James Forrester - The Roots of Betrayal

Lady Percy had shown a fondness for Rebecca too. She liked strong-minded women. Perhaps Rebecca had gone to Sheffield Manor with the document? Maybe at Lady Percy’s direction?

Now, as he gazed at the embers of the fire, Clarenceux acknowledged that he had overlooked Lady Percy. She knew what was going on, surely; she certainly knew about the document and the Knights of the Round Table. She had spies and contacts with Queen Mary in Scotland. Most of all, she knew the identity of Sir Percival-the one so-called Knight who was the linchpin of the secret organization. Not even he, Clarenceux, knew that. He suspected that she could activate and instruct the remaining Knights whenever she felt like doing so. The distance from London to Sheffield had meant that Clarenceux had not taken her into account. Now he saw that she was like a poisonous snake lying hidden, waiting for its prey.

Getting up from beside the fire, he poured himself a large draught of wine then gulped it down, hoping it would help him sleep. He would go and see all the surviving Knights, he decided, starting the following day.

Monday, May 8

James Emery’s house was in Huggin Alley, which ran between Little Trinity Lane and Huggin Lane, almost directly opposite Painter Stainers’ Hall. It was a modest merchant’s house, not as prestigious a building as Mrs. Barker’s nearby, having none of the carvings on the projecting first-floor beams and much less glazing. Nevertheless, it was well kept. It had not been divided into tenements and had been maintained by its occupier with its old stained glass, carved stone fireplace, polished iron chandeliers, and painted wainscoting.

It was late morning. Bright sunlight was drying out the mud of the previous day’s downpour. Clarenceux was wearing his longest cloak, which reached almost to the ground. He had strapped his sword beneath. When he knocked, an elderly manservant came to the door.

“Good day to you,” Clarenceux said. “I wish to speak to Mr. Emery.”

The man frowned. “You are not welcome here, Mr. Clarenceux. I would have thought you would have known better than to come.”

“As I said, I wish to speak to Mr. Emery. Unless he would prefer that I shout out what I have to say from down here in the street, you had better admit me.”

“Mr. Clarenceux, I really-” But he got no further than that. Clarenceux pushed past him and stepped into the house. The elderly man tried to block his way, but to no avail.

“Is he upstairs, in the hall?” Clarenceux looked at the man and judged from the lack of response that he was. He turned and headed up the stairs, climbing two at a time.

James Emery was gray haired, about ten years older and five inches shorter than Clarenceux. He was seated at a table, eating alone, with a book open beside him. Hearing the heavy footsteps, he threw his napkin onto the table and rose to his feet.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, seeing Clarenceux. “I will not have you in-”

“Where is Rebecca Machyn and where is the Percy-Boleyn marriage agreement?” demanded Clarenceux, striding forward.

“You should not have come here.”

“Damn what I should and shouldn’t do. The very fact you say I should not have come here makes me certain that this is exactly the place to be. Now, where is she and where is the document?”

“I know neither of those things, and that is the truth.”

“But you know who is behind this. You know why she has gone and who is advising her.”

Emery remained silent.

“I thought as much.” Clarenceux walked over to the table and glanced at the bright plate and the meat on it, the wine flask and the bowl of last season’s apples and pears beside it. The elderly manservant entered. Ignoring him, Clarenceux turned back to the table, lifted the flask, and took a swig. “Sit down,” he said. Emery was hesitant but Clarenceux pulled the chair out for him and took a step away, giving him space. Emery sat.

“You, in the doorway,” said Clarenceux, “you can go. I am having a private conversation with Mr. Emery.”

The manservant looked at Emery, who nodded. “Yes-go, Adam. Mr. Clarenceux is unwelcome but he seems determined to have his say. I am not afraid of him. Go and tell Simon and Robert to be prepared, in case of trouble.”

Clarenceux watched the servant depart, then turned back to the seated man. “I need to know where she is. And unless you tell me, I will make you pay. Not here-not in a sordid manner-but I will.”

“I told you, I do not know.”

“She is not as poor as she feared she would be. Someone has been giving her money. Someone has encouraged her to betray me-either for money or for reasons of religion. You are one of the very few men who know that I had possession of what she stole from me. In fact, the only people who saw the document at my house were Rebecca Machyn herself; her brother, Robert Lowe; Nicholas Hill and his late father, Michael Hill; and you. That makes a total of five, Goodwife Machyn and four Knights of the Round Table, one of whom is now dead. Either Lowe, Hill, or you have persuaded Goodwife Machyn to do this, or bribed her, or informed someone who has persuaded her.”

Emery turned and stared at the wall.

“I will not accept your silence. You do not know this but a sixth person knew I had that document. Sir William Cecil, her majesty’s Secretary, charged me to guard it with my life. Now it has been stolen. Do you see my predicament? And how impossible it is for me to rest until I have found it?”

Still Emery stared at the wall.

Clarenceux took a step nearer and bent down, speaking right in his ear. “I am going to tell Sir William Cecil what happened. I will say that you paid Rebecca Machyn to steal that document. He in turn will instruct Francis Walsingham to recover it-and I am sure you know his methods. He will torture you first and then make inquiries. He will hang you by your hands, break your legs with an iron bar, and then cut you down.”

Emery turned and looked at Clarenceux. “It was not me,” he said slowly. “You may talk to your friends Cecil and Walsingham, if you wish. But it was not me. I know nothing about where the woman has gone. And you, you are no better than Cecil. Call yourself a religious man? Dutiful? Curse you and the Devil, who rides with you. The Knights only took action because you failed to do so. Henry Machyn gave you that document not so you would hide it in a fearful way but so you would use it. We all suffered imprisonment and torture because of you.” Emery was silent for an instant, looking for some sign of recognition in Clarenceux. “Have you forgotten so soon? We were all tortured. I still have the scars on my back where they whipped me-with a leather lash that ripped my skin away. Others fared worse. Daniel Gyttens was beaten to death; Henry Machyn was killed. You betrayed him-you betrayed all of us. I am glad Widow Machyn has taken back that document, and I am glad it is out of your keeping. Maybe she will put it to good use, like a good Catholic, and destroy that interloper queen, Elizabeth.”

“At last we’re getting somewhere. Tell me exactly what happened. Who put her up to it?”

Emery shook his head.

“Who did it? Who paid her, damn you?” Clarenceux shouted. He slammed his fist down hard on the table. “Who in God’s name endangered all our lives by making her steal it?”

Emery said nothing.

“ Answer me!” yelled Clarenceux. The next moment he lifted the edge of the table and tipped it over, sending plates, bowls, cloth, napkin, goblet, apples, and pears tumbling to the floor. Turning the table onto its end, he hurled it out of the way. He stepped forward and seized Emery by the collar of his doublet. “Tell me now who put her up to this! If not you, I need to know who it was, because I do not want to kill an innocent man!”