The Traitor’s Mark (24 page)

‘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.

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.

Chapter 18

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.'