D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

Your assured friend,

Johannes Holbein

I handed the letter to Ned. ‘Tuesday! He wants a meeting on Tuesday! And now ’tis Thursday! Mother of God, must we be always missing each other?’

‘What will you do?’ Ned asked.

‘I must go straight to Bridewell and wait.’

‘Is that wise? The warehouse is being watched.’

‘That’s true, but we can’t miss our chance again.’

‘Black Harry’s men are sure to recognise you as soon as you arrive in Bridewell Lane.’

Bart said brightly, ‘You’ll have to go in disguise.’

‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘One lot of disguisings is quite enough.’

Ned looked thoughtful. ‘I wonder why Master Johannes suggested meeting at Bridewell. He will know it’s being watched.’

I reread the letter. ‘He is very specific about the time of meeting: “Tuesday evening after seven”,’ I pointed out.

‘For some reason that time is safe,’ Bart said. ‘Why, what happens at seven after noon on Tuesday?’

‘Or on any day,’ I said.

Ned nodded. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ Bart protested.

Ned explained. ‘Holbein has had plenty of time to observe the routine of Black Harry’s men – watching the watchers. He has discovered that they do not keep vigil round the clock.’

‘But why not?’

‘They would soon arouse the suspicion of the constable’s watch.’

‘It may also be that our master fiend does not have enough men for arduous surveillance, all night long,’ I added. ‘Whatever the cause, it may be safe there once ’tis fully dark. We must try tonight and hope Holbein comes.’

I busied myself with the arrangements for Lizzie’s journey to Hemmings and saw her on her way around midday, in the capable hands of Walt and two of my other servants. After that all I had to do was wait – wait and worry. This should be, could be, might be, the day the last, vital piece of evidence fell into place. If Black Harry’s men were not there to intervene; if Holbein came to the rendezvous; if his information was as important as he believed; then we could complete the chain linking Moyle and the villains he hired to the Duke of Norfolk and the imperial ambassador. Then I could leave Anthony Denny, Archbishop Cranmer and their friends at court to do whatever they had to do to uncover the whole network of traitors. In the process, Bart would be freed from suspicion. All this hung upon one meeting. But would that meeting take place? What would I do if it did not? Try again the next day? And the next? And the next? I did not want to think about the result of failure. I watched the sky darken over Southwark as rain clouds heralded an early dusk. Ned had prepared a tempting supper but I had little appetite and before six o’clock I saddled the horses myself and, with Dick for company, set out to cross the bridge.

Traffic was light and there was nothing to impede our progress the whole length of Thames Street. We were at Ludgate well before seven o’clock. Rather than arrive too early and risk an encounter with Black Harry’s minions, we turned into St Paul’s Yard and ambled round the cathedral until the clock struck. I left Dick at the north end of Bridewell Lane and cautiously made my way past the houses and the high walls of the palace. As I approached the quay two horsemen approached from the other direction. I reined in to let them pass, keeping my hood well over my face.

‘Good even to you,’ one of them called out, slowing his mount.

‘And to you,’I responded lightly.

‘Are you going to the quay?’ he asked and I was conscious of being carefully scrutinised.

‘Yes, are there still boatmen for hire?’

‘One, I think,’ he replied. ‘You’d best hurry.’

‘Thank you, friend.’ I legged my horse into a trot. I had not recognised either of the men but I felt sure they were members of the gang. Had I satisfied them?

I waited several minutes on the deserted quay before turning and retracing my steps.

‘Did you see two men come up the lane?’ I asked Dick when I reached him.

‘Yes, Master. They turned right, towards the gate. Were they Black Harry’s men?’

‘I think so. I hope so. Anyway all’s quiet now. We’ll leave our horses over there at the Red Hand inn and go on foot.’

Minutes later we walked back down the deserted lane. I led the way through the alley and up the stairs, unlocked the door and entered Holbein’s lair. With the aid of the last of the light through the high windows we found lamps and lit them. I looked around the large room.

The scene that met my gaze was very different from the one I had left ten days earlier. The place had been tidied up. The floor timbers still bore multi-hued smudges of paint, but the few pieces of furniture were now in place. The bed was covered. Stools stood upright. At the far end Holbein’s self-portrait stood on its easel. Brushes and pots of pigment set on a table beside it indicated that the artist was still working on it. And he had obviously been using a polished tin mirror nailed to one of the wall bearns.

We seated ourselves on two of the stools. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

I do not know how long it was before we heard footsteps on the stair – probably not as long as it seemed. We jumped up and stepped across to the door. We stood either side of it. My hand went to the pommel of my poniard. The steps stopped outside and we heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened and swung inwards. The figure that entered was well covered in a hooded riding cape. He took a pace into the room, looked around cautiously and closed the door behind him. He threw back the hood.

‘Good even to you, Thomas Treviot,’ said Johannes Holbein.

We embraced warmly. ‘You cannot know how overjoyed I am to see you, Johannes,’I said.

I stood back and stared at him. My first impression of the artist was that he had aged noticeably since we had last met. Though not yet fifty, his features were lined and his eyes lacked sparkle. He dropped his cloak to the floor and, with a sound between a sigh and a grunt, lowered himself on to a stool. His doublet was unbuttoned and his shirt crumpled.

‘Master Treviot, I fear I have put you to much trouble,’ he said.

‘’Tis you who have been in great trouble. I hope I can help you put an end to it.’ I turned to Dick. ‘Better go outside and stand guard in the lane. We don’t want any surprise visitors.’

‘The villains won’t return till first light,’ Holbein said, ‘but ’tis as well to be cautious.’

‘I believe we saw two of them going off duty. I do not think they recognised me, but …’

‘Pastor Meyer has told me of some of the difficulties you’ve faced on my behalf. And you have also taken care of my sons.’ Holbein smiled. ‘That is a great burden lifted from me. How are they?’

I recalled Lizzie’s words on the subject and checked myself from offering a glib answer. ‘They have been touched by this business but they are safe now. I think no lasting damage has been done.’

Holbein smiled. ‘They are bright boys. Alas, I have seen too little of them.’

‘You will have plenty of time to spend with them as soon as this present problem is over.’

‘Well, well, we shall see.’ He was silent for several moments. Then he said, ‘’Tis time, I think, for them to be put to a tutor. Do you know someone suitable?’

‘My own son is privately taught,’ I said. ‘Francis Sturn-good is an excellent scholar and wields his birch well, though not too often. I’ll arrange for you to meet him, if you wish.’

He raised his eyes towards the rafters, avoiding my gaze. ‘We must do the best for them. I have made a will. It is with John of Antwerp, as you call him. There is provision for the boys and their nurse.’