Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘I am not proud of what I did. I abhor violence. I can scarcely believe what I saw at Newbury.’

‘We hear that six thousand men died there. The king grieves greatly for the loss of his friends, especially Lord Falkland. His mood is sombre.’

‘It was pointless, Jane. Thousands more widows and orphans, and for nothing.’

‘I know. For nothing. As Edward’s death was for nothing.’ She paused. ‘Thomas, Simon has told me about Erasmus Pole, about Abraham Fletcher’s murder, about your room being searched and about your lost key. You are in grave danger.’

‘Rush came here yesterday, hoping to find out what I know. I am sure it was he who had me sent here. He offered help and he made threats. Why would he do that unless he is serving another master?’ Thomas paused. ‘And he has tried to divert attention from himself by warning me about you.’ The colour drained from Jane’s face. Thomas looked down at his feet. ‘Tell me you had no part in this, Jane, please.’ It was no more than a whisper.

‘Thomas,’ she replied softly, ‘I swear that I had no part in the murder of Abraham Fletcher. I heard of it only from Simon.’

Thomas nodded. ‘Thank God. In this hellhole, the mind plays tricks. We know Rush had an accomplice who searched my room. He could not have done it himself. I believe it was Fayne.’

Jane shut her eyes and breathed deeply. Then she took his hands in hers. ‘Rush is a monster. But he has the ear of the king, and it would be foolish to move against him without proof. Have you any proof?’

‘No. We have evidence of opportunity and we have our instincts, but we do not have proof. Not yet.’

‘Not yet?’

‘Jane, has Simon told you about the message?’

‘Not a particular message. I know about your work because you told me. That’s all.’

‘Then, for your own safety, I shall not tell you either. However, there is a slight chance that, if I can escape from here, I will be able to furnish proof.’

‘Thomas, the coroner’s jury will assemble in three days. In the absence of the king, Simon is trying to persuade the queen to sign an order for your release. The queen is always reluctant to act without the king’s agreement, and would prefer to wait until he is in a more receptive mood. That might be too late. If the coroner’s jury send you for trial at the Assizes, even the king would hesitate to intervene.’

Jane reached for Thomas’s hands. They were trembling. ‘Then we must hope for the queen’s assistance,’ he whispered. ‘Rush is a vile murderer, a torturer and a traitor. He must be exposed.’ His voice was trembling too.

The half-hour was almost up. Jane retied Thomas’s hands. As they heard the gaoler’s footsteps on the stones, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. ‘Simon will bring news as soon as there is any. Be brave. I shall be thinking of you.’

‘And I you, Jane. Thank you for coming.’

Back in the cell, fortified by the food and ale, Thomas tried again to trap the elusive thought that somehow linked the wall and the cipher. He counted the stones again, and pictured the mason. Neither helped. He stared at the wall, willing it to speak to him. For a long time, it remained silent. Then, without warning, it spoke.

The patterns made by the rows of stones jumped out of the wall. He could see them clearly. There were four distinct vertical columns of stones, each one with a pattern of its own. Half-stones and whole stones in the first column, and whole stones attached to one or the other in the second column. He saw four columns making the whole. All day, he studied the rows of bricks and thought about how he would use the insight he had at last captured to break the cipher. The Vigenère square could be broken. He was sure of it.

The cramping pains began that night. They started in his stomach and spread rapidly to his chest and legs. His joints ached and his head was on fire. He sat shivering and trembling until morning, unable to prevent his stomach convulsing and his bowels voiding themselves, until, too weak to sit any longer, he slid down the wall and lay on his side, his head resting on his dead neigh-bour and his legs pushed up into his stomach by the man in front.

At first he was conscious. He saw the gaoler come in and the big bearded man seizing a loaf. He heard the whimpering of men dying and in pain. And, as clearly as if he were looking into a mirror, he saw himself. His mind, cruelly separated from his body, hovered in the foul air of that hellish place and watched death take him.

Later, slipping in and out of consciousness, he lacked the strength to move and knew that the will to survive was draining out of him. Courage and humour, Jane had said. Thank God she could not see him like this. When the gaoler next came in with bread, he was kicked in the back, and heard a distant voice say ‘finished’. He knew then that it was over.

An hour later, he did not hear the commotion outside the cell door, and he did not see the door open and the iron collar removed from his neck. When strong arms lifted him from the floor, he opened his eyes and tried to focus. He vaguely saw a face he recognized and heard a voice he knew, but could not place them. The effort was too much. His eyes closed and he passed out.

On a glorious June day Margaret and he had taken the girls for a walk in the water meadows outside Stockbridge. They were bright children, especially interested in nature and words. Both were blonde, with their mother’s brown eyes and dimpled chin. They set out a meal under an oak tree near a narrow stream, normally clear and shallow, but on that day running faster and deeper than usual from the recent rains, and brownish from mud that had slipped from the bank. Sometimes they saw trout in the stream, but not that day. It was too muddy. Margaret and he put out a cold chicken, small loaves she had baked herself, cheese, butter, apples stored since the autumn and a dish of early raspberries. There was apple juice for the girls and bottles of sweet elderberry wine for them.

After they had eaten, Thomas entertained the girls with a game he had invented for them. He spelt out a new word, and they had to find its meaning. They could ask him ten questions and then had to make a guess. That day, the first word had been arboreal. It was a difficult one, they did not guess it, and he had to explain it to them. The afternoon was warm and they dozed under the oak tree. The girls were old enough to play by themselves for a while, and he and Margaret would be woken if they were needed.

It was cooler when Thomas managed to open his eyes. He could not see the girls, so he called for them. There was no reply. Margaret immediately awoke. They called again and again, and walked up and down the bank of the stream. Surely it was too shallow for either of the girls to have been in danger, even if they had somehow slipped in? They walked back and forth calling the girls’ names. Still there was no reply. Margaret began to panic.

‘Thomas, where are they? They wouldn’t run off. Someone must have taken them. Please God, no. Who would have taken them? Thomas, who would have taken them?’

‘Hush now, Margaret. They haven’t been taken. They’ve wandered off and will be back soon. We’ll wait here a while.’ But he too was worried. This had never happened before.

They stood together under the oak tree, taking it in turns to call out, and scanning the meadow and hedgerows for a glimpse of the girls. There was neither sight nor sound of them. Suddenly, a shower of twigs landed on their heads. They looked up expecting to see red squirrels in the tree. There were indeed squirrels — two of them — but they were blonde, not red, with brown eyes, dimpled chins and big grins. Margaret was furious.