Rebels and Traitors (110 page)

The secretary or agent or whatever he was, sighed. ‘We are beset, Captain Jukes. I shall say no more.’

And neither will I!
thought Gideon wryly.

Shortly afterwards, he was at last called in to meet John Thurloe. At this point, he voluntarily removed his hat.

Thurloe was an Essex man, just forty years of age, one of the regime’s tireless, devoted workers. He had a legal background, a protégé of Oliver St John, who was a vague relative of Cromwell’s and one of the original movers of Parliamentary resistance to King Charles, under John Pym. Thurloe had not served in the army. However, he had been a diplomat, secretary to the Council of State, clerk to the Committee for Foreign Affairs, Thomas Scott’s successor as head of the intelligence and spying network, and Postmaster-General. When Cromwell dismissed the Barebones Parliament, Thurloe was closely involved in drafting
The Instrument of Government,
the constitutional document that legitimised the Protectorate; at that time he was co-opted to the Council of State.

He had a wide, square forehead and thrusting chin, with an eager, get-at-’em expression. His hair was abundant with heavy curls down to his plain collar, though he was clean-shaven. There was a precedent for his kind of intelligence work, in the spy network Sir Francis Walsingham once ran for Queen Elizabeth; however, Thurloe’s firm-set mouth gave him the air of a man who might anyway have thought this up himself.

At first, questions about Gideon’s career and where he lived passed easily like general conversation, even though Thurloe stared at him from under his brows as he evaluated every remark. Gideon had intended to put himself on guard as soon as the formal interrogation started, but he never saw that moment. Information was drawn from him before he was ready. Very soon he had listed the Trained Bands, Luke, Okey, Rainborough, scouting in Scotland … He had said he worked in Holborn, lived off Shoe Lane, had a wife (he did not say whose wife she had been), two stepsons, his wife newly delivered of a baby …

‘Now let me show you this curiosity, Captain Jukes —’ Secretary Thurloe led him around a table to see an object that lay upon a chair. It was an empty viol case.

Thurloe indicated that Gideon might examine it. It was for a bass viol, the largest standard size, the size Robert Allibone had played. In the pair he bequeathed to Anne Jukes was also an alto, suitable for a boy, learning, but Thomas Lovell had rejected that as a woman’s instrument…

Gideon closed and reopened the viol case, which was of some age and fairly distinctive. He said nothing.

Coming close, Thurloe told him, This was found in a house near Westminster Abbey. It had been taken there as a means to conceal an exceptional weapon. It was intended for murder.’ Gideon still kept his expression impassive, though he was horrified. A note was discovered, pushed down the lining —’

Thurloe put down a small square of paper where Gideon could read it. Not much bigger than a label, it said:

Gideon groaned. The childish handwriting, the misspelling, the trusting mention of his own name, wrenched his heart. ‘I would hope that Your Honour has the viol that belongs in this case — but from my heart, sir, I would hope you have the boy who plays the viol.’

Thurloe shook his head, watching him closely. ‘I presume he is with his father. One of Langdale’s creatures. Probably entangled with the Sealed Knot, which is a secret Royalist group. Your brother has provided information that he is the man we are pursuing as William Boyes.
You
have said nothing, but I can understand that. Now I am hoping, Captain Jukes, I can enlist you to find Lovell.’

Gideon became agitated. ‘I am the last person — indeed, I told the man never to show his face near me again —’

‘You have
seen
him?’ snapped Thurloe. ‘Give me particulars — height, build, clothes, hair colouring!’

Calmer, Gideon described Lovell. For the first time, he saw Thurloe dashing down notes.

‘So! Orlando Lovell — he uses other names and goes in different habits, though his intentions never vary … And you married his wife.’

Gideon felt his stomach clench. Thurloe knew more, much more, than he had thought. ‘Lovell’s return puts us in a nice predicament,’ he conceded.

Thurloe made him squirm. ‘Indeed! With reasonable cause to think her a widow, you and Lovell’s wife were free to enjoy one another — I wonder, does your freedom continue, now that you know Lovell is alive? Is your lady a bigamist and an adulterer? Are you two committing the detestable sin of fornication? It would be fascinating to put this dilemma to the judgement of a court —’

Gideon felt threatened, even though Thurloe spoke as if genuinely curious about the legal issues. ‘It is no intellectual quibble for
us,
sir
.
Our difficulty is painful.’

Thurloe stroked his chin. ‘I imagine you want Colonel Lovell dead — though that wish is unchristian.’

‘My conscience will live with it!’ Gideon admitted, his back stiff as a ramrod.

‘But he is here, alive —’

And has seized from my custody the boy I love as my stepson, ward, call it what you will — a capture which Lovell is using wickedly. He sent messages that the boy is his hostage.’

‘To prevent you assisting me? Will you succumb to blackmail?’ This man cannot be married, Gideon thought. (He was wrong; Thurloe married twice and fathered children.) Thurloe continued to press him. ‘Marchamont Nedham speaks well of you … I would pay you — we have funds — but I deduce you would not want money for this.’ Thurloe spoke of payment matter-of-factly, as if many others did take it.

‘For what? Why is Lovell so important?’ asked Gideon.

As “Boyes”, he is engaged in dangerous business.’ In four or five sentences, Thurloe listed the failed plots to shoot the Protector. At that time, they had not been publicised. ‘Captain Jukes, do you know Edward Sexby?’

Gideon took a rapid decision to admit it: ‘I met him. He was an Agitator then, and a private trooper.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Putney, where I heard him speak. We never were intimate.’

‘Miles Sindercombe?’

‘Unknown to me.’

‘John Cecil?’

‘No.’

‘Sindercombe was a mischievous, very active army Leveller. He fomented the army plot in Scotland, if you heard about that — you never met him there?’

‘I barely saw service in Scotland, sir. I was badly wounded at Dunbar. I can never wield a sword again to good purpose; I was shipped home.’

‘I am sorry for your suffering… But you hold the Dunbar Medal?’ After the compliment Thurloe asked, not altering his voice, Are
you
a Leveller?’

‘True until death.’ Gideon was not ashamed of his past. He reckoned the secretary of state would know his history, and that he had not been active recently. He refused to conceal his opinions.

‘So what is your view of the present government, Captain Jukes?’

‘I wish for elected representation — as I believe the Lord Protector does himself. When we risked all in the wars, we did it to secure free Parliaments. But I do understand how the present situation has come about. Every man thinks for himself- the fact that every man has such liberty is our great achievement — yet this makes for such contentious Parliaments, they cannot govern.’

‘Do you believe His Highness the Lord Protector should be king?’

‘I do not.’

That was a risk. Thurloe gazed at Gideon. It was a matter of record, Secretary Thurloe said the only political solution was to return the country into a formal monarchy — headed by King Oliver.

Gideon stuck his neck out as always: ‘I believe Cromwell’s refusal of the crown is his greatest quality. I trust his word that he accepts being Protector reluctantly, that he still hopes it can be temporary and that he never sought personal aggrandisement. Believing this, I support the present government. I will defend our Commonwealth with my life.’

‘Then will you work with me, Captain?’

‘I need to know what you are asking, sir.’

‘One task: help me to arrest Colonel Lovell.’

Thomas Lovell saw the great fireworks being made. His father created them, on a table in their lodgings. Tom knew it was seriously dangerous. Orlando, who could airily take risks, even near his children, ordered him with great sternness not to touch any of the parts.

One explosive was built in a hand-basket. This was not just for concealment, but so the big sensitive bombarillo could be lifted and carried gently, without risk to those who handled it. It had not one but two slow fuses — lengths of match extending out on either side, each a yard long.

‘Six hours,’ said Lovell, groaning, as he gently massaged gunpowder into the matchcord to ensure that, once lit, it kept burning.

That seems long.’

Too long, Tom. Sindercombe’s ridiculous instructions. To give these ninnies enough time for their terrified gallop to freedom!’

If the explosion is to bring about a government that they want, why do they need to run away?’

‘Good question!’ Lovell laughed, proud of his son’s intelligence, which he naturally saw as inherited from himself. On the other hand, curiosity was always discouraged.

Where is it to be placed?’

We shall see.’

When will it be done?’

We shall see that too.’

It was to be like Guy Fawkes’s Gunpowder Plot. Lovell talked of that, while he was painstakingly putting together his own explosives. Fawkes’s plan had been to blow up the King and Parliament all together at Westminster. Fawkes hired a vault under the Houses of Parliament, and the conspirators stuffed the vault full of gunpowder; the constant problem with gunpowder was that it deteriorated — and in a very short time, if it became at all damp. It had been said that Fawkes’s decayed powder would have failed to ignite — although Lovell believed that was wrong; there had been so much powder in the confined vault — thirty-six barrels, say two and half tons — that once the burning match reached the hoarded barrels, they would have gone up in an enormous blast. All the powder would have activated. Not only would Parliament have disintegrated, blowing apart everyone inside, but the huge clouds of flying debris -large and small fragments of stone, glass, lead and rooftiles — would have wrought terrible damage throughout the village of Westminster, killing many others in the old medieval streets and narrow lanes.

‘There would have been devastation, Tom. It would have caused terror then and there, plus fear throughout the land for many weeks afterwards. There would have been an ear-bursting, heart-stopping noise — then a terrible silence. After that, darkness, a heavy pall of smoke, acres of ruin.’

And your devices will do the same in Whitehall?’

‘Mine will be different.’ Lovell continued to work the pitch and tar he was using. He was meticulous and methodical. Tom was sure these fireworks would behave properly; he could see why the other men viewed his father with respect. Lovell had made himself an expert. ‘Vaults under government buildings are no longer hired out to the public, so that avenue is closed. We cannot carry large containers of gunpowder into Whitehall Palace. Some busybody would ask what we were doing. The Protector keeps a parsimonious household; every barrel of whelks is counted in. His office-holders refuse bribes too.’

‘That is good?’ piped up Tom.

‘It is inconvenient for us!’ answered Lovell, delighting his son with a fiendish grin.

‘So what will you do?’

‘This firebomb will be sneaked in and will explode, though not too vigorously. Its purpose is to start a fire, very hot and fast — an uncontrollable conflagration that will burn down those old buildings in spectacular style. There are wooden beams, floorboards, panelling that will take a spark in an instant, dry-as-dust old plastering, all the ancient hangings they have kept from the King’s Wardrobe for the Protector’s enjoyment, which will blaze from floor to ceiling. The buildings, too, are full of windings and turnings, where a fire can take hold and trap people. Miles Sindercombe calls it the fittest hole for a tyrant to live in —’