Andrew Swanston - The King's Spy

With his chest, neck and face cut and bloody, and unable to see much out of his right eye, Thomas considered risking a scream. But Rush would not hesitate to plunge that blade into his eye, and, in any case, a scream might not be heard. Rush sat on the left side of the bed, so he concentrated on wriggling his right hand. There was a slight give in the rope that held him to the bed frame. With a lot of work, he might be able to loosen it enough to slip his hand through. The question was, would he have time to do it? The blade appeared again. This time, it sliced through his breeches and down his leg to the knee. Then it travelled up the other leg, stopping just short of his groin. Blood dripped on to the bed. Rush threw another pail of water over him.

‘So important in discussions of this sort to know when to pause,’ he whispered in Thomas’s ear. ‘One wants one’s listener to be able to give one his full attention and to encourage him to make a sensible decision. I have made my offer, Thomas. The matter is now in your hands.’

‘I would require a guarantee of absolute safety for my family,’ whispered Thomas, trying to ignore the pain.

‘And naturally you shall have it. They will join you in London, where you will be found an excellent house, with appointments and servants appropriate to your position.’

‘How will this be arranged?’

‘That need not concern you, Thomas. I shall personally supervise the arrangements for their safe passage from Romsey. And I shall escort you to London myself.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘Trust? What has trust to do with it? Be realistic, Thomas. Why would I lie? You have something of value to me. I’m offering you the choice of saving your life and your family’s lives, or a painful death, ignorant of what lies in store for them. Which shall it be?’

‘I need time to consider.’

‘Don’t be absurd. Time to consider what? Which eye I shall take first? Whether you will bleed to death? The issue is clear. Decide.’

‘I need time. You said I have something of value to you. Allow me an hour to consider your offer.’

‘Very well. An hour. Not a minute longer, or be sure that you have seen your last dawn.’

Thomas closed his eyes. Perversely, Homer, of all people, came to mind. When his beloved ‘rosy-fingered dawn, child of the morn’ arrived, would Thomas be able to see it? Rush was expert with his Spanish blade. A twist of the hand, and his eye would be gone. At least the bleeding from his neck and chest had stopped. He tried to think clearly. The rope around his wrist had moved very little despite his efforts to work it loose, his ankles were tied together and Rush was sitting no more than a few feet away. Go with him or die here. Scylla and Charybdis — more Homer. With no idea of what to do if he did manage to free his hand, he clenched his teeth and kept working on the rope, which had already rubbed his wrist raw. Rush had twisted it twice around his wrist, then looped it around the wooden frame of the bed and knotted it tightly. To release his hand he would have to loosen the knot enough to pull it through. The indestructible Odysseus might do it; Thomas Hill probably not.

After no more than a few minutes, Rush, who had been sitting very still, stirred. ‘Did I say an hour, Thomas? How foolish of me. I find that my patience has already run out. What is your decision?’ Thomas needed more time. The rope was definitely looser, and, by squeezing his fingers together, he could pull his hand through the loop as far as the ball of his thumb. Ten minutes might be enough.

‘How will we get out of the college undetected?’

Rush smiled and pulled from his pocket an iron key. ‘The king’s private gate should serve us. I took the precaution of having a key made for myself when it was built.’

Thomas feigned ignorance. ‘The king’s private gate? Is there such a thing?’

‘There is. Now tell me your decision.’

But Thomas did not have to answer. There was a loud hammering on the door, and an urgent voice outside. ‘Thomas. Wake up. We’re leaving within the hour and you’re to come with us.’ It was Simon.

Rush was on his feet at once, his sword at Thomas’s throat. ‘Not a sound, Hill, or it will be your last.’

Simon hammered on the door and called out again, this time louder. ‘Thomas. Wake up. We must hurry.’

Thomas felt the point of Rush’s sword prick his throat. Rush would have locked the door after knocking him out, and Simon would not have a key, although Rush could not know that. He had to alert Simon without being immediately skewered. He made his hand as small as he could and wrenched it hard. It very nearly slipped through the rope. One more try and it would come. He had to make Rush look away. Risking the point of the sword, he turned his head towards Rush, looked past him, widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows as if in astonishment. Rush caught the look and turned. Thomas jerked his hand free and grabbed Rush’s wrist, twisting it as hard as he could. The sword dropped from his hand and rattled on to the floor. He shouted as loudly as his dry throat would permit. ‘Simon, kick the door down.’

Rush snarled, pulled his wrist free and bent to retrieve the sword. As he did so, the door, with a crack like a musket, broke free of its lock and opened into the room. Rush picked up the sword and moved towards the door, where Simon stood watching him.

‘Well, priest, not a good time to call.’

The words were hissed. Rush took two quick steps and thrust the sword at Simon’s groin. For a big man, Simon could move very quickly, as Thomas had seen before. He stepped to his left, and chopped down on Rush’s arm with the edge of his hand. Rush cursed, but did not drop the sword. Now he knew what his opponent could do, he would take more care. Simon still stood at the door, not giving Rush the chance to get past him. Even unarmed, he would be a difficult obstacle to move. Rush circled cautiously around him, the sword pointing at his face. A false move and this man might disarm him. To test his speed, he jabbed at his eyes and stomach, his own eyes never leaving Simon’s. Simon deftly avoided the jabs, until Rush subtly changed his angle of attack, and drew blood from his cheek. Simon barely flinched. Again, Rush drew blood and again Simon ignored it. Given a chance, he would break Rush’s arm, and Rush knew it.

While they watched each other, Thomas struggled with the knot that tied his left hand to the bed frame. He got it free and reached down to tackle the rope around his legs. Rush must have seen the movement from the corner of his eye. He backed away from Simon towards the bed. A quick thrust into Thomas’s unprotected throat, and he would turn back to Simon. Thomas could not free his legs in time. He sat up and waited for the strike, hoping somehow to parry it. It never came. The moment Rush turned his head towards Thomas for the thrust, Simon launched himself at his back. Both men crashed on to the bed, pinning Thomas underneath them. Simon grabbed Rush’s arm in both hands and bent it backwards. Rush screamed and the sword fell from his hand. Winded and unable to move his body, Thomas managed to free a hand and jab his fingers into Rush’s throat. At the same time, Simon grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head back. Rush screamed again and flailed wildly with his arms. It did no good. Simon de Pointz was a strong man. He held Rush easily, pulled him off the bed and dumped him on his face on the floor.

‘The ropes, Thomas, if you can,’ he said. ‘We’d better tie this thing up before it can slither away.’

Thomas freed his legs and used the ropes to tie Rush’s arms and legs securely, while Simon sat on his back and held him down by the neck. Unarmed, Rush was no match for his tall opponent.