D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

As we stood on the broad steps leading up to the entrance, watching members of the party mount their horses, assemble their servants and ride off towards the gateway, Morice said, ‘So, Thomas, which of these men can be trusted?’

‘I’d be loath to speak ill of any of them,’ I replied evasively.

‘A charitable answer, but not a wise one. We both know that some of our neighbours are set in their old-fashioned ways. Some are protecting clergy who long to refill their churches with popish paraphernalia. Some have friends in high places and will be hastening to report to them on today’s meeting. Some are ready to distribute arms to their tenants and lead them in what they would call a war against heresy. So, I ask again, who can the king and the archbishop rely on and who must we watch carefully?’

‘Well, I have no evidence of rebellious intent but, if you press me for my suspicions …’ I mentioned half a dozen names, including those of Thwaites and St Leger. Then I saw Moyle come out of the house. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I need to have a quick word with our host.’

‘Very well,’ Morice replied quietly, ‘but don’t forget your oath to report anything suspicious.’

As I approached the elegant figure standing proprietorially before the massive oak door of his splendid house I heard a murmur of distant thunder.

‘I fear you may be in for a wet ride, young Treviot,’ Sir Thomas said as he shook my hand.

‘Indeed, Sir Thomas. I must not delay my departure, but I wanted to have a quick word in confidence.’

He nodded gravely. ‘Then let us go back inside.’

When we were standing in the hall once more, close by the outer door, he said, ‘Please, speak freely.’

‘I have heard of a group of men – desperate men – who are in the pay of the archbishop’s enemies and are intent on his ruin. They will stop at nothing – including murder.’

Moyle frowned. ‘That is a very serious thing to say. Is it any more than country rumour?’

‘Two weeks ago a young man was stabbed to death in Aldgate.’

‘At Master Holbein’s house? Yes, I heard something about it, but what has that to do with the archbishop?’

‘I discussed it with his grace and we are both convinced the assassins were trying to prevent him receiving from Master Holbein information of a plot against him.’

‘If that is true, these men must be found.’

‘Exactly, Sir Thomas, that is why I thought you might be able to help. You have wide interests in and around London. I beg you to tell me if you have heard anything about this gang.’

‘Can you describe them?’

‘We believe their leader is a savage hellhound by the name of Henry Walden, though he prefers to be called Black Harry. I’ve been obliged to offer protection to Holbein’s children. They are safe in one of my cottages at Hemmings.’

‘I’ll certainly make enquiries. Be sure to let me know if you hear any more. We must rid the realm …’

‘Good even, Sir Thomas. I’m taking my leave now.’ The speaker, emerging from the shadows beside the door, was Edward Thwaites. ‘Will you ride with us?’ He smiled at me. ‘I think your friend and neighbour, James Dewey, is already fetching your horses from the stable yard.’

Within minutes we had collected our party together and were on our way northwards. The sky was growing steadily darker and, before we had travelled more than five miles, the storm crashed violently all around us. Lightning jagged the sky. The rain was more like a waterfall.

Thwaites pointed to a cluster of buildings close to the roadside and we spurred our horses towards the only visible shelter. Our refuge was three cottages and a tiled barn. Thwaites took instant command. He sent the servants into the barn for shelter with the horses, then ran towards the nearest cottage, with James and I following, our cloaks held tight around us. Thwaites kicked the door open and we tumbled into the dim interior. A young woman sat spinning by the light of a small lamp. Two small children sat close to her on the rushes and looked up frightened as we burst in.

Thwaites removed his cloak and shook it vigorously, showering water all over the floor. ‘Good day, Mistress. Seats for me and my friends and set our clothes by the fire to dry.’

Wordlessly, the woman vacated her stool and indicated a bench close to the wall. She took our sodden garments and busied herself arranging them on hooks by the hearth. The infants retreated to a corner where they sat huddled together, staring at us with wide eyes.

‘When you’ve done that, fetch us some ale.’ Thwaites lowered himself on to the stool and stretched his legs before him.‘Dear God, what weather!’

We gazed out through the still open doorway into what appeared to be an opaque wall of water. I turned to watch the woman impassively obeying her instructions. It brought back memories. One was very recent: my arrival, well-soaked, at Lizzie’s house and the cheerful willingness with which she made me comfortable. The other – a painful childhood recollection but just as salutary – was of a sound thrashing I had received from my father when he caught me insolently giving orders to one of our servants.

‘What do you think, Thomas?’ I was aware that James was speaking.

‘Sorry, I was daydreaming.’

‘Edward is offering us his hospitality.’

‘We’re not far from my house. You must spend the night there,’ Thwaites said.

‘That’s good of you, Edward,’ I replied, ‘but I must get home today.’

‘What! Through this? You must do no such thing. I won’t hear of it. If you try to travel on, you won’t reach home by nightfall and like as not you’ll be stopped by another savage tempest and lucky to find even a hovel like this for shelter. No, when this rain eases you’ll come to Chilham. We’ll see you well supped and rested and set you back on the road tomorrow as soon as the weather is fit for Christians.’

‘I’m concerned for my people at Hemmings,’ I protested. ‘I ought-’

‘If they’ve any wits, your people at Hemmings will be well bolted in,’ Thwaites persisted. ‘They won’t need you to show them how to keep the weather out.’

James said, ‘He’s right, Thomas. We’d be churls to reject Edward’s offer. I’ve certainly no stomach for riding on through this.’

I could see the sense of what they were saying and, despite my anxieties, I accepted Thwaites’s hospitality. An hour or so later we made the short journey to his house at Chilham, where he was as good as his word. I certainly felt refreshed by the time our little party was back on the road soon after dawn on Sunday morning. Still our progress was slow. The storm had left showery weather in its wake, as well as roads that were deeply mired. Twice we had to stop while workmen cleared trees that had fallen across the highway and near Allington a swollen river had taken away the bridge, forcing us to ride downstream until we found a fording place. Noon was passed before I bade goodbye to James and headed along the wooded road to Hemmings.

My man and I had not gone another mile before we saw a rider coming rapidly towards us. Seeing us, he reined in and I recognised Andrew, one of my stable hands. He was in great distress.

‘Master Treviot, is that you? Oh, praise the Lord! I’ve been sent to look for you. I thought not to find you so soon. You must come! You must come! Something terrible!’

At Hemmings everything was in a state of shocked confusion. Women were crying. Men were either sullenly silent or noisily blaming each other. Only out of Walt did I manage to obtain a coherent account of what had happened. Standing in the doorway of the long barn, he gave me his report.