James Forrester - The Roots of Betrayal

Emery struggled to shake off Clarenceux’s grip but the latter swung his fist and connected with his jaw. Emery was sent sprawling on the floor. Clarenceux moved to one side, aware that Emery’s companions would soon arrive through the door behind him. “I am going to give you one chance.”

Emery tasted blood on his lip and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “She has betrayed you, Clarenceux. You betrayed us and she has got revenge. She said you were soft on her, and that you would give her what she wanted. I think you can consider yourself beaten by a woman.”

There was movement at the doorway, and two young men appeared: a burly red-haired one with freckles and a leather jerkin, the other a dark-haired robust-looking fellow from the stables. They saw their master on the floor, and Clarenceux standing by.

“Help him up,” ordered Clarenceux. Until this moment he had not quite believed that Rebecca Machyn had really betrayed him. He knew it with his mind but not with his heart. One moment he felt bitter, the next close to tears. “Help him. He was about to tell me something that might save all our lives.”

They raised their master to his feet. Emery mopped his cut lip, saying, “This man assaulted me. Take him to the constables.”

Clarenceux swept back the long cloak over his shoulder, to reveal his sword and long-bladed dagger. He placed his hand on the sword hilt and suddenly drew it. “I strongly suggest that you two good men both find yourselves seats.” Clarenceux pointed with the blade. “There is one over there-and you, there is another there, in the corner.”

After a nod from their master, the two young men righted the seats and sat. Emery stood against the wall.

“The situation is as follows,” continued Clarenceux, looking from one man to the other. “I am a herald, an officer in her majesty’s household. Your master and two or three of his friends persuaded a woman to steal a document from me. I had been charged by her majesty’s Secretary to guard that document with my life. The last time it went missing, Francis Walsingham sent a man to find out what had happened to it. He hanged one of my servants. If I do not find that document, I suspect that eventually Mr. Walsingham will hang one of this household’s servants too, as well as Mr. Emery himself. I wish no harm to come to any of you-but I must find Rebecca Machyn and that document. If anyone tries to use it to promote the Queen of Scots, there will be a bloodbath. I believe it would lead to the mass extermination of all Catholics in this kingdom. I am not prepared to see that happen.”

“We understand the situation as we ourselves see it,” replied Emery. “Not as you would have us believe.”

“Where is Rebecca Machyn and where is the document?”

“I have told you, Mr. Clarenceux, I do not know. None of us do. The remaining four knights agreed in March that something should be done. It was agreed that if you had not acted by Easter, then we would take the document.”

“And the money-were you paying her?”

“No.”

“Who was?”

“I do not know. Perhaps her brother, Robert Lowe.”

“Do you know where she is hiding?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if you did know?”

“I would not betray a friend.”

Clarenceux sheathed his sword. “I am sorry I struck you,” he said to Emery. “And that I interrupted your meal. I understand why you agreed to act with the Knights, even though I think it deeply unwise and dangerous. I hope you can understand why I must stop what you have set in motion. The thought of men and women being burnt alive for their faith is something I cannot bear. It is not a price worth paying for a return to the old religion. Nor do I want to take part of the blame for allowing it to happen.”

With that he bowed to the men, turned to the door, and left.

Clarenceux looked around his house. Ten minutes ago he had been helping Thomas load up the cart with Awdrey’s traveling chest and the children’s bags. Then, all too soon, they were gone-to Chislehurst, eleven miles to the south. Watching them come down the stairs he had been sorely tempted to go with them and to turn his back on the loss of the document; but he knew that it was impossible. Instead, he had experienced a sinking feeling, as if all the blood and love were being drained out of him.

Saying good-bye had been the hardest part. It was the memory of last time. Holding each of his daughters and kissing them good-bye, knowing he could not be sure he would ever see them again, pulled at his heart and drew tears to his eyes. But when he embraced Awdrey in a farewell, he had looked through his tear-filled eyes into hers and could not believe they were being separated again. The sadness was there, inside them and all around them, and it was overwhelming him. It was like a form of lovemaking, it embraced them both so much, but instead of joy they were combined in grief.

“Go, go now,” he had said. “Go with all my love. Go and be safe.” She had drawn away from him slowly, holding on to his fingers, finally letting go to wipe her eyes, and climb onto the cart.

Now he was coming to terms with the silence in his house.

In the hall, he filled a mazer of wine and sat down at his elm table. He had arranged all his weapons there: two good swords, one old one, two daggers, three other assorted knives, and two small axes. He looked at them and drank the wine.

Something was preying on his mind-something to do with the Knights of the Round Table. Emery had revealed that they had been speaking to Rebecca Machyn and that they had agreed to persuade her to steal the document from him. At least, four of them had. There was no doubt who three of them were: Emery, Robert Lowe, and Nicholas Hill. The fourth man had to be either Hill’s late father, Michael Hill, or the last Knight, Lancelot Heath, who had fled last December. But which of them had persuaded Rebecca to betray him?

It was almost dusk. He went back down to the kitchen with his wine, a sword, and a dagger, and placed a few pieces of wood on the fire there. He sat on a small stool beside the hearth within the great fireplace. The only windows in here were relatively small and high up, so it was barely possible to see across the room. Clarenceux used the point of the dagger to push around the burning sticks, watching the flames lick the edges and sip momentarily at the air.

He took another draught of wine. Gradually the light diminished. He put more wood on the hearth and returned to thinking about Emery. The man had not been fearful or in hiding. He had not been aware that something had just happened, even though he had agreed it with the other three surviving Knights. One of the others was probably coordinating Rebecca Machyn’s actions. Robert Lowe was the most likely, being her brother. But he and she were not close. As for Lancelot Heath, he was a reluctant foot soldier of the old religion. That left Nicholas Hill. He was certainly the most ardent of the Knights whom Clarenceux had met and the keenest to have custody of the document. He had been persuaded to give it back to Clarenceux by his father, Michael. But Michael was now dead. That might have changed everything.

Clarenceux looked up from the flames and realized he was sitting in darkness. He fumbled around the kitchen for a lantern, found one, and lit the candle inside from the fire. Taking his mazer, he went through to the buttery to refill it from the barrel and then resumed his seat.

There had been eight Knights originally, besides Henry Machyn and, later, himself. Of those, six yet lived: Emery, Hill, Lowe, Heath, and two others. William Draper had been one, a rich merchant who had betrayed them all and was lucky to be alive. The other had been…

At first Clarenceux could not think of the name. Then he remembered: he had never known it. The man’s knightly name was Sir Percival. It had been his role to inform Lady Percy, the dowager countess of Northumberland, whenever the document changed hands.