Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

‘Rush’s men?’

‘Yes. By a stroke of fortune, I passed them on my way here and arrived just in time. Otherwise you would be on your way back to Oxford Castle. Happily, the abbot had spare tunics to hand, including a long one, and I was able to dissuade their leader from dealing with you as King Henry’s knights dealt with Thomas Becket.’

‘Again I owe you my thanks, Simon. Do remember, though, that I am only here because of you, and I may yet have further need of your services.’

‘Let us pray not. Now, knowing that you make little sense until you have breakfasted, I have arranged for food to be brought. I am impatient to hear of your progress on the cipher.’

‘Good. Simon, why the voice?’

‘Ah, an interesting question. I am not entirely sure myself, except that I believe Richard Burbage liked to assume the voice of the character he was playing, even before learning his words. He claimed that it helped him to forget who he really was, and to become the character.’

‘As actors do.’

‘Actors, yes, and traitors. Good God, I almost forgot.’ Simon took a letter from inside his habit and handed it to Thomas. ‘This arrived yesterday from Romsey. Good news, I trust.’

Thomas was about to open the letter when a loud knock on the door signalled the arrival of breakfast. It was brought by a slightly built friar who kept his eyes to the floor. ‘And we want to know how the work is going. Have you made progress?’

‘We?’ asked Thomas, looking pointedly at the other friar, who had so far kept his face hidden under his hood.

‘Ah. Of course.’ Simon nodded to his companion, whose hood came off to reveal a serenely smiling Jane Romilly.

‘Good morning, Thomas. We thought to surprise you, although the disguise was necessary to gain access to the abbey. The abbot would not approve of a lady visitor.’

Torn between Jane, the letter and the decrypted message, Thomas blathered. ‘Lady Romilly. Jane. An unexpected pleasure. How are you? Well, I trust. And the queen? Is she well?’

Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘The queen’s spirits are low, but she is well, thank you. As am I.’

‘Good, good. Excellent. That is a comfort. You must have been here when the search was on.’

‘I was. Disguised as a Benedictine and making an excellent mutton stew in the abbey kitchens. Our friends will have a good dinner tonight.’

‘You weren’t searched?’

‘Thankfully not,’ laughed Jane. ‘The poor man might have died of shock.’

Or delight, thought Thomas. ‘It’s well that you’ve come. I have news. The message is decrypted. Here it is.’ Thomas passed his decryption to Simon, who read it twice and handed it to Jane.

‘The brackets, Thomas? Guesses?’ asked Simon.

‘Guesses, yes, from the context. 182 and 264 could be any of their commanders, and 421 may be Parliament. They matter little. It’s 775 we need to know.’

‘It’s Rush, isn’t it?’

‘We know it is, but this is not proof. Rush would just laugh at it.’

‘Are you quite certain of the decryption, Thomas?’ asked Simon.

‘Quite certain. The idea I mentioned worked.’

‘Then, proof or no proof, the queen is in grave danger of being abducted. We’re lucky they haven’t already tried, if this is their plan. The king must be told at once. Jane and I will leave immediately.’

‘Why me?’ asked Jane. ‘You’ll travel faster without me, and I can add nothing to the task. Go alone, Simon, and I will wait here until you return.’

‘Leave you here? The abbot would never speak to me again if he found out. A woman alone in the abbey. My soul would be in mortal danger. Yours too, I daresay.’

‘Nonsense, Simon. Your soul is quite safe, as mine shall be. Thomas will make sure of it, won’t you, Thomas?’

‘Certainly I will. Go, Simon, and return as soon as you’ve warned the king. I’ll show Jane how a Vigenère cipher works.’

‘Very well,’ replied Simon with a nod to Jane. He handed her a key. ‘Lock the door after me. And be here when I return.’

‘Read your letter, Thomas,’ said Jane when Simon had gone, ‘and then we’ll eat.’

Thomas broke the seal and read the letter. It was short and direct. Margaret thanked him for writing, albeit belatedly, and was glad to learn that he was in good health. She and the girls were also well, but missed him greatly. Lucy asked if he would be home for her birthday at the end of October. The town had been quiet since he left. News of the war arrived daily, occasionally something about the king and queen in Oxford. And, finally, she had received two unsigned letters advising her to take great care of herself and her daughters in these troubled times. The hand was untutored and the grammar poor, and she had dismissed them as the work of some mischief-maker. Still, she hoped they would see Thomas soon. They all sent fondest love.

Uncertain quite what to make of this, Thomas read it out to Jane.

‘I’m sure it’s no more than a local man with his eye on a handsome widow. While you’re away, perhaps he’s hoping to persuade Margaret that she should take a husband. Can you think of anyone who might do that?’ she asked.

‘Several, but I’m not so sure. Margaret wouldn’t have mentioned it unless she had some concern.’

Jane rose and took his hands in hers. ‘Be calm, Thomas. Margaret and your nieces merely want to see you safely home. We must deliver you to them just as soon as we can. Now let us eat our breakfast.’

‘Why are the queen’s spirits low, Jane?’ asked Thomas, as they ate.

‘Her majesty’s mood is a mirror of the king’s. When he laughs, so does she. When he is despondent, so is she. When he is anxious, his stammer gets worse, and that makes him angry. Then the queen is angry, and the mood at court is black.’

‘Was it Newbury that so affected him?’

‘Partly, yes. The carnage, they say, was fearful, and he lost many friends. Falkland especially he mourns. And Essex has reached London with most of his army intact. Newbury was a disaster. Three thousand men lost, and for nothing. But there has also been news from the north. The Scots have signed Pym’s Solemn League and Covenant. They have promised military support against the king in return for a guarantee of no interference in the Scottish Church, and reforms to the Church of England. Her majesty is particularly vexed, and the king now expects the Scottish Covenanters to march south in the new year. For a Scot, it is doubly hard to bear.’

‘And it could alter the course of the war. If the king has to strengthen his defences in the north, his forces will be greatly stretched. Parliament will seek to take advantage. I fear we’ll see a good deal more bloodshed next year.’

‘If only a peace could be negotiated. Talks have been going on for months, yet that is all they are. Talks. And, by all accounts, ill-tempered talks. Ill-tempered talks, and no listens. Talks without listens achieve very little, Thomas, don’t you think?’

‘I do. And I think you should be a writer, Lady Romilly. You have a way with words.’

‘And what should I write? Plays, essays, philosophy?’

‘You should write poetry. Lady Wroth’s poems have become quite popular, and I’ll wager this war will find more ladies putting quill to paper. Love, war, death, misery — the very stuff of poetry. Why not try your hand?’

‘Would you be my tutor, Thomas? I should need guidance.’

‘Naturally. That is exactly why I suggested it. Shall we begin at once?’

‘We shall.’

Three hours later, tutor and pupil, arms and legs entwined, awoke in the narrow bed. ‘You’re an excellent pupil, Lady Romilly. Alas, however, I have neither wine nor sweetmeats to offer you. Instead, would you care for instruction in the matter of the Vigenère cipher?’