The Traitor’s Mark (11 page)

James said, ‘He's right, Thomas. We'd be churls to reject Edward's offer. I've certainly no stomach for riding on through this.'

I could see the sense of what they were saying and, despite my anxieties, I accepted Thwaites's hospitality. An hour or so later we made the short journey to his house at Chilham, where he was as good as his word. I certainly felt refreshed by the time our little party was back on the road soon after dawn on Sunday morning. Still our progress was slow. The storm had left showery weather in its wake, as well as roads that were deeply mired. Twice we had to stop while workmen cleared trees that had fallen across the highway and near Allington a swollen river had taken away the bridge, forcing us to ride downstream until we found a fording place. Noon was passed before I bade goodbye to James and headed along the wooded road to Hemmings.

My man and I had not gone another mile before we saw a rider coming rapidly towards us. Seeing us, he reined in
and I recognised Andrew, one of my stable hands. He was in great distress.

‘Master Treviot, is that you? Oh, praise the Lord! I've been sent to look for you. I thought not to find you so soon. You must come! You must come! Something terrible!'

Chapter 7

At Hemmings everything was in a state of shocked confusion. Women were crying. Men were either sullenly silent or noisily blaming each other. Only out of Walt did I manage to obtain a coherent account of what had happened. Standing in the doorway of the long barn, he gave me his report.

‘It was soon after cock crow, Master; not fully light. It was time to change the guards. We assembled here in the yard. I went with Andrew to the south gate. I was taking over there and he was supposed to be patrolling Long Wood. When we came to the cottage where Adie and the children were, I stopped to check with John Thatcher, the man I had set to do the night watch. I found him on the floor lying in a pool of blood.'

‘God in heaven! Was he ...'

‘Dead? No, Master, praise be, but he'd taken a bad blow to the bead. We've got him abed now and the physician from Ightham has been in to bandage him up.'

‘And Adie and the children?'

‘Gone, Master – all save the baby, who was crying as though he would burst open. This was fixed to the door.' He handed me a scrap of paper. Its scrawled message was brief: ‘
THE GIRL AND THE BEARNS FOR THE PAINTER LONDON BRIDGE THREE DAYS
'.

The words were like a blow to the stomach. ‘Curse me for an idiot! This is Black Harry's work. I should have been here. How did the rogues get past our guards?'

‘'Twas cleverly done, Master. Devil knows how they got into the grounds. What I think is that they had a good look round under cover of darkness. When they saw John guarding the cottage they must have realised that was where our visitors were staying. The doctor said John hadn't lost much blood, so he couldn't have been lying there long before we found him – perhaps half an hour. Long enough to bind and gag young Adie and the children or terrify them into silence then leave the same way as they came. We found evidence that horses had been tethered in a thicket close to the east gate. I sent out search parties along all the roads leading from here ... but ... nothing.'

‘They would have gone cross country. A group of
horsemen carrying children would have been too conspicuous riding through villages and hamlets.'

‘We have had one report. Some woodmen clearing storm damage on the Tonbridge road near Mereworth saw them travelling along forest tracks.'

‘Going east then.'

‘Yes.'

‘I wonder ...'

‘Master?'

‘Where are they heading for? They'll have to hide somewhere, and soon. They must know where to go; where to find someone who will shelter them. Who is it?'

‘Impossible to say, Master. We could search the country for weeks and never find them.'

‘You're right, of course. Oh, how stupid, stupid, stupid I've been! This was the one thing I wanted to prevent happening.'

‘So what's to be done, Master?' Walt looked to me for a decision, and several others stood nearby waiting to hear my answer.

What was I to say? I was too stunned by what had happened to give my people the lead they expected of me but I had to do something. With a confidence I certainly did not feel, I gave my orders. ‘I'll write letters to the magistrates and all the gentry. Get together whatever men you can spare and have them ready to ride all over the shire. If we alert as many landowners as possible we should be able to discover where this gang is hiding.'

I went to my chamber and called for ink and paper. I had scrawled no more than three messages when the door burst open. Lizzie marched in with Ned Longbourne a few paces behind her.

‘You cackbrained clotpole! What have you done?' She stood before me, hands on hips, dark eyes flashing. ‘You get this old man to bring me here for “safety” and what do I find as soon as I arrive, my children taken by a gang of cutthroats. I'll never see them again.'

Ned stepped forward. ‘It seems the baby is safe and in good hands,' he ventured diffidently.

‘Close your maw, you old fool!' Lizzie raged. ‘I'm thinking of my little Annie. She'll be frightened to death – if she isn't already dead.' She turned away and paced the room. ‘There are three witless gulls here. You two haven't a brain to share between you and I've been lunatic enough to listen to you.'

I stood up and took a step away from the table. ‘It's good that you're here, Lizzie ...'

‘Don't you soft-talk me!' She raised her hands, fingers outstretched like claws and lurched forward.

What she would have done if Ned had not stepped between us I know not. He took hold of her arms and guided her to a chair. ‘You are right,' he said. ‘We've all been foolish. But now we share the same grief and anger. What we must do is channel our feelings, pool our folly and see if we cannot, between us, find a few grains of wisdom. Thomas,
can you tell us exactly what has happened? We have had only garbled accounts from the servants.'

He settled on a stool beside Lizzie while I outlined the sequence of events from my departure the previous day to my arrival home again.

Ned looked puzzled. ‘Why do these desperate men think you know where Master Holbein is hiding?'

‘It must be because they know I'm looking after his children. Their safety is my only concern. I'm just writing letters to all the main landlords,' I concluded. ‘I mean to alert the whole shire. That way we should hear news of these villains.'

Lizzie glared at me across the table. ‘More folly!' she shouted. ‘What's the first thing they'll do when they know they're being tracked?'

Ned and I exchanged glances. We both knew Lizzie was right. To be sure of avoiding capture the murderers would not hesitate to get rid of their hostages.

‘What else can we do?' I asked.

Lizzie answered promptly. ‘Give them this man they're looking for.'

Ned shook his head. ‘But we don't know where he is, Lizzie.'

‘Then try harder.' Lizzie stood up, tight-lipped. ‘I'm going to take my baby.'

For some moments after she had gone Ned and I stared at each other in helpless silence. ‘So the children are doomed whether we act or whether we do nothing,' I said at last.

Ned nodded. ‘We are in what the mystics call the dark forest of fear. Yet, what makes our case worse is that we are not the only ones lost in it.'

‘Your meaning?'

‘Well, for sure Black Harry (and it must be him we seek) lives in dread of the hangman. Adie and the children must be suffering from we know not what terrors. Poor Bart and this Master Johannes you tell me about are frightened into hiding.'

‘Aye, and it stops not there.' I told Ned of my meetings with Cranmer and Marbeck. ‘All these things must be connected. For example, I believe I may know why this raid was made today.'

‘Tell me.'

I wandered to the window and gazed out across an overgrown patch of lawn where water had gathered in the depressions. ‘I have been very careful not to mention the name “Black Harry” to anyone I do not trust completely, because I do not know who might be among his patrons. Yesterday afternoon I'm fairly sure someone overheard me speak the name.' In my mind I saw again the figure of Edward Thwaites emerging from the shadows in Moyle's hall. ‘That same person is a sworn enemy of the archbishop. Later he pressed me – very hard – to stay the night with him.'

‘To keep you away from Hemmings?'

‘I think so.'

‘Because he knew the children were here?'

‘I think he must have overheard that, too.'

‘Even if you are right about this fellow 'tis not information you can use. Lizzie's judgement is sound: we dare not let Black Harry and his associates think we're on his trail. You see what I mean about us all blundering around in the same darkness. Not only do we need to find our own way out; we have to avoid bumping into each other.'

‘Mary and all the angels, what a mess! I suppose Lizzie is right. We must find Master Holbein.'Tis the only way.'

‘How, if he will not be found?'

‘I know someone who is a party to his plans; I'm sure of it.' I told Ned about Jan van der Goes. ‘I'll seek him out tomorrow.'

‘And you think you can persuade this man to betray his friend and then persuade Master Holbein to surrender himself to the assassins?'

‘Perhaps. Once he knows that his children are in mortal danger, he might do the right thing.'

‘Is it the right thing? What of his importance to Cranmer ... and your own solemn oath? Heaven knows, I'm no lover of our archbishop but you are sworn before God to serve him. Will you so lightly put your immortal soul in danger?'

‘Don't preach at me, monk!' I glared across the room. ‘I need no one to draw the cords of conscience tighter than they already are. If you've nothing more useful to say, you'd better be away back to Southwark.'

*

The party that set out for London the next morning was in a sombre mood. Lizzie, as was her wont, rode astride and she had baby Jack well swaddled and strapped to her chest. I had chosen fresh horses for her and Ned. Several of those in my stable were tired, having been ridden hard along treacherous muddy tracks the previous day in search of the abducted children. We were accompanied by six of my strongest men. After the events of the weekend I was taking no chances for the safety of myself and my friends. I set as brisk a pace as the conditions would allow. Although the weather had brightened, the highway was still badly rutted and pitted. Some of the parishes along the way had taken their statutory responsibilities seriously. Groups of workers were out with spades, picks and carts of stone, filling holes and smoothing the surface. There was less wheeled traffic than usual, presumably because carters were wary of wasting long hours freeing their vehicles from the mud. That, at least, made travelling easier for horsemen. I had hopes that we might reach the City by day's end and could set about our quest for the painter early on the morrow. Keeping up a good speed while, at the same time, watching for hazards ahead, left us little time for conversation. We were only able to discuss our plans in spaced-out, disjointed episodes.

‘I should come with you when you go to Bart,' I suggested to Lizzie.

‘Why?'

‘'Tis my fault his daughter is in jeopardy.'

‘Like as not he'll blame himself for starting all this trouble.'

‘That's another reason for me to see him. I want him to know that I don't reproach him. He stumbled quite innocently into matters of high state. He couldn't have known of the dangers involved. Probably he still doesn't.'

‘Well, I certainly don't.' Lizzie scowled. ‘What's it all about, Thomas? If I'm on the point of losing my husband and my child, I'd rather like to know what cause they're being sacrificed for.'

‘Lizzie, as long as there's blood in my body, I'll do all I can to save them – both.'

‘We know that's not possible.'

‘You mustn't think that.'

‘Mustn't?' she snapped. ‘I've been thinking of nothing else all night. If we save the children by giving this Black Harry you talk about what he wants, he'll remain at liberty and Bart will still be an outlaw wanted for murder. But if we track down the gang in order to clear Bart's name they'll kill their hostages. So, don't give me empty promises. Just explain what higher purpose this is all supposed to be serving.'

‘Oh, Lizzie, I wish I could. I don't fully understand it myself. It's all about ...'

‘Politics?'

‘Yes – politics and religion.'

‘Dear God, the games these kings and great men play,
using us for their cards and counters.' Her angry bluster was an outlet for her anxiety, just as mine had been the previous day when I snapped at Ned.

We were coming into a small village. A little family group stood at the roadside – a mother and three young children, barefoot and ragged. They held out their hands to the passing travellers.

Lizzie found her purse and threw down some coins. ‘Do you think they care about kings and popes and archbishops?'

‘Probably no more than kings and popes and archbishops care about them,' I said.

‘Then, in the name of all the saints in heaven – or wherever they are – why should we put everything at risk to keep one single nobleman or bishop in power or bring down another nobleman or bishop? Can you honestly tell me that this wretched business matters – 1 mean,
really
matters?'

In simplified terms I tried to explain that Cranmer and his enemies could not agree about the kind of church life England should have, that each was passionately attached to his understanding of truth and that for them, and many others, it was a matter of life and death. I don't think I convinced her.