D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

However, my dark mood lightened somewhat when I strode into the hall at Hemmings. In my absence, Raffy was sitting in my armed chair and playing host to a visitor. He and Ned Longbourne were seated at table, dining off pottage and manchet, and, judging from the laughter echoing from the rafters, enjoying a lively conversation. That was no surprise; my old friend was very good with children. I drew up a stool and joined them, happy to relax briefly. After the meal, when Raffy had been sent off to join his playfellows, I leaned across the table.

‘What news, Ned? Have you heard anything about the killers?’

For some moments, he stroked his grey beard in silence – a gesture I knew well. It meant, I am reluctant to speak; please don’t press me. At last he said, with as much caution as he could load on to the words, ‘There is a name. It may be quite wrong, but it comes from two, independent sources.’

‘Yes?’I urged.

‘You’re sure you want to pursue this, Thomas?’

‘By all the saints, Ned, you’ve not ridden all this way for nothing! Tell me the name!’

The answer came as a murmur, scarcely audible: ‘Henry Walden.’ The old man looked at me closely, as though expecting a response. When I did not react, he continued, ‘You have not heard of him?’

‘I don’t think so. Should I have?’

‘He is more commonly known as “Black Harry”. There’s folk believe the name was bestowed by the devil in person who baptised him in hell-water.’

‘Then, I’m glad to say I have never come across him.’

‘You do well to be glad.’

‘So, who is he?’

Ned shrugged. ‘There are many stories about him – usually confused and often mutually contradictory. As far as I can piece together anything coherent, it goes something like this: once there was an honest sailor, one of a crew that traded across Biscay with Bordeaux and ports on the Castilian coast. One day they decided that piracy was a more profitable vocation. They became notorious as ruthless, pitiless cut-throats. At last justice caught up with them. They were captured, tried and sentenced in a Spanish court. But Harry persuaded his captors that he was more use to them alive than dead. The Inquisition is always on the lookout for unscrupulous men in its unending purge of society. When I was in the monastery two of the brothers made a pilgrimage to the shrine of St James at Compostela. They brought back horrific tales of outrages committed in the name of God. Crown and church sanction any action against people suspected of being secret Jews, Muslims or Lutherans. Holy Mary and all the saints will bear witness that I have no love for heretics but torture, rape, burning – I cannot make these agree …’

‘Of course not.’ I tapped the table impatiently. ‘But what of this Black Harry?’

‘It appears that he went too far even for the fathers of the Holy Office. I do not have the details but it seems that, a couple of years ago, he and his merry band were obliged to leave Spain in a hurry. What would they do back in England? They only know one trade. They are now for hire by any patron determined enough or desperate enough to want their services.’

‘So, who are they working for?’

Ned sat back, holding up his hands. ‘I have told all I know. They and their employers obviously cloak their activities in secrecy.’

‘Then how can we find them?’

‘We cannot.’ Ned glared at me. ‘And we should not try. We are facing something truly diabolical. When someone who believes anything is justifiable in the service of his cause sanctions the activities of someone prepared to dp anything as long as the price is right, the result is inhuman acts of unrestrained horror.’

After the silence that followed, Ned leaned forward again. He spoke softly. ‘There’s one thing I should add about this band of devil-spawned copesmates; they have a good intelligence system. If you go looking for them they’ll know it before you set foot outside your house. You should not be concerned about how to find them ; just pray they do not find you.’

‘If that is the case,’ I said, ‘poor Bart is as good as dead. The gang must know he is looking for them.’

Ned sighed. ‘Thomas, I may be wrong. Perhaps Black Harry is not the villain responsible for the death in Aldgate.’

‘And perhaps he is. So what should I do? Sit here in Kent and wait?’ I stood up and paced the hall, trying to force my thoughts and fears into a pattern that might suggest some course of action. I flung words out almost at random.

‘Bart is in danger. He may be able to hide from the magistrate. But from the criminals? What of Lizzie and the children? Won’t Black Harry seek them out in order to get to Bart? Where does Cranmer’s trouble fit into all this?’

‘Cranmer?’ Ned looked puzzled.

I gave him a brief account of my visit to Ford.

‘Mary and all the saints!’ Ned exclaimed. ‘What morass have you waded into now?’

‘Whatever it is we must make sure no one else gets trapped in it. Ned, we must keep everyone safe that we can. Please, go back to London. Bring Lizzie here. She won’t want to come but bring her – bound and gagged if necessary.’

‘I’ll try, but-’

‘No, don’t try; succeed! She can’t stay on her own in London. Here I can defend her and the children.’

‘Pray God you can. But what will you be doing the while?’

‘I don’t know. I must think. We have to assume, for now, at least, that our enemy is Black Harry. That means we have to act urgently. I don’t want to hustle you but could you set out straight away? I’ll send a couple of my men with you to bring you and Lizzie back safely.’

As soon as Ned had gone I took precautions for the safety of everyone at Hemmings, especially Adie and the children. I set up a twenty-four-hour guard rota so that the estate was patrolled constantly by armed servants. In order not to alarm everyone I told them the caution was necessary because of the disturbed state of the countryside. Since there were bands of hungry and desperate men abroad, breaking into houses and barns, I explained, all householders needed to take special measures. I urged everyone to be on the alert and report to me immediately they saw or heard anything suspicious.

The next thing I had to do was contact neighbouring landowners in order to carry out the archbishop’s commission. I sent messages informing the recipients that I intended to call upon them during the next week. In the event, I was forestalled by a letter which arrived two days later, on 16 September. It was from Sir Thomas Moyle, member of parliament for Kent, justice of the peace and probably the richest gentleman in the county. It summoned me to a meeting together with all the principal landowners of northern Kent on the forthcoming Saturday, the eighteenth, at Moyle’s house, Eastwell Court. I was curious to see the mansion that others referred to as one of the most splendid in the county. Although I was fairly well acquainted with the man, I had never visited him. His rise to wealth and influence had been rapid. As an associate of Thomas Cromwell in bringing down the abbeys, he had acquired several parcels of monastic land throughout southern England. The money with which to make this investment had come from his marriage to the daughter and heiress of Edward Jordeyne, one of the leading London goldsmiths. It was through this connection with the Worshipful Company that I got to know him. I was glad Cranmer spoke well of him and regarded him as an ally. This gave me some hope that he might bring his influence to bear in the search for my quarry.

I made an early start on Saturday but not before going round Hemmings and satisfying myself that all the walls, gates and buildings were secure and well-guarded. I and my men joined up with James Dewey’s party and we took the Dover road, avoiding the more direct route through the low-lying and sodden country to the south. We had just passed through Ghilham and were on the last leg of our journey when we came up with Edward Thwaites, whose home was nearby. He was one of the senior gentlemen of the shire and also one of the most conservative. He certainly did not seem pleased with his summons to the meeting.