The Traitor’s Mark (12 page)

Sometime afterwards I brought my gelding alongside Ned's horse. We had scarcely spoken since the previous afternoon.

‘I spoke rashly yesterday,' I said. ‘Please put my foolish words down to worry.'

The old man smiled his usual calm smile. ‘We read in the Book of Proverbs, “A man of discretion controls his anger; it is his glory to overlook wrongs”. You were under great strain. You had to shout at someone. I'm glad it was me.'

‘I wish I had your placid nature. You never lose your temper.'

He chuckled. ‘Oh, don't you believe it. There are times when I swear more colourfully than a London drayman.'

‘Who do you swear at?'

‘Oh, God, usually.'

‘Doesn't he mind?'

‘I comfort myself with the thought that he's heard it all before. Now, what about our problem? Have you had time to lock away your fears and start thinking clearly?'

‘There's not much to think really. The man we have to see is a close friend of Master Holbein by the name of Jan van der Goes. When we last met he said he did not know where the painter is hiding but I'm sure he was lying.'

‘His friend is obviously in great danger. He would hardly reveal his whereabouts to a stranger. And what you're asking him to do now is much more serious.'

‘Yes, to deliver his friend up to certain death. All I can do is tell van der Goes, or John of Antwerp as most people know him, that Holbein's children are in mortal danger. If he explains that to the artist, perhaps he will come out of hiding. It is asking much but I think few fathers would
sacrifice their sons for a cause, however important. I know I wouldn't.'

Ned smiled grimly. ‘It has been known,' he said. ‘Have you given any thought to your commitment to the archbishop?'

‘Yes, you were right to remind me of that obligation. If Holbein will trust me with the information he has gathered I will pass it on to Cranmer. With any luck Black Harry won't suspect anything.'

‘That could be dangerous but I'm sure it is the right thing to do. Now, to more immediate matters. Where do you plan to stay while you are in London?'

‘I'll go to Goldsmith's Row.'

‘But the house is shut up and the servants gone.'

‘I can manage for a couple of days.'

‘More sense for you to stay with me. If you are to keep your wits about you, you will need good food and a well-turned bed.'

It was agreed that we would make the Southwark house our headquarters and I passed this on to Lizzie a little later.

‘Could you, please, bring Bart to meet us there,' I urged.

She looked doubtful. ‘He made me swear not to take anyone into my confidence, not even you.'

‘Things have changed a lot since you made that promise. I need to speak with him. If he's been trying to identify the murderers, he may have discovered something useful.'

‘I don't know. I don't see him often and when I do he
tells me nothing. He says it's safer for me to remain ignorant.'

‘Well, now it's time to pool our knowledge. Any scraps of information could prove helpful.'

When we parted company outside St Olave's Church in Southwark in the deepening dusk of that September day it was in the knowledge that the morrow would bring events that would change our lives and, whichever way things went, would probably result in death for someone.

Chapter 8

It was still dark on Tuesday when Ned roused me after a night of very heavy sleep.

‘There's cheese and ale downstairs and two visitors,' he said.

I dressed quickly, refreshed myself with cold water and descended the narrow stair. In the room below, Lizzie was seated at the table with Ned. Between them, to my immense relief, was Bart. He jumped up as I entered.

‘Master, I'm so sorry. Everything's going wrong and 'tis all my fault.'

I grasped his hand warmly. ‘We'll have no more of that talk. I'm so pleased to see you safe.'

I looked at Bart closely. He was a sorry sight. There was little sign of the boisterous, carefree man I had known so
long. His clothes were crumpled. His chin wore several days stubble and his red-rimmed eyes suggested that he had been crying.

‘Safe? Aye. Would I were not. I'd give anything to have little Annie standing here instead of me. Oh, God in heaven, what have I done to put her in such danger. We will save her, won't we, Master?' He drew a hand across his cheek where fresh tears were flowing. ‘When Lizzie told me ...'

‘Come and. sit again, Poppet.' Lizzie put an arm round him and led him back to his stool. ‘Such talk doesn't help. We've plans to make.'

‘She's right, Bart,' I said. ‘We have to find Master Johannes and persuade him to come with us to London Bridge tomorrow. We don't have a moment to waste on blaming ourselves or bewailing the past. Has Lizzie explained everything to you?'

‘Yes,' he muttered. ‘It seems such a complicated mess.'

‘Yes, it is rather. That's why we need cool heads to untangle everything.' I spoke with a confidence well above anything I felt. Trying to boost Bart's morale gave the impression that I was optimistic of the outcome of the day's activities. ‘Now, first, have you anything to tell us? What have you been doing this last three weeks? Have you discovered anything about the murderers?'

‘It's been difficult. With the magistrate's men looking for me and, probably, the gang as well, I haven't been able to
move about much. The watchmen are on the lookout for a one-armed man. Difficult to disguise this.' He patted his empty sleeve. ‘I go about mostly at night. I've visited just about all the more disreputable ale houses, especially the ones down by the river. Can't ask too many questions. Folk are very quick to get suspicious.'

‘So, have you found out anything?' I asked.

‘Well, 'tis the Black Harry gang that butchered that poor lad, as you've already worked out. There's many a tale told about them. They're ... well, if half the things folk say are true London's never seen anything like them. They're not just violent; they're ... evil.'

‘What does that mean; that they love violence for its own sake? They don't kill and maim in order to get power or vengeance or money?'

‘Oh, they like money well enough but that's not what drives them.'

‘I can tell you what motivates them,' Ned said. ‘It is hatred – and hatred of the worst kind.'

‘What's that?' Lizzie asked.

‘Fanatical hatred, spiritual hatred, if you like.
Satanic
hatred.'

‘You've heard the stories about Black Harry, then?' Bart asked. ‘Children murdered in front of their mothers; men slowly roasted ...'

‘No. I don't need to.' Ned scowled. ‘I know enough of his career to recognise a phenomenon any student of theology
is familiar with – evil of the most concentrated kind ... the very essence of evil. You see my alembic over there by the fire. If I could nicely measure out portions of the seven great sins, put them in my apparatus and set it to the fire, what would be distilled would be unadulterated, terrifying, irredeemable evil. All the great saints have encountered it in their conflict with the forces of hell. I, thank God, have only met it once. Then, I saw the devil looking out at me through human eyes and knew the soul within lived for nothing but dissolution, decay and destruction of every good, merciful, generous, holy impulse. The creature before me was possessed of a blind, obsessive malice which was oblivious not only to the good of others but even to its own good. I fear that is what we are facing here.'

We listened motionless, scarcely breathing, to Ned's impassioned, yet calm and measured words.

Bart said, ‘Well, that certainly explains things I have heard about Black Harry. Folk say he doesn't just enjoy cruelty; he lives for it; feeds on it.'

‘Yes,' Ned agreed. ‘And that means we must be absolutely on our guard in our dealings with him. We must not make the mistake of thinking that we can reason with him, trust him, believe anything he says. We must be on the watch for any deceit, any lies, any treachery that he may fancy serves his purpose.'

Lizzie stared aghast. ‘Do you mean that he might promise to hand over the children, then kill them anyway?'

‘I think that's exactly the kind of thing he might do unless we set up the exchange in such a way that prevents any such trickery.'

I turned to Bart. ‘Have you managed to find out who this monster is working for.'

‘Surely,' Lizzie protested, ‘no decent man would pay such a creature to do his bidding.'

Ned said, ‘As I've already explained to Master Thomas, Black Harry worked for the Inquisition in Spain and carried out some of their worst atrocities.'

‘But that sort of thing doesn't happen in England,' she said.

‘Three men were sent to the stake in Windsor a mere few weeks ago because they believed the wrong things,' I said.

‘That's not the same thing at all,' Ned observed. ‘I deplore the burning of heretics. It's bad theology and it doesn't work. It only creates martyrs. But, at least when the Church hands unrepentant, misguided people over to the magistrates for execution there has been an open process of law. What powerful patrons use Black Harry for is work done in secret: removing obstacles from their path, silencing noisy opponents, disposing of critics.'

‘Yes,' Bart agreed, ‘that's exactly what people say Black Harry does. Dr Banfry, the vicar at St Thomas-in-the-East, was fished out of the Thames just after Easter. He had preached mightily against religious images and attracted large crowds. The bishop couldn't drag him into his court
because he had preached before the king and his majesty liked his style.'

‘So was it the bishop behind the Aldgate murder?' I asked.

‘Possibly. There are various rumours but no one really knows. There's one person I've heard talk of, but I only remember him because of his name – Dr London.'

‘London,' I exclaimed. ‘Yes, I've heard of him. He was behind the Windsor burnings, though he's only a tool in the hands of more powerful men. But all this high politics is not to the point. We're here to save Adie and the children from someone who is a complete stranger to morality and human decency. Bart, is there anything else you know about Black Harry; any information that will arm us against him?'

Bart's brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘Folk say his gang is small – men who've been with him a long time. He doesn't trust newcomers. There's scapegraces as would like to join him, but he'll have none of them. Apart from that I don't know ... Oh, yes, one other thing: his base is somewhere in Essex.'

‘Then that's where they'll have taken their hostages,' I said. ‘Not that it helps us much. We don't have time to mount a search. All we can do is make sure we get Holbein to the bridge tomorrow. He is our bargaining counter – with him we can force Black Harry to do a deal. Ned, can you come with me to see van der Goes? We'll escort Lizzie safe home on the way. Bart, you had better stay here now that it's light. Keep
out of Sight and don't answer the door if any of Ned's customers come calling. So' – I stood up – ‘the time for talk is over. Let us go – and pray God our mission is successful.'

Half an hour later Ned and I were riding along Bride Lane. When we reined in outside the goldsmith's house we received the first of the shocks that day was to bring. There was a bundle of straw hanging from the door jamb.

‘Plague!' Ned exclaimed. He fumbled a medallion from his scrip, kissed it and held it out to me. ‘The Fourteen Holy Helpers,' he said. ‘Beg their protection.'

I followed his example but was more interested in a written note pinned to the door frame. Jumping down, I read the brief message. ‘No entry. One pestilence victim within. Master van der Goes continues his business at his house in Chiswick.'

‘Curse this delay!' I muttered. ‘We'll have to go upriver. It will be quicker than riding against the incoming traffic. Ned, find us a boatman while I lodge the horses.'

I led our two mounts to the Red Hand inn and left them with the ostler. By the time I returned Ned was seated in the stern of a wherry moored at Bridewell Dock. As I stepped down into the boat, he said, ‘The waterman says he only does cross-river ferrying. I've had to pay him extra to go to Chiswick.'

‘These fellows know their business,' I muttered. ‘They can spot a customer in a hurry and know how to turn it to their advantage.'

It was a long haul against the current for our waterman and I fretted as Westminster, the noblemen's waterside mansions and then the open fields slid slowly past. After what seemed hours we disembarked at the landing stage and walked into Chiswick village. We asked the first passers-by for directions and soon found ourselves before a recently built house set in its own garden.

‘Your van der Goes must be a wealthy man,' Ned observed.

‘And grown so by stealing business from honest English tradesmen,' I growled.

When we were shown into his presence, John of Antwerp was his usual over-boisterously hospitable self. He settled us in a pair of elaborate, padded armed chairs and .offered refreshments. Dry though my mouth was, I declined.

‘No time for pleasantries,' I insisted. ‘We're here on very urgent business. Where is Master Holbein? We must see him.'

Our host shrugged. ‘You still haven't found him, then? I'm sorry ...'

I raised my voice. ‘Please don't keep up this pretence of ignorance. I know your friend is in trouble and forced to hide from his enemies. I am not an enemy but I must see him. Four lives depend on it.'

‘Four lives?' Van der Goes raised his eyebrows in seemingly genuine surprise.

‘Yes, including his two sons.'

That shook him. ‘Carl and Henry? What has happened to them?'

‘They've been captured by the men who are looking for Holbein. They're being held to ransom.'