The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) (37 page)

‘I do hope you’re listening, Thomas. You would be foolish not to. I’m going to give you another chance to speak, but do remember what I said. A shout or a scream will cost you an eye.’ The shirt was removed, and Thomas swallowed hard, the taste of bile still in his mouth. Rush continued his monologue. ‘The best thing about this war is that it has brought with it opportunities for a man clever and daring enough to take them. Opportunities to become rich, opportunities to become powerful. Military men are so splendidly stupid. They hack each other to death while others are quietly seizing these opportunities. When they realize what has happened, it will be too late.’

‘Hell will be too good for you, Rush.’ Thomas’s voice rasped in his throat.

‘So you have made clear,’ laughed Rush. ‘Fortunately, I don’t believe in hell. Or heaven, for that matter. Believing in either makes life so much more difficult. Nor do I care much whether the country is ruled by king or commoner, Catholic or Puritan. Charles Stuart, John Pym, Oliver Cromwell, the Vicar of Rome, it’s all the same to me. There will be rich and poor, clever
and stupid. Happily, there will always be more poor and stupid.’ He took another sip of wine. ‘Which are you, Thomas? I wonder. Clever or stupid?’

Thomas turned his head and spat out a mouthful of bile.

‘If that is an answer, I fear I do not understand it,’ continued Rush. ‘Let me put the question another way. There is a place on my staff for a man as skilled as you. In view of recent developments, I shall be returning to London, where John Pym, as you will know, is dying. There I shall take up a new position under his successor, working to spread fear and discontent among the soldiers of the king. I shall need clever men around me, and I shall need one who can ensure that our communications go undetected by the enemy. A chief cryptographer. For the right man, the rewards will be great.’ Deceit, treachery, subversion – Rush’s weapons, and every bit as lethal as his blade. ‘Have you nothing to say to my generous offer?’ Thomas remained silent. ‘In that case, I will try a little persuasion.’ Holding Thomas’s head still, Rush drew a neat circle of blood around his right eye with the point of the blade. ‘There, just right if I should happen to need a target. And if you persist in this stubborn silence, I shall indeed need one.’

With his chest, neck and face cut and bloody, and unable to see much out of his right eye, Thomas
considered risking a scream. But Rush would not hesitate to plunge that blade into his eye, and, in any case, a scream might not be heard. Rush sat on the left side of the bed, so he concentrated on wriggling his right hand. There was a slight give in the rope that held him to the bed frame. With a lot of work, he might be able to loosen it enough to slip his hand through. The question was, would he have time to do it? The blade appeared again. This time, it sliced through his breeches and down his leg to the knee. Then it travelled up the other leg, stopping just short of his groin. Blood dripped on to the bed. Rush threw another pail of water over him.

‘So important in discussions of this sort to know when to pause,’ he whispered in Thomas’s ear. ‘One wants one’s listener to be able to give one his full attention and to encourage him to make a sensible decision. I have made my offer, Thomas. The matter is now in your hands.’

‘I would require a guarantee of absolute safety for my family,’ whispered Thomas, trying to ignore the pain.

‘And naturally you shall have it. They will join you in London, where you will be found an excellent house, with appointments and servants appropriate to your position.’

‘How will this be arranged?’

‘That need not concern you, Thomas. I shall personally supervise the arrangements for their safe passage from Romsey. And I shall escort you to London myself.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘Trust? What has trust to do with it? Be realistic, Thomas. Why would I lie? You have something of value to me. I’m offering you the choice of saving your life and your family’s lives, or a painful death, ignorant of what lies in store for them. Which shall it be?’

‘I need time to consider.’

‘Don’t be absurd. Time to consider what? Which eye I shall take first? Whether you will bleed to death? The issue is clear. Decide.’

‘I need time. You said I have something of value to you. Allow me an hour to consider your offer.’

‘Very well. An hour. Not a minute longer, or be sure that you have seen your last dawn.’

Thomas closed his eyes. Perversely, Homer, of all people, came to mind. When his beloved ‘rosy-fingered dawn, child of the morn’ arrived, would Thomas be able to see it? Rush was expert with his Spanish blade. A twist of the hand, and his eye would be gone. At least the bleeding from his neck and chest had stopped. He tried to think clearly. The rope around his wrist had moved very little despite his efforts to work it loose, his
ankles were tied together and Rush was sitting no more than a few feet away. Go with him or die here. Scylla and Charybdis – more Homer. With no idea of what to do if he did manage to free his hand, he clenched his teeth and kept working on the rope, which had already rubbed his wrist raw. Rush had twisted it twice around his wrist, then looped it around the wooden frame of the bed and knotted it tightly. To release his hand he would have to loosen the knot enough to pull it through. The indestructible Odysseus might do it; Thomas Hill probably not.

After no more than a few minutes, Rush, who had been sitting very still, stirred. ‘Did I say an hour, Thomas? How foolish of me. I find that my patience has already run out. What is your decision?’ Thomas needed more time. The rope was definitely looser, and, by squeezing his fingers together, he could pull his hand through the loop as far as the ball of his thumb. Ten minutes might be enough.

‘How will we get out of the college undetected?’

Rush smiled and pulled from his pocket an iron key. ‘The king’s private gate should serve us. I took the precaution of having a key made for myself when it was built.’

Thomas feigned ignorance. ‘The king’s private gate? Is there such a thing?’

‘There is. Now tell me your decision.’

But Thomas did not have to answer. There was a loud hammering on the door, and an urgent voice outside. ‘Thomas. Wake up. We’re leaving within the hour and you’re to come with us.’ It was Simon.

Rush was on his feet at once, his sword at Thomas’s throat. ‘Not a sound, Hill, or it will be your last.’

Simon hammered on the door and called out again, this time louder. ‘Thomas. Wake up. We must hurry.’

Thomas felt the point of Rush’s sword prick his throat. Rush would have locked the door after knocking him out, and Simon would not have a key, although Rush could not know that. He had to alert Simon without being immediately skewered. He made his hand as small as he could and wrenched it hard. It very nearly slipped through the rope. One more try and it would come. He had to make Rush look away. Risking the point of the sword, he turned his head towards Rush, looked past him, widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows as if in astonishment. Rush caught the look and turned. Thomas jerked his hand free and grabbed Rush’s wrist, twisting it as hard as he could. The sword dropped from his hand and rattled on to the floor. He shouted as loudly as his dry throat would permit. ‘Simon, kick the door down.’

Rush snarled, pulled his wrist free and bent to retrieve the sword. As he did so, the door, with a crack
like a musket, broke free of its lock and opened into the room. Rush picked up the sword and moved towards the door, where Simon stood watching him.

‘Well, priest, not a good time to call.’

The words were hissed. Rush took two quick steps and thrust the sword at Simon’s groin. For a big man, Simon could move very quickly, as Thomas had seen before. He stepped to his left, and chopped down on Rush’s arm with the edge of his hand. Rush cursed, but did not drop the sword. Now he knew what his opponent could do, he would take more care. Simon still stood at the door, not giving Rush the chance to get past him. Even unarmed, he would be a difficult obstacle to move. Rush circled cautiously around him, the sword pointing at his face. A false move and this man might disarm him. To test his speed, he jabbed at his eyes and stomach, his own eyes never leaving Simon’s. Simon deftly avoided the jabs, until Rush subtly changed his angle of attack, and drew blood from his cheek. Simon barely flinched. Again, Rush drew blood and again Simon ignored it. Given a chance, he would break Rush’s arm, and Rush knew it.

While they watched each other, Thomas struggled with the knot that tied his left hand to the bed frame. He got it free and reached down to tackle the rope around his legs. Rush must have seen the movement
from the corner of his eye. He backed away from Simon towards the bed. A quick thrust into Thomas’s unprotected throat, and he would turn back to Simon. Thomas could not free his legs in time. He sat up and waited for the strike, hoping somehow to parry it. It never came. The moment Rush turned his head towards Thomas for the thrust, Simon launched himself at his back. Both men crashed on to the bed, pinning Thomas underneath them. Simon grabbed Rush’s arm in both hands and bent it backwards. Rush screamed and the sword fell from his hand. Winded and unable to move his body, Thomas managed to free a hand and jab his fingers into Rush’s throat. At the same time, Simon grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head back. Rush screamed again and flailed wildly with his arms. It did no good. Simon de Pointz was a strong man. He held Rush easily, pulled him off the bed and dumped him on his face on the floor.

‘The ropes, Thomas, if you can,’ he said. ‘We’d better tie this thing up before it can slither away.’

Thomas freed his legs and used the ropes to tie Rush’s arms and legs securely, while Simon sat on his back and held him down by the neck. Unarmed, Rush was no match for his tall opponent.

‘You’re an unusual friar. I thought Franciscans were
peaceful souls,’ said Thomas, standing up to examine his handiwork.

‘In the backstreets and alleyways of Norwich, a boy learned to defend himself. St Francis would not disapprove of self-defence.’ Holding him by his hair, Simon hoisted Rush to his feet. ‘And if he had known this creature, he might even have advocated striking first.’

For the first time since Simon had broken down the door, Rush spoke. ‘Curse your eyes, monk.’

Simon shook him by the hair. ‘Save your breath, Rush. You’ll need it for the king. And I am not a monk, as you well know.’

Rush spat on the floor. ‘Pathetic little man.’

‘You can tell him that yourself. Clean yourself up, Thomas, and then let us escort Master Rush to his majesty.’

With his swordstick, Rush was an expert. Only drops of blood were seeping from Thomas’s wounds and he was able to stop the worst of it by pressing a damp cloth over them. The dried blood he washed off. A simple salve would heal the wounds; he’d have to speak to Simon later. Having made himself as respectable as he could, Thomas took one arm, Simon the other, and together they marched Rush off to meet his king.

In the early hours of an October morning, his majesty
was not best pleased to be roused from sleep to be told that Master Hill and Father de Pointz were outside and must see him at once. His first thought was that something untoward had happened to prevent the queen leaving the city quietly. They had said their farewells the previous evening, swearing undying love and re assuring each other that they would meet again soon. Arrangements for her journey had been hastily revised and she would now travel to Salisbury on the way to Exeter. Both Hill and De Pointz were supposed to be going with her. What were they doing here?

He soon found out. A long fur robe over his nightgown, he stormed into the receiving room, where Thomas and Simon held Rush between them. Six Lifeguards stood around the walls. It took the king a moment to take in the scene. Tobias Rush, the traitor who had escaped capture, back in Oxford and held by these men. How? ‘I once observed that my birds had flown,’ he said, regaining his wits. ‘Now I observe that one has returned. Guards, take this man in charge.’ Two guards jumped to it, taking Rush from Thomas and Simon. ‘Now, gentlemen, perhaps you would explain yourselves.’

When they had done so, the king turned to Rush. ‘I once trusted you. Now I know you to be a traitor and a murderer, and of the foulest kind. Before you are
executed, you will reveal everything you know about our enemies. Take him to the castle.’

‘Your majesty, if I may explain …’

‘Take him.’ With a protesting Rush between them, the two guards marched out of the room. ‘Betrayed by his own vanity and greed. How foolish.’

Indeed, thought Thomas, but he isn’t the first and he won’t be the last.

‘Is the queen safe?’ the king asked Simon.

‘She is, your majesty.’

‘Then we shall delay her departure until Master Rush has told us what he knows. I will send word to her. Master Hill, you will be summoned when there is news.’

Outside the Deanery, Thomas asked, ‘A word of thanks would not have been out of place, Simon, don’t you think?’

Simon shrugged. ‘His majesty takes the loyalty and suffering of his subjects for granted. He expects no less.’

‘Royal vanity. Doubtless an altogether finer quality than the common variety. For his sake, I do hope so. Now, Simon, as the door to my room has been kicked in by an intruder, I would rather lay my head elsewhere. Have you any suggestions?’

‘Merton always welcomes you, Thomas. My bed is your bed. I must attend the queen.’

Having told Simon everything Rush had said, Thomas returned that evening to his room at Christ Church, to find that royal vanity had allowed a gesture of royal kindness and the lock on his door had been repaired. The only thing I know is that I know nothing, he thought. Socrates, or possibly Plato. They’re easily confused. Very few men survived more than a taste of the type of examination conducted at the castle, and he guessed that the royal summons would come within a day or two.

A day or two with little to do but read, think of home and wait impatiently for news. That made for a long day or two, and Thomas’s temper was not improved by the steady autumn rain that discouraged walking in the meadows or the Physic Garden. On the first afternoon he paid another visit to John Porter, and on the second he called on Simon.