D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Then that’s where they’ll have taken their hostages,’ I said. ‘Not that it helps us much. We don’t have time to mount a search. All we can do is make sure we get Holbein to the bridge tomorrow. He is our bargaining counter – with him we can force Black Harry to do a deal. Ned, can you come with me to see van der Goes? We’ll escort Lizzie safe home on the way. Bart, you had better stay here now that it’s light. Keep out of Sight and don’t answer the door if any of Ned’s customers come calling. So’ – I stood up – ‘the time for talk is over. Let us go – and pray God our mission is successful.’

Half an hour later Ned and I were riding along Bride Lane. When we reined in outside the goldsmith’s house we received the first of the shocks that day was to bring. There was a bundle of straw hanging from the door jamb.

‘Plague!’ Ned exclaimed. He fumbled a medallion from his scrip, kissed it and held it out to me. ‘The Fourteen Holy Helpers,’ he said. ‘Beg their protection.’

I followed his example but was more interested in a written note pinned to the door frame. Jumping down, I read the brief message. ‘No entry. One pestilence victim within. Master van der Goes continues his business at his house in Chiswick.’

‘Curse this delay!’ I muttered. ‘We’ll have to go upriver. It will be quicker than riding against the incoming traffic. Ned, find us a boatman while I lodge the horses.’

I led our two mounts to the Red Hand inn and left them with the ostler. By the time I returned Ned was seated in the stern of a wherry moored at Bridewell Dock. As I stepped down into the boat, he said, ‘The waterman says he only does cross-river ferrying. I’ve had to pay him extra to go to Chiswick.’

‘These fellows know their business,’ I muttered. ‘They can spot a customer in a hurry and know how to turn it to their advantage.’

It was a long haul against the current for our waterman and I fretted as Westminster, the noblemen’s waterside mansions and then the open fields slid slowly past. After what seemed hours we disembarked at the landing stage and walked into Chiswick village. We asked the first passers-by for directions and soon found ourselves before a recently built house set in its own garden.

‘Your van der Goes must be a wealthy man,’ Ned observed.

‘And grown so by stealing business from honest English tradesmen,’ I growled.

When we were shown into his presence, John of Antwerp was his usual over-boisterously hospitable self. He settled us in a pair of elaborate, padded armed chairs and .offered refreshments. Dry though my mouth was, I declined.

‘No time for pleasantries,’ I insisted. ‘We’re here on very urgent business. Where is Master Holbein? We must see him.’

Our host shrugged. ‘You still haven’t found him, then? I’m sorry …’

I raised my voice. ‘Please don’t keep up this pretence of ignorance. I know your friend is in trouble and forced to hide from his enemies. I am not an enemy but I must see him. Four lives depend on it.’

‘Four lives?’ Van der Goes raised his eyebrows in seemingly genuine surprise.

‘Yes, including his two sons.’

That shook him. ‘Carl and Henry? What has happened to them?’

‘They’ve been captured by the men who are looking for Holbein. They’re being held to ransom.’

‘Holy Mother of God!’ He crossed himself. ‘That is terrible. Johannes will be appalled to hear it.’

At last I had driven a wedge into the Fleming’s secrecy and loyalty. I hammered it home. ‘The children’s salvation lies in his hands.’

‘His life for theirs?’

‘There is no other way.’

He sat in silence for several moments, stroking his bushy beard. Then he said, ‘You place me in a difficult position. Some days ago Johannes came to me in great distress. He had been attacked on his way home from the royal court by men intent on murder. He was lucky to escape. He asked me to hide him. Of course, I agreed. That is what friends do. He didn’t tell me who his enemies were and I didn’t ask. All he would say was that he had an important message for someone of high rank and that he didn’t know how he was going to deliver it with assassins on his trail. I offered to take it for him but he wouldn’t hear of it. He said it was too dangerous and that I would be safer knowing nothing about the business.’

‘If our friend gives himself up, I will personally see that his message is delivered. You have my solemn word,’ I said.

‘After his death,’ van der Goes muttered grimly, ‘you can decide whether or not to keep your promise.’

‘I can’t force him to give himself up,’ I said. ‘But I must give him the choice. The children deserve that – and so does he.’

Our host shook his head. ‘He loves those boys dearly. He has a family in Basel but they mean little to him compared with his English sons. They are excellent lads.’

‘Indeed they are. I would be proud to be their father and, if I were, I think I would do anything for them.’

‘Anything? ’Tis a word easy to say.’

There was another agonised silence. Eventually he looked straight at me. ‘Master Treviot, what would you do in my position? If I came to you with the story you have just told me, would you lightly break your oath to an old and very dear friend and deliver that friend into the hands of violent enemies?’

‘I certainly would do no such thing lightly . I would want to satisfy myself that you were utterly trustworthy and not someone in league with my friend’s enemies. I would hope that I could be confident of the honesty of … a brother goldsmith.’ The last words almost stuck in my throat.

Van der Goes stood up. ‘Very well, this is what I will do. I will take you close to where Johannes is and I will speak with him in private. If he agrees to see you, I will bring you to him. So, let us go. We must travel back downriver. I have my own little barge.’

He called for his boatman and we returned to the landing stage. On our arrival I had noticed a sleek boat with a cabin in the stern fronted by a brightly coloured curtain. Now, as we boarded and settled on the cushions within, I could not help reflecting on the vulgar showiness of alien tradesmen who loved to flaunt their success before their English neighbours.

The downstream journey in a superior craft took half the time of our trip to Chiswick. As we approached the stage from which we had departed, the chime of Paul’s clock signalled noon.

The Fleming stepped nimbly ashore. ‘I will return as soon as I have spoken with Johannes. My boatman will pull out into mid-stream, just in case you feel tempted to follow.’ He disappeared down an alleyway between the warehouses.

‘This is scarcely necessary.’ Ned fretted as we sat helpless in the middle of the river.

‘No, clearly his trust of a “brother goldsmith” does not run very deep.’

In fact, we had little time to wait. After a few minutes van der Goes reappeared on the quayside and waved. When we stepped from the boat, he looked at us grim-faced. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. Come with me.’

He led us along the narrow walkways between the high-walled, riverside storehouses. In a dark corner he unlocked a door. Inside, he preceded us up a narrow staircase. On the first floor he unfastened another door. The room we entered was lit by barred windows high in the walls. An external door between them was obviously intended for loading goods on to the quay. The storage space, however, was not occupied with any commercial merchandise. In one corner there was a truckle bed the coverings of which were piled upon it in a heap. A stool and table made up the rest of the furnishings, save for an easel, on which stood an unfinished painting. There was evidence of a partially consumed meal on the table. Empty canvases, painted canvases, sheets of paper with sketches on, rags, brushes and bowls containing coloured pigments were scattered everywhere.