The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) (7 page)

‘Only a little more serious.’

‘Yes. A little more serious.’

Outside they heard the clatter of boots on cobbles, the clash of sword and armour, voices raised, orders being given. Thomas rose and gazed out of the window. ‘Who would have imagined it?’ he asked, as much to himself as to Abraham. ‘Pembroke College a soldiers’ billet. Our beautiful place of learning turned into this.’

‘I still awake some mornings having forgotten what has happened. Then I hear the war outside my window and it all comes flooding back. Is it as bad out there as it sounds?’

‘Worse. The college is in ruins. I haven’t seen a scholar since I arrived, and there are soldiers everywhere.’

‘So Silas tells me. He found you a room, I trust?’

‘He did, and thank you for your help. I gather the
previous occupant was less than happy at being asked to leave. A nasty beggar, Silas called him.’

‘So I believe. I had to enlist the help of Tobias Rush to have him removed, but he was one of the few with a passable room to himself, so he had to go. We couldn’t have the king’s crypto grapher sleeping on a bench.’

‘Who is Tobias Rush?’

‘He’s an adviser to the king, perhaps his most trusted adviser. Not a man I would invite to dinner, but useful to know if you want something done. You’ll meet him tomorrow, I expect. Call for me at ten.’

‘I will, Abraham, and it’s a joy to see you again.’ Thomas rose to leave. As he did so, he saw the old man’s eyelids droop. He was asleep before Thomas had closed the door.

Thomas, too, was tired. Four days in the saddle and three nights away from his own bed were taking their toll. His shoulders ached and his backside was sore. But his legs needed stretching, he wanted to see the old sights again, and he was famished. In his room he splashed his face with water from the ewer, adjusted his dress, carefully locked the door behind him, and then went to find Silas Merkin.

Silas was in his little room by the college entrance. His guardroom, he called it. From there, he could see the courtyard and all its comings and goings. Thomas
smiled at the memory of trying to slip past him unnoticed with a willing girl from the town. It had not worked. Silas had pounced, the girl had been sent on her way and Thomas had slept alone.

‘Ah, Master Hill. How did you find Master Fletcher?’

‘His mind is still sharp, Silas. Would that his eyes were too. Old age can be a terrible thing.’

‘I do take care of him, sir. Make sure his food is how he likes it, help him with washing and dressing, that sort of thing.’

‘I know you do, Silas, and I thank you for it. He’s a good friend and a fine scholar. Now, I’m hungry. Where shall I go for my dinner?’

‘I can easily have the kitchen prepare something for you, sir. No need to go foraging.’

‘Thank you, Silas. But I need to walk off the stiffness in my back, and I’d like to see something of the town.’

Silas was a little put out. The kitchens came under his control, and he liked his scholars and visitors to use them. ‘As you wish, sir, but do take care. The town is much changed, as you may have noticed. The Crown in Market Street still serves well. You could try there.’

‘I will, Silas. And I’ll take care.’

Leaving the college, Thomas made his way down
the lane and up St Aldate’s towards Cornmarket. In the streets, soldiers jostled with townspeople, and at Golden Cross a noisy crowd had gathered to watch a woman in the pillory being pelted with muck. It must have been stony muck because blood dripped from her mouth and cheek. ‘What did she do?’ Thomas asked a young soldier.

‘The old hag tried to steal a trooper’s breakfast. She’s lucky not to be on a gibbet,’ the man replied.

Thomas moved swiftly on into Market Street, making for the Crown. Market Street was even busier. Uniformed men and women in rags bargained noisily with the tradesmen hawking their wares from stalls on either side of the street. At least the town’s bakers, brewers and tailors were doing well. The crush of bodies around the stalls forced him to the middle of the street, down which ran a reeking open drain, half blocked in places with shit and refuse. He took care to avoid being jostled into it, as some had been. On a whim, he continued past the Crown and into Brasenose Lane – the lane Erasmus Pole had walked down after dinner at Exeter. It was a stinking, rough, narrow passage, un-cobbled and with high walls on both sides, dark even at that time of day. Avoiding the worst of the muck, he kept to the middle of the lane, skirting the drain that ran down it. He had taken barely ten steps when a foul
whore, what was left of her face pitted by pox, emerged from the shadows on his left and grabbed his arm.

‘Looking for company, sir? Meg’ll make you stand to attention.’

Yellow spit oozed out of her toothless mouth like pus from a boil. Thomas recoiled in horror and pulled his sleeve away. Resisting the urge to turn back to Market Street, he swallowed hard, squared his shoulders and carried on up the lane. Beggars lined the walls, some crippled, others diseased. Hands were held out as he passed, and pleading voices raised. He ignored them all. Abraham was right. A cautious old man would not have walked this lane in daylight, never mind at night. At the east end of the lane, where it met Radcliffe Square, a whore was being humped against the wall by a grunting soldier. When the woman saw Thomas, she called out to him.

‘Won’t be long, sir. Be your turn soon.’

He quickened his pace, turned right into the square and made his way back to the Crown, where he found a corner seat and ordered a bottle of port wine.

On a table at the back of the inn, a noisy game of hazard was in progress. Four well-refreshed soldiers were laying down their money and cheering or cursing loudly at each throw of the dice. Knowing from experience that it was a game which required a clear head and
a quick brain, Thomas wondered that they could play with such speed despite being full of ale. The loudest of the men was the caster, a fair-haired captain who stood out like a peacock in a chicken run. Flowing locks over his shoulders, a short cape over a fine linen shirt and tight blue knee-breeches marked him as a man who did not wish to be mistaken for a supporter of Parliament. And his manner was as brash as his dress. He thumped the dice on to the table, roared lustily if they behaved as he wished, and cursed his foul luck if they did not. Now and again he hurled them so hard that they rolled off the table and on to the floor. When that happened, he yelled at one of his companions to pick them up and be quick about it. The peacock evidently saw himself as the leader of this flock. The others, more soberly attired in the leather jerkins and loose breeches of fighting men, merely grinned and raked their coins off the table. Thomas could not help noticing that the stakes in the game were a good deal higher than those he had once played for on the same table. A scholar’s penny had become a soldier’s shilling.

As Silas had said, the Crown did serve well. After a plate of good roast mutton with oysters and radishes, and a sweet apple cream flavoured with ginger and lemon, Thomas felt more himself. Taking his purse from his pocket, he asked the landlord how much he owed.
‘How will you be paying, sir?’ asked the man suspiciously.

Taken aback at the question, Thomas held up his purse. ‘The usual way, landlord. Coins of the realm.’

The landlord grinned. ‘In that case, sir, two shillings’ll do nicely.’ Thomas handed over the coins.

‘What other case is there?’

‘Ah. You must be new in Oxford, sir. We have to take tickets from the king’s men. Tickets instead of coins. Worthless, if you ask me. We’ll never see the money.’ He glanced pointedly at the dice-players. A woman stoned for stealing a soldier’s breakfast. An innkeeper robbed by gambling soldiers who did not pay for theirs. Not the Oxford he remembered.

His belly full and his spirits a little restored, Thomas decided to risk another stroll before returning to his room. He walked down High Street and into Magpie Lane. The crowds had thinned and it was a route he knew well. It would take him past Merton and over Merton Field, from where he would turn towards Christ Church and into St Aldate’s. Ignoring the beggars and whores and the black smoke of coal fires, he reached Merton Street. He was about to cross the street to join the path leading to the field, when a sudden scream from his right stopped him. Turning sharply, he saw a woman in a yellow gown and a short black cape beating fiercely at an attacker with her hand. With the
other hand she was trying to wrest her purse from him. Despite the scream, she looked unhurt. Indeed, her assailant, who could not have been more than twelve years old, seemed to be losing the battle. His shoulders hunched, he was trying vainly to cover his head with his arms.

‘You there,’ shouted Thomas, hastening to help. ‘Thief!’

The thief let go of the purse and ran.

Thomas shouted after him, ‘Stop, thief. Thief! Stop that boy.’ But the few people in the street ignored him, and the thief disappeared around a corner.

‘So much for Oxford,’ said a soft voice behind him. ‘Home to king, queen, army, exchequer and mint, but apparently not to gentlemen.’

Turning, Thomas saw a lady of about his own age, black curls to her shoulders, cheeks flushed and a little smile playing on her lips. Slim of face and figure, and dressed in a cream silk gown embroidered with tiny red and white flowers, she was not a lady whom one might have expected to find unaccompanied in the town, especially this town. Thomas tried not to stare, and failed miserably.

‘Except for you, sir, naturally. I thank you for your assistance, although the wretch would soon have surrendered.’

‘I don’t doubt it, madam. Are you hurt?’

‘Quite unhurt, thank you. It was my own fault. I seldom venture out alone, but I needed air. The college can be so restricting.’

‘Why did no one stop the boy?’ asked Thomas.

‘Alas, sir, the people of Oxford do not all welcome us here. They look out for their own.’

‘Then it’s fortunate that I too am a visitor. Thomas Hill, madam, newly arrived from Romsey, and visiting my old tutor at Pembroke College.’ The deception had been agreed with Abraham.

‘A dangerous time to be visiting Oxford, Master Hill.’

‘Indeed, madam. He’s an old man, and nearly blind. Another year and I might have been too late.’

‘I’m sorry. My name is Jane Romilly. I attend Queen Henrietta Maria at Merton.’

‘Allow me to escort you there, madam.’

Jane Romilly smiled. It was an inviting smile, hard not to respond to. ‘Thank you, Master Hill. It’s very close, but I should be glad of company.’

At the entrance to Merton, she held out a hand. ‘My thanks again, sir. Perhaps we shall meet another time.’ Thomas took the hand, bowed and brushed his lips against it.

‘I hope so, madam.’ He watched her safely into the
college before making his way back to Pembroke. Jane Romilly. An unusual lady, he thought, and an elegant one. Striking looks and an easy manner. Certain to be married. I wonder in what way she attends the queen? And there was something arresting about her face. He tried to picture it, but could not.

Later, he lay on his bed and thought of the day. Pembroke a soldiers’ quarters, blind Abraham, that filthy lane, the poxed whore, Jane Romilly. It came to him just before he fell asleep. Jane Romilly’s eyes were different colours. The right was brown, the left blue. Extraordinary.

The prospect of meeting the man to whom Parliament had presented a list of two hundred and four grievances and demands did not fill Thomas with joy. Charles’s supporters claimed that he had done much to rid the court of the debauchery of his father’s day, and to cleanse the administration of corruption and incompetence. His critics, however, and there were many of them, trusted neither his honesty nor his judgement. Either way, he was a king who had divided his country and brought it to this parlous state. That was something that Thomas could not condone. War could and should have been avoided. Still, Charles was the king, and must be treated accordingly. And Thomas, after all, had come
to Oxford at his request, and to work in his service. He would behave himself and carry out his duties as best he could. Then he would go home. He washed and shaved, dressed carefully and set off to collect Abraham.

On the other side of the courtyard, a tall soldier was lounging against the wall, with a woman hanging on to his arm. As Thomas approached, he could see that she was the sort of woman who might spend a good deal of time hanging on to men’s arms. Her cheeks were powdered and her lips painted the colour of a radish. The soldier was the loud dice-player Thomas had seen in the Crown the previous evening. Still dressed in clothes more suited to a ball than a battlefield, he was not difficult to recognize. When he noticed Thomas, he pushed the woman away and pointed a finger at him. ‘You there, who are you and what are you doing here?’ It was the same haughty voice, loud and demanding. Thomas stopped and looked at the man. He was perhaps six feet tall, his fair hair long and curled and his dark eyes hooded. A handsome man, despite his manners.

‘My name is Thomas Hill and I am here on private business. And who, may I ask, are you?’

‘I thought as much. Not that it’s any concern of yours, Hill, but I am Captain Francis Fayne of Colonel Thomas Pinchbeck’s Regiment of Foot. The officer
whose room you have stolen. And I wish to have it back. Immediately.’

‘I fear that will not be possible.’

Fayne stepped forward and stood in Thomas’s path. ‘Do you now? Is that what you fear? Well, you’ve got something else to fear now, Hill. Me. I do not take kindly to being thrown out of my room on the orders of Tobias Rush, and I intend to have it back.’

Thomas took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. ‘I daresay you shall have it back, captain, as soon as my business in Oxford is completed.’

‘And what business is that? You don’t look much like a fighting man.’

‘I am not. I’m a bookseller.’

Fayne guffawed. ‘A bookseller? Since when did the king’s army need booksellers?’ He peered at Thomas. ‘Or are you one of her majesty’s household? She likes puppies.’

Thomas ignored the question and made to continue on his way. The captain, however, had not finished. ‘I don’t like having to share a room with a snoring oaf, Hill. It’s inconvenient.’ He put his arm round the woman and squeezed her backside hard enough to make her squeal. ‘Isn’t it, my lovely? So get out, man, or I’ll put you out.’