The Traitor’s Mark (41 page)

Everyone wanted to welcome me back and hear an account of my ‘adventure' but Ned placed himself in charge of the patient and ensured my rest was not disturbed. I felt as weak as a newborn baby and the soreness in my belly abated almost imperceptibly slowly. Ned brought me regular nourishing broths but, apart from his visits, I spent most of the next couple of days in a state between waking and sleeping.

Sometime late on Friday morning I was dragged from slumber by lashing rain rattling the casement. At least that was my first impression. Suddenly I realised the window was open. Worse than that, a figure was climbing in. The man's jerkin was wet from the rain and his riding boots were thickly caked in mud. He jumped with a feline movement and landed softly. He walked to the foot of the bed. As his face came into the light I gasped in alarm. Black Harry!

I tried to cry out but words would not come.

I felt his weight as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He turned on me that appalling smile that revealed arrogance, contempt and cruelty. ‘Master Treviot, I'll wager you thought never to see me again. Yet here we are having our final meeting.'

‘So I'm to be added to your long list of cowardly murders.'

‘Cowardly?'

‘Aye, you specialise in women and children. Now you add a sick man to your score.'

‘I don't choose the people who stand in my path, who try to obstruct my mission.'

‘Oh, let us have no rich-embroidered nonsense about “missions” and “sacred causes”. You're a blood-soaked ribald, who kills for the love of it. If you really think you are serving some higher cause, you deceive no one but yourself.'

He drew his poignard and tested its edge against the palm of his left hand. ‘You're not a religious man, Master Treviot, or you could not make such ignorant comments. If you knew anything of the just God I follow, you would weep for the thousands of souls condemned to hell for embracing false religion.'

‘I like not the sound of that god.'

He ignored my comment. ‘I wish you could have seen some of the cringing wretches in the cells of Valladolid: Mohammedans and Jews who pretended conversion to the Catholic faith; misbegotten Lutherans who brazenly defied ancient truth. When we brought them to the edge of death, when they looked beyond it and saw the lurid flames of the pit, why, they shed tears of gratitude because we had revealed these things to them. You do not see into that other world. You do not know what endless torment awaits you. That is why men like me are needed. Men
who are not obsessed with the things of this world. Men who have the courage to force the wilfully blind to see reality.'

‘I've heard enough of your twisted religiosity. Do what you came here to do. Then we will see which one of us ends up in hell.'

But there was no stopping him. ‘If only you could witness the souls being led to perdition by that Satan-hound, Archbishop Cranmer, you would know that he must be stopped.'

‘You won't achieve that. There are good men determined to foil you.'

‘The archbishop's time will come, I assure you. And now yours has come.' He pulled back the bedclothes and placed the point of his dagger against my stomach. I felt its sharpness even through the thick dressing covering my wound.

Strangely, I felt no fear. If I closed my eyes it was not to escape the reality of death. It was simply that I did not want my assassin's leering face to be the last thing I saw in this world.

‘Why, Thomas, whatever have you been doing, throwing the bedding about like this?' Ned set down his tray of nostrums beside the bed.

‘Have a care, Ned!' I cried. ‘He's in here somewhere and he's armed.'

‘Who's here?' He glanced round the room.

‘Black Harry! He came in through the window.'

Ned walked across the room. ‘Well, he was considerate enough to close it behind him.'

‘But I saw him – quite clearly, I heard him. I felt him.'

‘You dreamed him, Thomas. That's quite common in people recovering from the kind of shock that your body has had. When I was in the monastery—'

‘No, Ned! He
was
here.
Really
. He must still be in the house.'

‘I'll tell the servants to make a thorough search,' Ned said. ‘But now, let's have a look at your dressing. It will need changing, I expect.'

I sat up to help him remove the cloth bindings. He stooped to peer at the wound. He stroked his beard. ‘This is very good,' he said. ‘Remarkably good.' He gently fingered the wound. ‘How does this feel today?'

‘Much less painful than yesterday,' I replied.

‘Excellent. Excellent. Well, we'll bind it again, just for a few days more.'

The following morning I had another visitation. The first I knew of it was when Adie and Lizzie burst in. They seemed flustered. Lizzie bustled around the room, tidying and straightening things, while Adie helped me into a sitting position and smoothed the covers.

‘Why all the fuss?' I demanded.

‘Important visitor!' Lizzie muttered, moving my heavy
chair from the table to the bedside. ‘Ned's delaying him as best he can, but he'll be up directly.'

‘Who?' I shouted – and the result was an immediate stab of pain in my abdomen.

‘The archbishop,' Adie whispered in my ear. ‘In person.'

No sooner had she said the word than the door opened and Thomas Cranmer entered with his usual solemn gait. He was closely followed by Ralph Morice, who carried his left arm in a sling. The women made curtsies and withdrew silently.

The archbishop took the seat provided for him. He reached out to the coverlet and laid his hand on mine. ‘Master Treviot, it is so good to see you. We have been very concerned about you. It was an immense relief when news came from Gillingham of your safe arrival there. As soon as we heard that you were returned to your home, we decided to come to thank you in person for all your help.'

‘Your Grace does me great honour,' I replied, ‘but I fear you have nothing to thank me for. I was supposed to help you apprehend Ferdinand Brooke. All I did was get him killed.'

Morice, standing behind the archbishop, said, ‘It would have been better to bring the traitor to justice – publicly, in the king's law court – but we found several papers among his belongings on the ship that make his appalling crimes quite clear.'

Cranmer said, ‘I am on my way to Westminster for Council
business. It will be my duty to lay this information before my colleagues. I could not pass by the opportunity to make this diversion to satisfy myself that you were recovering from your ordeal. I feel responsible for all you have suffered.'

‘It was an honour to be of service to Your—'

Cranmer raised a hand to silence me. ‘Thomas Treviot, you are not a courtier and you are, therefore, spared the necessity for flattery.'

‘Is this wretched business really over?' I asked.

‘Almost, please God,' Morice said. ‘Our enemies are, as we hear, thrown into some confusion. Yesterday another of Bishop Gardiner's messengers was arrested in Canterbury. The letters we confiscated carried instructions to cease their harrying of his grace.'

Cranmer smiled. ‘My Lord of Winchester is confident that he can, himself, do all the necessary harrying. Now, we dare not stay long; his majesty is returning briefly to Whitehall from Ampthill in order to consult me before the Council meeting. It would be most useful to hear everything you learned about Master Brooke and his plans aboard his ship.'

I gave a detailed account of all that had taken place a week before. As I spoke, it was as though I were describing the strange adventures of some other man at some other, long-distant time.

When I finished, I said, ‘Your Grace, I'm equally anxious to hear what happened to the men you sent into Essex. May
I ask Master Morice what happened after we left him and his companions on the shore?'

‘An uncomfortable night is the short answer,' Ralph said ruefully. ‘We heard your attack on the barque and expected the boat to return. We waited for news and were startled to realise that the ship was under sail. By then it was too late for our return journey, so we camped among the trees. At first light we put our dead and wounded on the wagon. Our prisoners were trussed up and tied across the spare horses. Thus we made our slow progress back to Tilbury.'

‘I'm so sorry my stupidity enabled Black Harry to escape,' I said.

‘Oh, but he didn't,' Morice replied. ‘Before we left, the guard captain ordered a last search of the area to make sure none of the Spaniards were skulking in the vicinity. One of our more sharp-eyed men spotted the boat, beached higher up the creek. We sent a group of horsemen to investigate and they came upon Black Harry and his friends, soaked through, and shivering with cold. That meant more prisoners to be watched and slowed us down further but we managed to get all of them back to Gravesend, where we packed them into the jail.'

‘How did Black Harry escape again?' I asked.

‘Black Harry? Escape? Not he. We had had more than enough of his tricks and prevarications. A special court was summoned. That evil scoundrel was tried and straightway executed.'

‘Executed?' I gasped. ‘You're sure?'

‘I went to witness it myself. Like you, I was well aware of Master Walden's capacity for getting out of tight corners. He was quite unrepentant to the very end. In fact he screamed abuse and railed like a madman. He even had the gall to threaten his grace from the scaffold.'

‘The archbishop's time will come,'I muttered.

‘Aye, those were his very words.' Morice looked puzzled. ‘Has someone else already reported the hanging to you?'

‘No matter,'I said.‘When was the execution?'

‘Noon, yesterday. Thomas, are you all right? Is the pain worse? You look suddenly ... Shall I fetch your apothecary?'

My heart was thumping and my head had fallen back against the cushions. ‘Don't be alarmed,' I said, recovering quickly. ‘Just a twinge in the wound. It happens from time to time.'

‘Then we must not tire you further,' the archbishop said, rising. ‘I bid you farewell and assure you of my prayers for a complete recovery.'

Morice stayed momentarily after Cranmer had left the room. ‘You might remember his grace in your prayers,' he said. ‘We are not completely in the clear yet. Gardiner and Norfolk may be desperate enough to try anything.'

A short while afterwards Lizzie, Bart, Ned and Adie crowded into the room.

‘Well,' Lizzie demanded, ‘what did your distinguished visitor have to say?'

‘He enquired after my health.'

‘And?'

‘He thanked me for my help.'

Lizzie treated me to her familiar pout. ‘I should think so too. If he really knew what you ... what all of us have been through ...'

‘Ralph Morice told me Black Harry is dead.'

All four of them cheered, though Ned crossed himself.

‘It really is over, then,' Bart said.

‘I think so.'

‘Well, there's a couple of months none of us will ever want to see again,' Ned said. ‘I think I'll away to the kitchen and brew something special to celebrate.' He sidled out of the room.

Bart sat down on the bed. ‘We can really start thinking about business again. There's several customers we need to make contact with. They'll want to know when we plan to reopen the shop.'

‘Bart, let the poor man rest,' Lizzie said.

‘We have to start—'

‘Bart!' Lizzie threw him a knowing glance from the other side of the bed.

‘Oh ... er ... yes. Well. I suppose that can wait a bit.'

He stood up and his wife almost pushed him out of the room.

Adie turned to leave also but, from the doorway, Lizzie said, ‘Keep the patient company for a while.'

I patted the bed and Adie sat demurely.

‘You're looking much better,' she said. ‘You had us really worried. We were afraid you might ...'

‘Die?'

‘Yes.'

‘There was a time when I thought I was going to die.'

‘Were you afraid?'

‘Strangely, no. Just annoyed that I wouldn't be able to do things I very much wanted to do.'

‘What sort of things?'

I put a hand behind her neck and pulled her face down to mine. Hurriedly, hungrily, clumsily, I kissed her.

She drew back, gazing at me with wide eyes. She looked as surprised as I felt. For a long moment I stared at her, cursing my impulsiveness, hoping I had not upset her, regretting – yet not regretting. Then Adie smiled and, very gently, she kissed me back.

Epilogue

November 1543

(The exact date is unknown)

The Archbishop of Canterbury and his secretary sat facing each other in the canopied area of the archiepiscopal barge. Even on a morning such as this when the river, swollen with autumn rain, was running swiftly and the oarsmen had to dig deep to counteract the pull towards the City, it took no more than five minutes to cross from Lambeth Palace to Whitehall. Neither man spoke during the brief journey. Each was fully occupied with his own thoughts.

Ralph Morice tried to imagine exactly what would happen when they reached the Council chamber. Who would be present? Who would take charge? What – exactly – would they say? He looked at Cranmer, resting
placidly against the cushions, eyes closed. Trying to radiate a calm he did not feel? Praying? Knowing his master as he did, Morice could well believe that the archbishop was interceding for his enemies.

The six rowers lifted their oars and the barge gently nudged the staging of Whitehall Stairs. Attendants reached out to pull the boat sideways on to the landing stage and make fast the mooring ropes.

With a scarcely perceptible sigh, Cranmer stood, stepped forward and accepted a hand to help him on to the stairs. He climbed the few steps. Morice followed. They made their way between the sprawl of buildings that flanked the river, crossed the Sermon Court, where preachers approved by the king pronounced official doctrine, and so reached the broad stone stairs leading to the Council antechamber.