D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Well, odd or not, that’s the sort of man he is,’ I said. ‘Now, tell me what’s been happening here.’

Bart said, with an air of triumph, ‘I’ve found him.’

‘Master Holbein? Well done! That’s wonderful!’

Ned sounded a note of caution. ‘Come now, Bart, be honest. What you really mean is that you have seen Master Holbein.’

Bart grimaced. ‘Don’t be so dainty-minded, Ned. I know where he is. That’s to say, I know where he might be. Two or three places, anyway.’

‘Perhaps it would be good if you started at the beginning,’ I suggested.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Ned opened it to admit Lizzie. Dick gave her his stool and squatted beside her on the floor. As I looked round the circle I could not help reflecting that we had become a group of conspirators, perhaps no better than the men we were pitted against.

Lizzie’s first question was ‘How is Adie?’

‘I’ve been away from Hemmings a week or more and I saw little of her when I was there.’

‘She will need much time to recover,’ Lizzie replied. ‘Perhaps I should go to her.’

‘Better for you to stay where you can look after your own,’ I suggested.

She gave me one of her intense – and quite indecipherable – stares.

‘Your husband was about to tell us of his finding – or not finding – Master Johannes,’ I said.

Bart began his story: ‘I couldn’t stay cooped up here all the time, getting in Ned’s way. In any case, I want to put an end to all this hiding in corners. I want to get back to normal; the life I had with Lizzie and the children, and with my work, before this Black Harry turned it upside down. So I went out looking for Master Johannes. Ned helped me with disguises. We’ve become quite good at it. I can become a begging leper, a bushy-bearded German, a pedlar of potions. With walnut juice to darken my face I can even-’

‘Spare us the secrets of your art,’ I said. ‘Tell us what you discovered.’

‘Well, the Steelyard seemed the obvious place to start. I thought Master Johannes was sure to call on his friends there. So I went with my beggar’s scrip and found a corner in Thames Street where I could watch the foreigners’ comings and goings. First day – nothing. Second day – nothing till noon. Then I realised I was looking for the wrong person. Master Johannes, like me, is in hiding. Therefore, he would also use disguise. From that moment I looked more closely at the faces of the men coming out of the Steelyard. I tried to spot false hair, painted cheeks, large, concealing hoods. After about an hour a man with just such a large hood, stepped into the street, paused, looked each way, then turned eastwards. I followed. He led me to Mark Lane, then Hart Street and so to Aldgate. I was sure I had my man and this was confirmed when he produced a key and let himself into Master Johannes’ house. I settled myself opposite, meaning to approach him when he came out. Then, guess who came along? Constable Pett. He stopped and yanked me to my feet.’

‘Did he recognise you?’ I gasped.

Bart laughed. ‘Not he, the blunderhead! He had me worried for a moment, though. Looked at me long and hard, he did. Then he says, “You’re new. Well, just you listen to the rules for beggars in my ward. It’s half for you and half for me. If you don’t like that you get taken to the magistrate for a thrashing.” He grabbed my scrip and emptied all the coins into his purse. “I’ll take this for an earnest”, he says. “I see you a-trembling,” he says. “You do well to be afraid. All your sort tremble before Constable Pett.” Empty-headed churl! If I was shaking, it was with laughter. Trouble was, while this villainous braggart was shouting in my face, Master Johannes came out of the house and hurried along the road. I got away from Pett and set off in pursuit. Master Johannes went down an alley by the Saracen’s Head but when I reached it there was no sign. It was another two days before I found out anything else. I thought he might go back sometime to the place you’d spoken of in Bridewell Lane. So I hung about the quay there for a couple of days. I asked the dock men if they’d seen anyone answering Master Johannes’ description. This time I was a lawyer trying to find a witness in a fraud case. No luck there – not when they realised I wasn’t paying for information. But I did learn that I wasn’t the only one asking questions about a foreigner who sometimes came to the quay. Someone else is looking for him. Must be Black Harry. The rest of the week was a waste of time. It wasn’t till yesterday that I saw him again. I decided to take horse and spend the whole day visiting the locations where I’d seen him. Just before dark I spied him coming out of Bridewell Lane. He turned left, went as far as the Conduit, then turned down Shoe Lane. I was just in time to see him enter a house on the right but the light by then was too poor for me to be sure of which house it was.’

‘Then your conclusion is that Master Johannes has a number of refuges in and around the City,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, and is constantly on the move.’

I voiced my frustration. ‘Why doesn’t he make contact? If he’s seen Pastor Meyer, he will know the boys are safe and he can trust us to help him.’

‘Now that you and the others are back, Master Thomas, we can watch his hiding places,’ Bart urged. ‘I can show them to you and one of us is sure to see him.’

‘That’s true,’ I agreed. ‘Tomorrow you can take us round and show us.’

During this conversation Lizzie had been gazing thoughtfully into the fire. Now she said, ‘So you won’t be going straight back to Hemmings.’

‘No, this business with Master Johannes is too urgent,’ I replied.

‘Well, you won’t need all your men to find him. I’d like to borrow some.’

‘What for?’I asked.

‘For an escort down to Hemmings. You all seem to be forgetting Adie and the children. Someone has to look after them.’

‘They seemed to be recovering when I last saw them,’ I said.

‘Recovering! By all the saints, Thomas! A few weeks back you called me slack-brained for helping Bart hide from the law. Now you sit there calmly saying Adie and the boys are happily “recovering” from their ordeal. Now who’s being empty-headed? Carl and Henry have lost their mother; their father has disappeared; they have been captured; dragged around the country; tied up and left to die. As for Adie, she’s had to support the boys and try to give them courage, while being ravished by Black Harry’s men. And you blithely say, “They’ll recover”. Well, let me tell you about our Annie. Every night she wakes up dreaming about being chased by black demons on horseback. I don’t know if she’ll ever get those frightening pictures out of her head. You say it’s very important to find this painter. Well, I say it’s every bit as important to show some compassion to those whose lives have been shattered in the quest. So I’m going to find me a wagon to take me and the children down to Kent and I’d greatly appreciate it if you could provide me with an escort.’

It was in a very sombre mood that the party sat down to supper.

The next morning I put Walt in charge of arranging Lizzie’s journey to Hemmings. I was about to set out with Bart on a tour of Holbein’s hiding places, when one of my men arrived from Goldsmith’s Row. He handed me a letter. ‘Delivered about three days ago,’ he said.

There was no name on the outside but as soon as I opened it out, I recognised – with huge relief – Holbein’s meticulous writing.

Master Treviot, I greet you well.

Pastor Meyer has told me of your recent conversation. Most heartily I thank you for your care of my sons, who are my only joy in this world. I beg you will continue to keep them in your charge until I am free to relieve you of that burden. For now they can only be safe at distance from their father. I must remain in hiding from those who seek me with untiring diligence. They know I have information that will destroy them and for that reason they will not forbear until either they achieve their ends or they are apprehended. If you will meet me at the place shown you by our Flemish friend on Tuesday evening after seven I will pass on to you what I have discovered, confident that you will know where to deliver it.