Stay silent and you will die. You have my word on it.’

Thomas ignored him, and rattled the door. It was opened by the gaoler.

‘Take him up,’ yelled Rush, ‘and make him suffer. I want the truth out of him.’

Hands still tied and neck in the iron ring, Thomas was dragged up the steps to the cell. The gaoler locked him back in his place, untied his hands and left without a word.

Thomas tried again to concentrate on the wall. He could not do it. His mind was not working. He needed food and water. Without them, the vague idea would stay vague.

‘On yer feet, ’ill,’ ordered the gaoler the next morning. ‘You’re a popular little bugger. You’ve got another visitor.’ After the same procedure with the chain, Thomas was led roughly through the door. He could barely stand and the light outside the cell hurt his eyes. He stumbled down the steps to the guardroom, expecting to see Rush. A figure was standing by the gaoler’s table. He squinted at it. It was Jane.

‘Bring two chairs, man, and be quick about it,’ she snapped at the gaoler. ‘You’ve been well enough paid.’ He lumbered off to find chairs. Jane came to Thomas and held him by the shoulders. ‘Thomas, I weep to see you like this. Have you been harmed?’ Thomas shook his head. The gaoler brought the chairs. ‘I wish to speak privately to Master Hill,’ Jane told him. ‘Return in half an hour.’ As soon as the gaoler had disappeared up the steps, Jane produced from under her shawl a bottle, half a chicken and a small loaf. ‘I thought you might need these.’ Thomas smiled as she untied his hands. ‘Eat first, then we’ll talk.’ She watched silently as he drankale from the bottle and ate a chicken leg.

‘Jane …’ began Thomas, when he had finished.

She put a finger to his lips. ‘Let me speak first, please.’ He nodded. ‘There are things you should know. After Edward was killed at Edgehill, I was lonely and vulnerable. My family had been friends with the Faynes for years, and I had known Francis since we were children. At first, I thought he cared. He can be charming if he wants to be, and he’s always attracted the ladies. He comforted me, but I broke it off as soon as I realized his true character — jealous, vindictive, violent. He was furious. He wasn’t used to being rejected. It was an unpleasant time — threatening letters, unwelcome meetings in the street, insults. He made up stories about me, malicious and untrue. That’s what he’s like. I thought it was over when he left with his regiment. Then I came to Oxford with the queen and found he was here. When I refused him, the insults started up again.’ Jane’s words had come tumbling out, as if they could wait not a second longer to be spoken. Now she stared into Thomas’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry I lost my temper in your room. I have missed you.’

‘And I you,’ he croaked. ‘I’m sorry you see me like this. I do not recommend gaol for an invigorating change of scene.’

Jane smiled. ‘Your old wit, Thomas. That’s good, and much needed. This is a fearsome place. Until we have you released, you will need all your courage and humour.’

‘Jane, I did see you walking with Fayne.’

‘I know. I decided to try to placate him. I reminded him that our families were close, and said that I hoped we could be friends. He wanted to sleep with me. When I refused, he accused me of being a bookseller’s whore, and hit me. I left him in the street, ranting and raging like a lunatic.’ She smiled. ‘I heard that you exacted retribution for me. I must say I was surprised, Thomas. You had given no hint of your fighting skills.’