James Forrester - The Roots of Betrayal

“I’ll show her the way,” said Robert. “There’s a door that leads out of the back of this building; the path will take us to the churchyard. From there it is easy to reach the gate.”

“Thank you. Quickly, I must go now,” she said.

“When will you be back?” asked Wheatsheafen.

“Later today, I hope.”

“Good luck. I look forward to your return. Your past is mysterious-I am intrigued.”

Rebecca was nervous as she followed Robert through the churchyard. She knew that at any moment she could be called back by Parkinson. What then? Robert was from the castle garrison, a royal soldier; he could not disobey Captain Parkinson. But no one did call her. They passed the far side of the church and approached the gate facing the water. No one stopped them as they went out that way and walked between the old walls and the beach, eventually finding the path that led into the village.

Widow Baker lived in a cottage on a bend in the lane leading back to Fareham. She also assisted in the naval hospital in the castle, where Rebecca had been helping for the last week. Hers was the only house outside the walls Rebecca had visited; it was more in hope than in confidence that she had directed Clarenceux there. Hence she felt doubly nervous as she approached. She bade Robert to return to the castle when she was within sight of the cottage.

It was not a pretty building. The thatch needed attention and there was a shirt hanging from an open upstairs window. The door was locked, which suggested Widow Baker was out. Rebecca knocked with her knuckles; there was no answer. She walked around the side of the house across the dusty yard, toward a hen house and a partly collapsed, ivy-covered cart house at the rear.

Clarenceux saw her approaching and stepped out slightly from where he was hiding, behind the cart house. He looked awful. His hair and beard were filthy, his shoulder covered in blood, his forehead cut, his clothes torn, and his legs covered in mud. He was clutching his side, where his ribs were causing him pain. His clothes were all wet and he was shivering. His hands were covered in dried blood. Everything about him was changed from the proud herald she had known in London. Only the intense dark eyes were the same.

He said nothing. He looked at her dowdy clothes, her blood-flecked smock and gown, her coif and plain leather shoes. She had always had an air of tragic beauty about her, a terrible sadness that made the expression in her brown eyes seem all the more moving; but now that sadness seemed also to speak about other people’s suffering.

“You are wet,” she said at last.

He swallowed and felt the tears well up in his eyes. “I had to swim the river. I was lucky-Carew killed all Parkinson’s men and destroyed his boats at Calshot, so he had to-”

“Carew? Who is he?”

Clarenceux was about to explain but suddenly the recent past did not seem important. Looking into her eyes he saw the same affection, the same loveliness he had always seen in her. He longed to hold her but he knew he looked and smelled disgusting. And under it all there was the knowledge that she had betrayed him.

“I need to know what happened-about the document,” he said hoarsely. “I need to know why you agreed to take it.”

Rebecca looked away. “I wish there was somewhere we could go to talk.”

“Tell me here. Now, right now.” There was more force in his voice than he intended.

She looked back at him. “Very well. My life has been hell ever since last December. First my husband died. You remember that? They tortured him to death. Then there was that sheer panic as you and I struggled to stay alive. And then, when all was well again for me, they started to use me…”

“Who?”

“The Knights of the Round Table and Mrs. Barker. By God’s love, was I mistaken about her. I was so grateful for her care and attention when Henry died, but all the time she was just trying to get close to me, to get the document from me. After I told her you had it, she changed. She became more insistent. She would send a man for me and entertain me with rich food and give me money, and always she would slip in questions about you and your family. She wanted to know whether we had met, whether we had been intimate, whether I had seen the document in your house. She asked where you kept your books, how often you entertained friends and guests, and how often you went down to the country. When I stopped going to see her, in March, she sent two men to demand I come to her. When I refused, they hauled me there. You can guess the rest.”

“No, no, I can’t. Tell me.”

Rebecca sighed and spoke with her eyes closed. “Mrs. Barker and the three men who were always there demanded that I steal the document from you. At first they asked kindly, then they tried to bribe me. They offered me two hundred pounds for it, then two hundred and fifty, then three hundred…”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Because they said if I told you, they would have to resort to a different strategy. They were going to take your wife and daughters and threaten to drown them in front of you unless you gave them what they wanted. And no doubt they would have used me similarly. They knew I loved you and that you were fond of me. They knew that.”

The words she had just spoken, so long whispered in Clarenceux’s mind, words of love, touched his heart.

Rebecca raised her hands in desperation. “What could I do? Eventually I had to give them something, so I said I would help. They told me they had a plan. On a certain day, my brother was to help me break into your house-blacksmiths are good at these things. The other Knights were to come with us too, and some of their helpers, to distract you or to overpower you and anyone else who might be in the house. The next morning, Robert and I would be taken by ship to the north. We were to be lodged at a place that had been arranged, and then we were to go on into Scotland by road, when it was safe, to meet the Queen of Scots and give her the document in person. The day set for the theft was a Saturday, in the afternoon. But that morning my brother came to me and told me to go with him immediately, and to bring nothing but the clothes I was standing up in. He led me to the docks, where we boarded a boat, the Davy , which took us to Southampton.”

Clarenceux was dumbfounded. “You did not steal the document?”

Rebecca looked at him, puzzled. “It was taken? I did not know.”

“I thought that you would be able to tell me who had taken it from you.”

“Surely it was Mrs. Barker and the Knights?”

“No. They interrogated me, wanting to know where it had gone and where you…” He raised his hands slowly. “O, Lord Almighty-it was Cecil.” Clarenceux struck his forehead. “Cecil gave the instructions for you to be brought to Calshot. He preempted the theft by removing you and took the document himself. Such duplicity…What happened to your brother?”

“He abandoned me. A man called Prouze was sent to collect us from the port. There was a delay. When we arrived at Calshot, Captain Parkinson was not there. After one day of waiting, my brother said he was only supposed to accompany me as far as the fort…” She stopped and put her hand to her mouth, nauseated by the memory. “They were just flirtatious at first, and I played along. Then one evening they got drunk.” She swallowed, choking back her memory. “How could he leave me there? How could anyone regard their kin so coldly and be so selfish?” Then she wiped her eyes and said wearily, “Now, you must tell me: why have you come here?”

“When I set out to find you, it was because I believed you had stolen the document on behalf of Mrs. Barker. Then I thought you had stolen it in league with Nicholas Denisot. Now I realize that Cecil used you to mislead both me and the Knights. This journey…” Clarenceux shut his eyes, thinking back. He remembered being tied to the rope and dragged from the Davy , Kahlu plunging the knife through his hand, firing the cannon at the boatload of boarders, attacking Sir Peter Carew’s ship, being locked in the magazine at Calshot Fort, and fighting Parkinson in the darkness before making that jump onto the gatehouse roof. “This journey, which has been the worst experience of my life, has all been in vain-except for one thing. I have seen you again, and you are alive.”