Owen (14 page)

‘I hope we are not—but I wouldn’t put it past Duke Humphrey to take the law into his own hands. The only way to stay safe is to ride as far from London as we can.’

‘What about Edmund and Jasper?’

‘They are safe in the care of the Abbess of Barking. I will have to wait a little before I can visit them.’ I pray it is true that my sons are now with Katherine de la Pole. ‘Have you had any reply to the letters I sent?’

Nathaniel shakes his head. ‘No. Perhaps the duke refused them permission to reply?’

‘I expect you are right. I shall take some small comfort from the fact my letters were not returned.’

Thomas is concerned as he listens to our exchange. ‘Will we be safe when we reach the Welsh border?’

‘Not really, Thomas. The king said I was a free man, yet I expect they’ve already come up with reasons to arrest me again.’

‘You have the king’s pardon!’

I take one last glance behind us before answering. ‘I sensed we were being followed—and we are.’

This time a group of riders can clearly be seen approaching. They ride too fast for ordinary travellers and even from a distance I can tell they are trained soldiers, riding in pairs with one man leading in the front. Winter sunshine flashes from polished breastplates and now we can see they carry long halberds, the weapon of the king’s men.

Nathaniel turns in his saddle. ‘Should we try to make a run for it?’

‘There’s no point now they’ve seen us. Let’s find out what they want.’

We wait until the soldiers reach us and I count twenty men, noting they do not wear the duke’s livery. Their commander, a well-dressed man a little older than me, rides up and studies the three of us with a scowl of distaste. He wears his sword ready for use and everything about him suggests years of military experience.

‘You cost a good captain his job, Tudor, by escaping last time.’ He frowns. ‘I am not going to allow you to do it a second time, by God!’

‘And you are, sir?’

‘Lord Beaumont, acting in the name of the king.’

‘I have the king’s permission to travel to Wales, my lord.’

Lord Beaumont doesn’t answer. He nods to his waiting men, who take my sword and dagger, then my precious saddlebags. Nathaniel begins to protest but I shake my head to silence him, as there are too many soldiers. I know what will happen to my silver and gilt cups and plates but I still have my purse, hidden inside my doublet. Even if we have the chance to escape I am certain I will lose all the valuables I have managed to bring from Hatfield.

Last time I had been allowed to keep my sword, as I wasn’t officially under arrest. This is different. My sword and dagger are my most precious possessions and I wonder if it is worth trying to protest that the king’s wishes are being so blatantly ignored.

I study Lord Beaumont, trying to judge his resolve. ‘What’s the meaning of this, my lord?’

‘I am instructed by the council to take you to Newgate, where you will be held pending trial.’

‘What trial, my lord? I have been acquitted by the order of the king himself. My travelling companions are innocent of any crime, so why are they also being detained by your men?’

Lord Beaumont scowls. ‘Follow me.’ He turns and leads us back the way they came. ‘You will ride with us—and if you try anything you will be dragged behind a horse. Do you understand?’

I look across at Nathaniel and Thomas. We understand.

The worst thing about Newgate Gaol is the foul odour permeating the old stones of the building. I taste the taint of death and despair with every breath. The gaol is run by private gaolers known as ‘keepers’, cruel men, hardened by their work and keen to profit from their charges in any way they can. The other inmates range from those awaiting trial to the most hardened criminals in London, condemned to hang on the gallows at Tyburn.

The shouts and demonic howls of other inmates echo down narrow, dark corridors, keeping me awake at night. One of my neighbours seems to have lost his mind and bangs his empty food dish against the iron grill of his door, loudly protesting his innocence for hours at a time. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! The man stops for a moment and I hold my breath, waiting for the racket to continue. It invariably does, at all hours of the day and night. I know it will drive me mad, but there is no point in complaining as no one cares.

My cell is ten feet square with a small, north-facing window, too high to see through, yet the source of freezing drafts on cold winter nights. Alone, with only a straw mattress and an old iron bucket, I draw comfort from the thought that my friends have probably been released and are doing what they can to have me released.

There is nothing for me to do other than reflect on the sad turn events have taken. I try to take stock of my life and thank God I have two strong and healthy sons, who give me all I need to live for. I miss them and pray they are old enough not to have their minds turned against me. I miss my Catherine and force an image of her frail body from my mind, trying instead to recall her youthful beauty at our first meeting.

I must presume all my possessions are now stolen or confiscated by Lord Beaumont’s men. All I have to show for thirty-eight years is what I managed to hide from the cursory search when I was arrested. I peer through the small holes in the door grill, trying to see down the corridor. A brown rat scuttles busily alongside the wall and out of my limited field of view. There is no sign of my keepers.

Two of them share responsibility for the corridor where my cell is located. They both insist on being called ‘master’, although there the similarity ends. Master Griffin, the eldest, is surly and rarely speaks unless he has to. He has the dull, dead eyes of a man who has resigned himself to a miserable existence and carries an iron-studded truncheon. I am certain the old keeper would not hesitate to use it if I give him the opportunity.

Master Briggs cannot be more different. He enjoys scheming and taunts his charges with threats and promises he has no intention of keeping. I try to keep on good terms with them both, as my life could depend on it. I once saw Griffin spit in one of the other prisoner’s food and know he is capable of worse. At least Master Briggs sometimes brings me a cold eel pie or scrap of ham in return for an extortive payment to supplement my diet of grainy pottage.

I remember one other thing of value I still have and search for the secret pocket where it is hidden. The square of white linen is faded now, creased where it is folded over. I smooth it out and feel a surge of painful memory as I study the red dragon, so carefully sewn. It has failed as my good-luck charm but I hold the square of fabric to my face and feel an unexpected longing for Juliette. She truly loved me yet I turned my back on her for Catherine. I wonder if she is married now or ever thinks of me.

At first I expect to hear what charges are brought against me but several long weeks pass and still no news comes. Then at last the heavy iron bolts on my door scrape and I hear the rattle of the key in the lock. The door bangs open to reveal Thomas Lewis. My first thought is relief that my long wait is finally at an end.

Then I realise what the grim-faced, unkempt appearance of my friend means. Always clean-shaven, Thomas is almost unrecognisable with his dark growth of beard. It is clear from the way he looks at me that he has suffered in his captivity.

I embrace him. ‘It’s good to see a friendly face. What happened to you?’

Thomas crosses to the rusty iron grill in the door and looks through to see the keeper has gone. ‘We are in what they call the wards.’ He looks around the tiny cell. ‘Not as grand as this but at least we have company. Petty thieves and cut-purses.’

 
‘I paid one of the keepers here to find out about you and Nathaniel.’
 
I smile ruefully as I remember. ‘He took my money and forgot his promise.’ I look at Thomas. ‘How is Nathaniel?’

‘I won’t lie to you, Owen. Nathaniel was beaten quite badly. They took all his money. Everything.’

‘Is he hurt?’

‘No bones broken—a black eye and some nasty bruises.’

‘And you? I hoped you would have been released by now, Thomas.’

‘I’ve been working as a chaplain, hearing confessions and tending to the sick. It’s not very different from what I was doing before—and it means I can visit you.’

‘You are only here because of me, Thomas. I’m sorry.’

‘We knew the risks—and we’ve come up with a plan. Before his money was stolen Nathaniel paid to write a letter to Duke Humphrey, pleading our case.’

‘The duke will be in no mood to do me any favours, Thomas. He can hold us for as long as he wishes.’

‘There was a reply.’

‘What did the duke say?’

‘We have to await the deliberations of the council.’ Thomas frowns. ‘We fear they will keep us here indefinitely, so we have a new plan. We can’t wait much longer, Owen. Men are dying in this disease-ridden place.’

I curse. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Nathaniel told me about Samuel Carver.’

‘The man with the scar helped Carver escape from here once.’

‘Nathaniel thinks they will only help us if someone were to persuade them in person.’ His words hang in the air.

‘Who?’ I cannot think of anyone at all.

‘Someone we can trust, completely.’ Thomas looks uncomfortable. ‘We sent a note to Briony, asking her to visit me here.’

‘Briony?’ I think back to her nervousness when the baby was born.

‘She is working in the abbey infirmary and visited me last week.’

‘I would rather not involve Briony.’

‘We have few options, Owen. Who else could we ask? Most of the people Nathaniel knows in London are honest merchants—none we could ask to help us escape.’

‘There are risks. This could put her in danger.’

‘Briony is resourceful. All we asked her to do is deliver a message to the man in the inn at Abbot’s Langley.’

Carver proved it is possible to escape from Newgate—but he is a ruthless man with no scruples. Now I have unwittingly put Briony in danger. Far too late, I wish we had made more of an effort to escape when we could. The duke must have learned from his mistake, which is why he sent Lord Beaumont in person to arrest us. I know my friends are right but it pains me to know I must rely on men who should be in Newgate.

‘Do you have any money left, Thomas?’

‘It was taken from me by Lord Beaumont’s men when we were arrested.’

I feel for my purse, hidden under my doublet. ‘I’ve had to pay the keepers but still have most of the gold and a few silver coins.’

‘Good. I told Briony to promise five gold nobles once we are freed. We started to worry when Nathaniel was robbed, so were counting on you still having gold in your purse.’

I am already thinking about returning to Ynys Môn. ‘Lord Beaumont will take it personally if we escape. They will be covering every road into Wales. We’ll have to hide somewhere during the day and travel only at night.’

‘Nathaniel has an idea.’ Thomas looks through the door grill again, as they both know the keeper could return at any moment. ‘We are close to the Thames. He thinks we should take a boat and head up the river towards Wallingford.’

We hear the sound of heavy boots outside and the keeper arrives to escort Thomas back. Thomas makes the sign of the cross and raises his voice so he can he overheard. ‘God be with you.’

I know this is for the benefit of my gaoler. ‘And with you, Chaplain.’

After Thomas has gone I lie back on my uncomfortable straw mattress, my head buzzing as I think about the possibility of being a free man again. My neighbouring prisoner resumes his habit of banging on his cell door. The sound echoing down the corridor had driven me to distraction before but now it hardly bothers me. My friends have achieved so much while I have done so little, and I resolve to make it up to them when I can.

I sleep with my boots on, ready and waiting for news for three weeks before I hear the furtive scrape of a key in my lock. I know the keepers’ routine and feel my heart race as I guess it must be my rescuers at such an early hour. The bolts slide slowly to reduce the noise and the heavy door swings open.

Thomas is waiting and beckons to me. ‘Come quickly! We need to get out before they notice we’re missing.’

We run down the corridor and pass through a side door into a dingy, high-walled courtyard topped with spiked iron railings. I see the crude rope ladder dangling over the wall and climb to the top, then over the railing and drop to the ground on the other side. I almost collide with Nathaniel, who is waiting in the near darkness with the scar-faced man.

Nathaniel looks relieved to see me with Thomas following close behind. ‘I was starting to worry.’ He glances towards the river. ‘We must be quick—a boatman is waiting.’

I take a last look back at the brooding, silent gaol then we run towards the river. My breath freezes in the air, but I am oblivious to the cold in the excitement of the escape. We dart down an alleyway and soon reach the Thames, where the boatman waits with a lantern. A dog barks somewhere in the darkness, startling me. I hand my purse to Nathaniel, who counts out payment for the scar-faced man.

The clinking coins make me feel a surge of anger as I watch the man pocket his money. ‘What happened to Samuel Cleaver?’

The man scratches his head. ‘I’ve no loyalty to Cleaver. You’ll find him working as a cook at
The Swan
in St Albans. He uses a different name—but I’d stay away from him if I were you.’ The threat in the man’s voice brings back long-forgotten memories as he disappears into the morning mist.

I turn to Nathaniel. ‘How did he manage to get us out?’

‘The gaol was designed to keep people in, not out. It seems it is quite easy to break in, although we still needed the key to your cell.’

‘How did he manage that?’ I can’t imagine either of my keepers handing over the key without a fight or a significant bribe.

‘I have no idea.’ Nathaniel looks relieved our rescuer is now gone.

The boatman helps us aboard and I see the tide is against us as we head to the opposite bank. We make slow progress and the murky brown water, littered with floating debris, seems sinister. The grey mist seems like the ghosts of the dead who drowned there, and the dark outlines of buildings are full of shadows, any one of which could hide witnesses to our escape.

‘Take an oar, if you will, sir?’ The boatman struggles against the flow of the river and nods towards a second set of oars stowed in the bows. I unfasten the spare oars and fit them into iron rowlocks. Pulling with all my strength, I feel a satisfying improvement in our passage up the dark, swirling Thames.

We round the bend in the river and I recognise the silhouetted tower of Westminster Abbey rising out of the mist, a useful landmark to show our steady progress. Rowing against the stream is hard, physical work, but it is good to feel the fresh air in my face after so long in the dismal prison. With each stroke we move further from the horrors of Newgate and closer to my new future. I grit my teeth, pulling hard on the oars, keeping pace with the boatman and tasting brackish spray.

I row facing Nathaniel, who cowers in the stern of the boat, making himself useful as a lookout. I can see the strain our time in Newgate has taken on him, as his pale face is thin and his eyes dart from bank to bank, scanning ramshackle buildings. I have already asked too much of Nathaniel and decide we will soon have to part, at least until I secure a royal pardon.

At last the river narrows and the buildings begin to give way to open ground. A rickety wooden jetty reaches out into the river from the southern bank, with several old boats tied up, waiting for the morning trade. There are no signs of movement, so although the area is unfamiliar to me it will have to do.

I call to the boatman. ‘Drop us off here, if you please.’

We reach the old wooden supports and I grab hold of one to pull our boat in before climbing out onto the jetty. I help my friends out of the boat and raise a hand in thanks to the boatman, then we head into the mist. The path leading to the jetty widens to become a road and I hope it will soon lead us to a town or village.