Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

Thomas went first to Merton, where the queen’s household was preparing to travel. In Merton Street, horses were being groomed and carriages polished. Inside the college, under the watchful eyes of the queen’s ladies, servants bustled about with bags and boxes. Thomas doubted if any of them knew when they were leaving or where they were going, but whenever and wher ever it turned out to be, they would be ready.

Simon was in his room, reading his Bible, when Thomas arrived. ‘Not preparing for the journey, Simon?’ he enquired.

Simon looked up and smiled. ‘Thankfully, a Franciscan has little to prepare, other than his soul. He has everything invested in that.’

‘Judging by the number of horses and carriages, and the heaps of baggage, you won’t be dining on shaggy inkcaps this time.’

‘Probably not. I wouldn’t mind, but her majesty’s household expects something rather more substantial.’

‘Does anyone know when you’re leaving?’

‘I don’t think so. Even the queen is vague on the matter. Do you know why?’

‘I do,’ replied Thomas, taking a seat beside Simon. He told Simon about backwards and forwards, his last-minute decryption, about the contents of the message, and about the lists found in Rush’s rooms.

‘Is the king now persuaded?’ asked Simon.

‘Almost. He has sent a troop to intercept Rush on his way into Oxford. He intends to interrogate Rush himself. I have warned him, however, that such a message would certainly have been sent by more than one route and that Pym will know of the plan for you to travel to Bristol before Exeter.’

‘Then no doubt the plan will change.’

They talked of the queen, Margaret, Polly and Lucy, Oxford and the war. And, finally, they talked of Jane. ‘The queen is distraught at her death. She was very fond of Jane. She insisted that her body be taken to York,’ said Simon. ‘She would have wanted to be buried near her family.’

‘If Rush should hang for nothing else, he should hang for Jane. The rape and murder of a woman he had already tormented with threats against her family.’

‘I agree. Rush is beyond my understanding.’

‘And Fayne should be hanged, too. We must find proof.’

Thomas knew all was not well the moment he set foot back in Christ Church. A group of Lifeguards stood inside the college gate, shuffling their feet and looking sullen. A second group had congregated at the other end of the cattle pen, near the Great Hall. Both groups seemed to be waiting for something. He asked one of the first group what news they brought.

‘News that our captain is giving the king at this very moment,’ replied the soldier, ‘and I thank God it’s him, not me.’

‘I am Thomas Hill, adviser to the king. May I know what the news is?’

The soldier exchanged a glance with the man next to him. ‘The king will know by now, Master Hill, so I may as well tell you. We were sent to intercept Tobias Rush on his way into Oxford from the west. The king wanted him brought straight here.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘No, sir, far from it. While we were engaged with his guards, he slipped away. Just turned his horse and galloped off. We hadn’t time to stop him.’

‘Did you give chase?’

‘We did, sir, but he was gone. His majesty will not be happy. The captain told us it was a task we had better not fail in. I hope his majesty will give us another chance.’

‘I wish you well, Captain. Tobias Rush must be brought to justice.’ Rush, now a proven traitor, still at large. Perhaps Fayne, his murdering accomplice, might lead Thomas to him.

Thomas went from Christ Church to Pembroke, where Silas met him in the courtyard. ‘I’m happy to find you looking well, sir,’ he said, shaking Thomas’s hand. ‘There’s been all manner of stories going about. We heard you’d been put in the castle gaol, then you’d disappeared, then you’d come back and were under guard in Christ Church.’

‘Servants’ gossip, Silas.’

‘I suppose so, sir. Is it true?’

‘Some of it. But I’m free now, and looking forward to going home.’

‘When will you be leaving, sir?’

‘The king expects me to travel with the queen’s party in a few days’ time. Before then, I have a task to perform and I should value your help, Silas.’

Silas’s eyes narrowed. ‘It wouldn’t have to do with Tobias Rush, sir, would it? I wouldn’t want to stand too close to him.’

‘Not Rush, Silas, Francis Fayne. Has he been seen in the college?’

‘Oh no, sir. Captain Fayne has left us. He was here one day, gone the next. Never a word of explanation, and no one knows why, or where he went.’

‘No idea where he might be?’

‘None, sir, and I’m not in a hurry to find out. Loudmouthed beggar, he was, spent his days gambling and whoring. Never saw him do any soldiering.’

‘He’s a member of Sir Henry Bard’s regiment now. Do you know where they’re billeted?’

‘I don’t think they’re in any of the colleges, so they’ll be in the town. The almshouses, sir, I daresay. God knows how Fayne got himself a room in Pembroke.’

‘Thank you, Silas. I’ll start there. Let me know if you do happen to hear anything.’

‘I will, sir. Treat him with caution, mind. He didn’t take kindly to your last meeting.’

Thomas spent most of the following day knocking on the doors of rows of modest houses in Brewer Street, Littlegate and the narrow streets around them. Every one of them had been commandeered and was occupied by army officers and their families. Most of the wretched townsfolk who had been forced to hand over their homes had left Oxford and were living in neighbouring villages. Some would have found a roof to sleep under, others would be sheltering as best they could in the woods and haystacks.

By the evening he was sick of asking the whereabouts of a Captain Fayne, and sicker still of the blank looks and shakes of the head that he received in reply. Even members of the same regiment could not say where Fayne was, only that he had dis appeared. He might be dead, he might have deserted and gone home. No one managed a good word for him, or even much interest. Either Fayne had covered his tracks very well, or he was accorded no more respect by his fellow soldiers than he was by Thomas.

If the army neither knew nor cared about Captain Fayne, perhaps the whores and drunks of the city did. That evening, Thomas set off from Christ Church, walked up St Aldate’s and Cornmarket and turned into Market Street. The last time he had walked in this part of the town had been after watching Jane die. Then he had seen nothing. Now he saw everything. Even at that hour, Market Street was busy. Traders were trying to sell off what remained of their wares while thrifty housewives tried to shave another farthing or two off their prices, and ragged boys moved in and out of the crowd, looking for an easy pocket to pick or purse to snatch. Failing those, an apple or a bun from an unguarded stall would be slipped into a bag and taken home for dinner. And, if it were possible, the open drain which ran down the middle of the street was overflowing with even more muck and shit than it had been before. Thomas held a handkerchief to his face and picked his way carefully towards the Crown.

The inn was as busy as ever. Thomas wormed his way in, nudging and inching between drinkers and getting cursed and elbowed in return, until he reached the hatch from which the landlord dispensed his wares. From there, with his back to the wall, he looked around the room in the hope of spotting a head of long fair hair. It was a vain hope. Francis Fayne, by his height and his appearance, would stand out in any crowd, and he was not standing out in this one. Nor was he at the table at the back where they had played hazard. Not that Thomas had really expected to see him. A man who has been party to rape and is known to have consorted with a traitor does not disappear only to reappear at one of his old haunts. But, his fellow soldiers having been no help at all, Thomas had to start somewhere, and the Crown was as good a place as any.