The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) (11 page)

‘Mine? Surely not.’

‘Her majesty takes a close interest in her staff and their friends. She probably wants to know who you are. Come. I shall present you.’ Together they left Fayne standing on his own. Thomas sensed dark eyes boring
into the back of his neck. Just as well the king and queen were present or he might by now have been disembowelled.

Before the queen, Jane curtseyed and Thomas bowed.

‘And who is this, Lady Romilly?’

‘Your majesty, this is Master Thomas Hill, in Oxford visiting his old tutor. We met by chance in the town.’ Thomas bowed again. The queen peered at him. She looked a formidable lady. No wonder some called her the ‘Generalissima’.

‘Master Hill. We welcome you to Oxford, now capital of England, and the seat of its lawful parliament.’

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

‘Lady Romilly is a loyal servant and a dear friend. He who harms her harms me. If she is also your friend, be sure to protect her from danger at all times. With your life, if needs must.’

‘That I certainly shall, your majesty.’

‘Good. We are pleased to have met you, Master Hill.’

A third bow, and a cautious retreat.

‘With my life? A little dramatic on so short an acquaintance, don’t you think?’ said Thomas.

‘The queen is not given to understatement. Do not take her too literally.’

‘I shall try not to. Now, if you will excuse me, Lady
Romilly,’ he said, when they had moved into the crowd, ‘I have a letter to give to Master Rush. Then I will slip away. Perhaps we shall meet again.’

‘I would like that, Master Hill. You have told me little about yourself. Or about what really brought you to Oxford.’ Thomas took his leave with a polite smile.

Rush watched him approach. ‘Master Hill, I see you are acquainted with Lady Romilly. A charming lady. How do you come to know her?’

‘We met by chance in the street. I was able to render a small service to the lady.’

‘How fortunate. A lady to whom many would like to render a small service.’

Thomas ignored the unexpected vulgarity. ‘You kindly agreed to have a letter delivered to my sister, sir. Here it is.’

‘By all means. It shall go with the next messenger.’

‘I’m grateful, sir.’ Thomas retreated towards the gate. Tobias Rush was indeed an unusual man. Forbidding in manner, kindly in deed. Scrupulously polite one day, coarse the next. Not an easy book to read.

Having successfully navigated Blue Boar Street, he arrived back at Pembroke to be greeted just inside the gate by an indignant Fayne. ‘And what, may I ask, was
a miserable bookseller doing at the queen’s masque?’ he demanded.

‘I was invited, sir, as, I imagine, were you.’

‘Naturally I was invited. I have been presented more than once to her majesty. She is aware of my loyalty to her and my interest in the dramatic arts. What I want to know is why you were invited, and by whom?’

‘I was invited by Master Rush.’

‘Rush. I might have guessed it.’

‘Now, sir, if you will excuse me,’ said Thomas politely, ‘I have work to do.’

‘And what work would that be? Selling books? Or something more sinister? If I thought for a second that you were disloyal to the Crown, Hill, I’d have you interrogated. And don’t forget it.’

‘I shan’t. Good day, sir.’

‘And another thing, Hill. Keep away from Jane Romilly.’

Thomas did not reply. Would he have to endure this every time he set foot outside his room? The man was obsessed. A tiny room and now Jane Romilly. Why could Fayne not find somewhere else to take his pleasures? Down by the river, perhaps, where Thomas had taken them himself all those years ago. Should he tell Rush about the man? No, let it be. Perhaps the oaf would go away.

HE STARED AT
yet another pile of papers. The only thing at all interesting about decoding military reports, thought Thomas, was finding the mistakes made by their incompetent encrypters. Very few of them remembered to use the right codeword and they all sent messages full of careless errors. The only source of comfort was that, judging by the few intercepted messages that had landed on his table, the enemy’s efforts were every bit as feeble.

The subject matter was irredeemably tedious. When lacking anything better to occupy them, the king’s commanders relieved their boredom by firing off despatches on matters of excruciating banality. Why Sir Marmaduke Rawdon on the south coast thought that his majesty should be apprised of his recent attack of
gout, or Sir John Owen in North Wales felt it necessary to remind him that, to be effective, wagons need horses and horses need hay, defeated Thomas. Neither, however, were as regular in their correspondence as the gallant Earl of Northampton. By now, Thomas knew everything he could possibly wish about his lordship’s household, hopes and health. But each message had to be decrypted, rendered into plain text and passed to Abraham, and thence to the king. Whether his majesty bothered to read them, Thomas doubted. He longed to find a message of extreme urgency and vital importance. Sighing, he picked up the pile and went to see Abraham.

Thankfully there was no sign of Fayne, although the courtyard was busy. He made his way past a dozen soldiers noisily complaining to a baker’s boy about the price of his bread and around a pile of calivers waiting to be cleaned by an armourer. At Abraham’s door he knocked and entered without waiting for a response, knowing that the old man might be dozing in his chair. ‘Good morning, Abraham,’ he said loudly, just in case.

‘Ah, Thomas, I thought I heard your footsteps on the stairs. What have you brought me today?’ Abraham rubbed sleep from his eyes and smiled. ‘These days, I never quite know if I’m asleep or not. Somewhere between awake and dreaming, I think. One of the curses of old age.’

‘I fear that this lot will do little to waken you,’ replied Thomas, putting the pile of papers on Abraham’s table. ‘They’re as dull as ever.’

‘How dreary for you. I had hoped you would find the work more stimulating. What about the intercepted messages?’

‘Just as tedious. Rheumatism and rations, pikes and pay, fodder and flintlocks. Why can’t we intercept a message telling us that Essex is about to surrender or the London-trained bands have turned on Pym?’

Abraham laughed. ‘Ever the way with words, Thomas. Alas, military despatches are like poems. You might read a hundred before you come across a good one.’

‘I wonder then why you thought to send for me. Anyone could do this work. And I have no more inkling of who murdered Erasmus Pole than I had when I arrived. There hasn’t been a hint of it. Please may I go home?’

‘I fear not, my friend, not until the king says so.’

‘What if I just leave?’

‘Then you would be in danger, and so would I. The king would take it as a personal insult.’ Abraham turned his face to the window. ‘I shall have to think of something to amuse you.’

‘I do wish you would. At the moment I’m
thoroughly unamused. Bored to my bones, in fact.’

Abraham changed the subject. ‘How are you getting on with Tobias Rush?’

‘I haven’t seen much of him. He’s a little unsettling perhaps, but I’ve no complaints.’

‘Do take care, Thomas. He’s a dangerous man and a powerful one.’

‘So you’ve told me. A certain Captain Fayne, however, strikes me as more dangerous.’

‘Fayne?’

‘The man you and Rush had removed to make way for me. A most unpleasant specimen.’

‘Is he? Oh dear. Do let me know if he becomes a serious problem. I’ll have a word with Rush. Now, I shall have one of my half-sleeps and hope that inspiration pays a visit. We must keep you fully occupied, mustn’t we?’

‘Please. Goodbye, Abraham. I’ll call again when I’ve dealt with the next batch.’

There was still no sign of Fayne outside, and Thomas reached his room unmolested. There another pile of paper awaited him, and, with a deep sigh, he took up the first sheet. More of the same, Thomas, more of the same.

After three hours of reading, writing and rewriting,
Thomas threw down his quill and stood up. He stretched his back and yawned. He was tired and hungry, and he needed fresh air. The rest of the pile would have to wait.

Having visited the kitchen, which was as obliging as ever, he left the college, turned south into St Aldate’s, made his way to Christ Church Meadow, threading a path between long lines of mortars and cannon, and thence towards Merton. The food and the warm afternoon sun did much to lift his spirits and, by the time he reached the Merton gate, he was feeling brave enough to call on Lady Romilly.

In the college courtyard, golden chariots, white horses, singers and lutenists had been replaced by a large troop of the queen’s Lifeguards, ready to challenge and, if necessary, dispose of un welcome intruders. Each trooper carried not only a pike or an arquebus and ammunition, but also a sword and a knife. When their captain asked Thomas his business, he gave his name, mentioned Simon de Pointz, and asked for Lady Romilly. He was escorted to the Warden’s lodgings, which the queen and her court had taken over, and told to wait outside. Merton showed signs of the war – soldiers and their paraphernalia, guns and powder, arms and armour – but it was nothing like Pembroke. The queen and her ladies would not have allowed it.

When Jane appeared, black curls framing her face, and dressed today in pink and blue, she was distinctly flushed. ‘Master Hill. A surprise. I was quite unprepared. Had we made an appointment?’

‘No, madam, and my apologies for surprising you. I was walking in the meadow, the day is warm and it occurred to me to call. Would you care for a stroll through the Physic Garden? I hear it is lovely at this time of year.’

Jane hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Her majesty is at her toilette. She may need me afterwards.’

‘If the question is not treasonable, how long does her majesty’s toilette take?’

‘Perhaps an hour more.’

‘Then let us enjoy the sunshine for exactly fifty-five minutes.’

Jane smiled. ‘That would be delightful,’ she said, taking his arm. ‘Not a minute more, though.’

On the path towards the garden, they passed a young woman pulling a handcart. On it was a body wrapped in a dirty sheet. She was heading for the south wall and, beyond it, the communal grave Thomas and Simon had seen when they arrived. Thomas put his hand to his face. The body was not a new one. Jane crossed herself and looked away. ‘Another widow,’ she whispered. ‘The disease is everywhere.’

‘Too many people in too small a space,’
replied Thomas. ‘It seldom occurs in the countryside.’

They followed the path by the river towards the garden. It was lined by willows, and bulrushes and sedges grew along the banks. Jane bent to pick fleabane. ‘The queen loves gardens. She hates to see the gardens in the colleges destroyed. Do you know what this is, Master Hill?’

Thomas examined the fleabane. ‘A white and yellow flower of no particular distinction?’

‘Tush. Daisy fleabane is its common name. More properly,
Erigeron strigosus
.’

‘Madam, you’re as learned as Simon de Pointz. Are all the queen’s staff instructed in botany?’

Jane laughed. ‘It’s as well to know a little. The queen herself is very knowledgeable. Thomas, can you not call me Jane?’

‘If you wish it, Jane, I can. You’re very fond of the queen, are you not?’

‘I am. She’s a gracious lady with a deep love of nature and art. The more extravagant masques I put down to her rare artistic temperament. The king is devoted to her, as I believe the country would be if they knew her better. Her faith tells against her. In that, she is uncompromising.’

‘The country is suffering, Jane,’ said Thomas delicately.

‘Indeed. The queen knows it.’ She paused. ‘Thomas, can I entrust you with a secret?’

‘Of course.’

‘The queen is expecting a child in the spring. Her physician has just confirmed it.’

‘Why is it a secret?’

‘She fears the reaction of the people.’

‘The people will know soon enough.’

‘She will go to France for her confinement, and return with the child.’

‘Let us hope they both return to peace.’

When they reached the Physic Garden, Jane asked about Thomas’s family, and he about hers. She told him that when Sir Edward had died at Edgehill she had returned to York, and joined the queen’s court when it arrived there from Holland. In July, she had left the safety of her family home and travelled with the queen to Oxford. She had hated leaving her elderly parents, but had believed it her duty to do so. They had been accompanied by three thousand men and a hundred wagons. The Generalissima had proved herself a most persuasive recruiter. She spoke of the queen’s hardiness on the journey, and her kindness to a young woman recently widowed. She spoke also of her husband, whom she had known since they were children, and of her fear that she would now never have children of her own.
Thomas told her about Margaret and his nieces, his time as a student in Oxford and his interest in books and philosophy, just managing not to mention Michel de Montaigne.

The garden was tended by a dozen gardeners in leather jerkins and straw hats. It, at least, had so far survived the ravages of war, although at the end of a hot summer it was showing signs of fatigue. Jane and Thomas walked between tidy beds of lavender and violets, and around a patch of mallows. Jane picked a stem of St John’s wort. ‘And how do you occupy yourself in Oxford, Thomas, when you are not with Master Fletcher?’ she asked.