D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Do you know whether we’ll find our black friend at home?’ Walt asked.

‘No, but I hope we may have got ahead of him. The last time we saw him he was probably heading for Kent Street. He has friends in the county with whom he can rest so I doubt whether he would be in a hurry to get to the ferry. We may be able to check on that when we reach Gravesend. To answer your question more fully, Walt, I don’t know what we’ll find when we get to Fletcham. I suspect all we’ll be able to do is spy out the land and wait for reinforcements. For now I suggest we all find somewhere to rest. Life may get hectic when we go ashore.’ I found a corner where I could wrap myself in my riding cloak and curl up by the bulkhead. Fitfully, I slept.

When, at length, we were set ashore the afternoon was well spent. At Tilbury no one had, apparently, noticed a party of mounted men coming from the ferry that day. However, whenever I mentioned a rider on a black horse I noticed that people looked at me warily or exchanged anxious glances. We easily obtained directions to Fletcham and discovered it to be a hamlet on rising ground some five miles further along the coast. It was a scattering of very simple dwellings and there were few people about. Since we had to assume we were in enemy territory we asked no questions. We divided into pairs and split up to explore the surrounding countryside. When we reassembled it was Walt who brought information of what seemed to be the only house in the locality substantial enough to serve as a base for Black Harry and his band.

He led us to a high-walled estate. A chained gate denied access to the short drive leading to the manor house.

‘What now, Master?’he asked.

‘Let’s find a way in,’ someone said. ‘We’ve come this far; why stop now?’

‘That’s right,’ another agreed. ‘They broke into Hemmings. Let’s see how they like it.’

‘I’d be happier if I knew how well guarded the place is,’ I said. ‘Anyway it might not even be the right place.’

As I spoke I edged my mount forward for a closer look at the gate. On one of the stone pillars I made out a carved coat of arms. I peered closely. ‘I’ve seen this before,’ I said.

‘Where?’ Walt asked.

‘I can’t remember. It wasn’t carved.’ I concentrated all my attention on the simple heraldic device. ‘It was …’I removed my gauntlets and fumbled with the strings of my purse. ‘I think it was …’ I reached my hand to the bottom and found a crumpled piece of paper. I smoothed it out and squinted in the fading light at the drawing of a cup and cover. ‘Yes, it is the same. Look.’ I handed the paper to Walt. ‘A chevron between three animals of some sort.’

Walt agreed. ‘Yes, you’re right, Master, but what …’

I explained. ‘This was sent to me by Holbein. I assumed it was just a mistake. But now I think it was a deliberate message. He hoped I might show it to someone who could make the connection.’

The others were now crowding closer, trying to get a look at Holbein’s design. ‘What connection, Master?’ one of them asked.

‘The connection between Black Harry and whoever is supporting him. He knew that the men who attacked him on the road and who murdered his assistant were sent by whoever wanted to prevent his information reaching the archbishop. He knew I was trying to find these men. Perhaps he sent the drawing as a clue – or a warning. Since he dared not go to Cranmer in person, he hoped I might be in contact with his grace and would show him the picture. If I’d thought about it properly, I certainly would have done so.’

‘This is the right place, then,’ someone said. ‘What are we to do, Master?’

‘The first thing,’ I said, ‘is to find out who’s at home. Walt, you take John and Simon and go round to the left. The rest of us will follow the wall to the right. When we meet we’ll compare notes.’

Some twenty minutes later both groups had come together on the far side of the walled grounds.

‘Not very large,’ Walt commented. ‘Not half the size of Hemmings. In good order, though.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘The walls are well kept and the only small door we found was securely bolted. Did anyone hear any noise inside?’

‘All very quiet, Master.’

‘Not a sound.’

‘I heard nothing.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we mustn’t assume too much from that. We’ll climb the wall and everyone keep your wits about you.’

‘We passed an ideal spot,’ Walt said. ‘There’s a copse comes right close to the wall. We can leave the horses there, well hidden, in case anyone comes by.’

We found the location and dismounted. I delegated Simon, the youngest of our party, to stay with the horses. He protested. ‘Let John stay outside. I’m better in a fight than him.’

‘All the more reason why we need you out here. Stand near the gate. If you hear anyone coming, get yourself over the wall and come and warn us. If there’s any fighting – which God in heaven forbid – we’ll need someone who can go for help. If we’re not back here within the hour ride like the wind to Tilbury and wait for the men that Cranmer and Moyle should be sending. The rest of you remember we are just spying out the ground. If you see any of Black Harry’s men inside make sure they don’t see you. We’ve come to find out if the hostages are here. That’s all. If there’s any fighting to be done it must wait till we have reinforcements. As soon as we’ve found out what we can we’ll all make our way back to the horses. Good luck, everyone.’

Inside the grounds we again split into two groups cautiously approaching the buildings from different directions. A three-quarter moon came to our assistance. I felt excited and fearful. I was not afraid of another confrontation with Black Harry’s men. The anxiety that gnawed at me was that we would find nothing; that there would be neither gang members nor hostages in this house; that the whole expedition would prove to have been a waste of time and effort; that I would be no nearer the conclusion of the wretched business by this night’s end than I had been at its beginning.

My two companions and I approached from the south side, cleared the undergrowth and reached the edge of a lawn badly in need of scything. The black bulk of the house reared before us, with not a lighted window to be seen. As we moved further round there was still no sign of life.

‘The place is deserted,’ Walt said, when we eventually met up again. ‘We’ve missed the slippery hacksters.’

‘There’s only one way to make sure. We’ll go to the stable yard. If they’ve taken the horses, you’ll be right. Either they’ll have fled or they haven’t got back yet.’

Quietly we moved to the rear of the house. The gate to the yard stood open. As we entered, no animal noises greeted us and when we looked in the stables, every stall was empty.

I sat on the edge of the water trough. ‘God’s body, what a wasted day we’ve had. The hostages aren’t here.’

‘Like enough he’s killed them,’ someone muttered. ‘God grant I get my hand on the murderous villain.’

‘Don’t let’s be too sure,’ Walt said. ‘He boasted that he’d still got them. I reckon he’ll keep them as long as they can be any use to him.’

‘Pray God you’re right,’ I said. But I remembered Ned’s analysis of the kind of man we were up against – a man who took a positive delight in causing suffering and pain; the sort of unnatural creature who would look on with fiendish pleasure while his men hacked defenceless children to pieces. ‘He’ll be angry because we made a fool of him in London. He might vent his spite on the hostages.’

The others stood around in a semicircle, waiting for me to make a decision. ‘Well,’ I said, standing up, ‘there’s nothing we can do here. Let’s go back to Tilbury and wait for the men Cranmer and Moyle are sending. Perhaps we can organise a wider search tomorrow.’ They turned, dejected, towards the gate, knowing, as I did, that the suggestion was born of despair, rather than hope.