James Forrester - The Roots of Betrayal

Clarenceux clenched his mazer tight. He might have been wrong to assume that the fourth Knight was old Michael Hill or Lancelot Heath. It could have been “Sir Percival,” whoever he was. Another thing occurred to him. Emery had referred to the remaining knights. They had not replaced the fallen. That was the detail tantalizing his mind. The Knights were the same ones as before. Apart from Sir Percival, they were all known to him.

James Emery sat hunched in the wherry, listening to the ripples of the Thames. He drew his cloak close around him-partly because of the cold but more because he did not want to be seen. It was illegal to use the river after curfew. Although there was no moon, the sky was clear and filled with stars. The waterman spoke low. “We are nearly at Queenhithe.”

They moved closer and closer to the bank. The waterman drew in the oars and let the wherry drift toward the quay. Fortunately the tide was not yet full; as they came closer to the quay, they slowly disappeared beneath its shadow. The waterman carefully brought the small boat up to the steps.

“Good luck to you, Mr. Emery,” he said in a low voice.

Emery crept up the steps. He checked that there were no watchmen and made his way across the quay to the shadow of the warehouses. Walking briskly, he went north to Thames Street and then over, into Little Trinity Lane. Here, with the overhanging stories of the houses darkening the whole street, he was relatively safe. At Mrs. Barker’s house he knocked at the door, just loud enough for his signal to be heard. The door opened; a small lantern light shone from within.

“My name is Sir Yvain. I have an urgent message for her ladyship.”

“Come in,” replied Father Tucker, who had opened the door. He closed it quickly, then raised the lantern to see Emery’s face. “There is bad news. I will leave Mrs. Barker to tell you.”

James Emery was led to a chamber on the first floor of the house. Three candles on a stand illuminated the paneled room. Otherwise it was empty but for two short benches along one wall. Mrs. Barker entered in a long black dress with an upright collar, wide stiff skirt, and long hanging cuffs that revealed an orange silk lining. Her hair was tightly tied back. She sat at one bench. Father Tucker stood beside her.

“Mr. Emery, you may speak.”

“Thank you,” said Emery. “Mr. Clarenceux came to see me at my house this morning. He was most aggressive. He wanted to know where Widow Machyn has been taken.”

“What did you tell him?” Mrs. Barker asked in a curt voice.

“Nothing-nothing that he had not already worked out for himself.”

“What had he already worked out for himself?”

Emery glanced at Father Tucker, and then back at Mrs. Barker. “He forced me to admit that we had agreed to ask Widow Machyn to acquire the Percy-Boleyn marriage agreement.”

“That is regrettable but perhaps inevitable. However, your coming here is timely. Mr. Clarenceux is only one of our worries. Widow Machyn and the document have gone missing. She was meant to sail with Robert Lowe from Queenhithe yesterday morning, to change ships at Sandwich. Neither she nor her brother was there. The shipmaster waited three hours, then he sent word. No one knows where they are.”

Emery’s eyes widened. “For whom has she betrayed us?” he eventually asked, turning from Mrs. Barker to Father Tucker, then back again.

“I would very much like to know that myself,” answered Mrs. Barker. “You don’t think it was Clarenceux?”

Emery shook his head. “No, no. When he came to my house, he seemed quite upset by the thought of her betraying him. He was violent, forcing his way in, drawing a sword, overturning my table. Robert Lowe was no friend of his-it doesn’t make sense.”

“His violence may have been pretense,” suggested Father Tucker. “If I wanted to give the impression of being upset, overturning a table and drawing a sword would be the way to do it. He did not actually use the sword, I assume?”

“No,” admitted Emery. “But he was earnest.”

“What else did he say?” inquired Mrs. Barker.

“He knows that someone was giving her money,” said Emery. “He wanted to know where she had gone and where his document was.”

“It is not his document!” shouted Mrs. Barker suddenly, getting to her feet and starting to walk up and down the room. “He knows she has taken it. He knows she has betrayed him. He knows that she has received money and that you and the other Knights agreed that this should happen. But does he know she has betrayed us too? If he does, maybe he also knows for whom.”

“I said nothing about your house.”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Mrs. Barker. “He knows too much already.” She paused and looked at Father Tucker. “But precisely because he knows so much, we can predict what he will do. He will come here. Or, having failed to find out where Widow Machyn is from you, he will try Nicholas Hill. Whatever Hill says, eventually Clarenceux will come here.”

Father Tucker spoke. “My lady, we could ask Hill to supply him with misleading information.”

“No. Clarenceux would see through him straight away. But we do have the element of surprise. You realize what we have to do, don’t you?”

Father Tucker nodded. “We must put some questions to Mr. Clarenceux, some very searching questions-and something to loosen his tongue.”

“Might we accomplish such a deed without drawing attention to ourselves?” she asked.

“Yes, as you said, he will come here. He is bound to. When he does, we will be able to trap him easily.”

“How?” asked Emery.

Father Tucker looked at him. “We will take advantage of his faith.”

Tuesday, May 9

Clarenceux jolted awake. It was dark. He had fallen asleep in the kitchen and the wine had slipped out of his hand, wetting his knee. He stood up in the fireplace and felt his way around the corner to the kitchen door, then up the two flights of stairs to his bedchamber. It felt cold and unwelcoming without his wife. Normally when he retired for the night, there was a golden glow in the alcove above their bed. Now even the sheets were cold. He let himself fall onto the mattress, still clothed, and waited to sleep in the darkness.

He did not fall asleep. In the course of walking up the stairs his mind had fastened on to the realization that, although he did not know who Sir Percival was, the three other Knights did. Nicholas Hill would definitely be the hardest man to make talk. He was physically tough, strong-minded, and younger than Clarenceux. Most of all he believed in the Catholic cause and the idea of using the Percy-Boleyn document, having it proclaimed immediately. Robert Lowe was different. A blacksmith in his thirties, he was probably as tough as Hill physically, but he was not so fervent. At least, he had not been so ardent in December. James Emery was the easiest of the three. But he had been forewarned.

Clarenceux sat up in the darkness. Feeling cold, he got off the bed and went to the window. The shutters were still open. Looking out, he could just make out the faint start of the dawn, a lightening of the darkness. The stars were beginning to fade.

He went to his clothes chest and rummaged, feeling for an extra garment. He found another doublet and put it over his shoulders. Rather than go back to bed, however, he leaned over the window ledge, watching the dawn seep into the landscape. From here he could see across the roofs of neighbors’ houses, all dim in this early dawn light. He breathed in the cold morning air and heard a seagull call, disturbed from its rest.

Eleven miles to the south, Awdrey and his daughters were asleep. Did thoughts and prayers pass through the night? Perhaps if he thought of her, and Annie and Mildred, he might enter their dreams. Who could ever know? Only God, he reflected. Unto Whom all desires were known and from Whom no secrets were hidden. And Rebecca-did God see her heart? Of course. Then why did He not return her here? Clarenceux shook his head; it was more than he could understand.