Traitor (36 page)

‘No, Sir Martin.’

‘How many desertions?’

The lieutenant looked uneasy.

‘Speak, man, before I remove your brains from their housing!’

‘Three hundred and fifteen. Twenty of those recaptured and thrown into gaol. Morale is low … the delays.’

‘God’s blood, what sort of men am I dealing with here? Does Norreys have no control?’

‘He has been drilling them relentlessly, but they are mostly
poor soldiers. He is as unhappy as you, Sir Martin. This lack of wind—’

‘We will have a fair breeze in the morning. What of my marines?’

‘All accounted for. Two thousand fighting men.’

‘
Real
fighting men.’

Clarkson approached him. ‘Sir Martin, if I may interrupt. I have Mr Ivory, and his companion, Mr Cooper.’

Frobisher nodded to his lieutenant. ‘Be so good as to leave us now, Mr Millwater, and mark all I have said. You will assume command of the
Quittance
with immediate effect, then return here as ship’s master at Morlaix.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Millwater bowed in salute and marched out.

Frobisher turned to the newcomers and studied Ivory from head to toe. ‘I know that rogue. Still not been blinded for your cheating, insolent ways, Mr Eye?’

‘Still not been hanged for piracy, Sir Martin?’

‘No, but I’ll hang you as soon as I no longer need you. And I am happy to see from your bandaged head that someone else has been knocking you about.’ He turned to Boltfoot. ‘And what is this woodlouse? Why is he armed with Spanish shot and steel?’

Boltfoot lowered his ornate caliver, which had, indeed, been captured from a Spaniard, and bowed his head in deference. ‘Cooper, Sir Martin. Boltfoot Cooper.’

‘Formerly of Drake’s service,’ Ivory put in.

Frobisher raised an eyebrow in scorn. He was powerfully built with a chest that filled out his slashed gold and damson doublet. An eyeglass dangled from a cord about his neck and his large hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword. His hair was cut short and curled back from his forehead, and his red-brown beard descended into a fine starched ruff.

‘Drake, eh? Well, you’ll have learnt nothing of seafaring from that worthless dog. Are you a fighting man?’

‘Aye.’

‘Good, because we’ll need all we can muster.’

‘His mission is to afford constant protection to Mr Ivory and the instrument in his possession,’ Clarkson said. ‘He has succeeded in keeping him alive thus far. I know my master has told you all this, so I will leave them in your hands to use to best advantage. God speed you.’

‘Thank you, Mr Clarkson. Always a pleasure. And send my compliments to Sir Robert, if you will. Now then,’ he said to Ivory and Boltfoot. ‘You two weevils will both be on the
Vanguard
with me. Go aboard now and find berths. The master is expecting you. Have you been told aught about this mission?’

‘No,’ Ivory said. ‘But I was hoping for a game of cards and a woman before sailing.’

‘There’ll be none of that. I have been delayed too long. We sail for Brittany on the morning tide. I will give you full details of what is required in due course. Now be gone. I have work to do.’

Not far from the Treasurer’s House, Janus Trayne lounged against the doorway of a tavern, a tankard of beer in his hand. He had seen Ivory, Clarkson and Boltfoot while they were still in the boat, hoving towards shore. Even with his head bandaged, Ivory was unmistakable. That whiskery grey beard, those sharp, questing eyes.

Trayne allowed himself a smile and carried on drinking as, now, they emerged from the Treasurer’s House and walked towards the
Vanguard
. So, he had found his quarry again. And now he knew that Ivory would be aboard Frobisher’s ship. He knew because he had been told by Weld. It could not have worked out better. He could almost feel the perspective glass in his grasp, almost smell its hide casing. Ivory’s companion was hobbling; was that Cooper, the man who had stabbed him at
Portsmouth? Well, he’d do for him, too. Make him pay for the injury to his wrist and for the humiliation in the woods near Sudbury.

In the morning, before leaving Chevening, Shakespeare told Mills of the events at Lathom House in Lancashire, culminating in the Earl of Derby’s death.

‘Very convenient,’ Mills said.

‘Indeed, there are many who might have wished my lord of Derby dead. But that is not my concern now. It is in the hands of a commission of inquiry – Sir George Carey and Sir Thomas Egerton.’

Mills raised an eyebrow. ‘Not your concern, John?’ he said doubtfully.

‘You are right. It still preys on my soul.’

‘What is your instinct?’

‘Poison. But how and by whom? So many had motives, so many had the opportunity.’

‘Well, I should be careful if I were you. Leave it to Carey and Egerton.’

Shakespeare fished into his doublet. ‘Here, Frank, something to occupy your mind while you wait in this house, keeping company with these mathematical men.’

He handed the missive found in the lining of Father Lamb’s doublet to Frank Mills, who read it quickly, along with the secret writing that had been revealed.

‘Well, one is a straightforward letter from a seminary priest to Rome or Rheims. But what is this other gibberish? “
The killing birds wait in line. The hawks edge nearer, even as golden eagles under soaring eyries dive. Malevolent dove, evil nightjar, baleful ibis and twisted hoodcrow toss overhead, preying on insects, shrews or newts. Let dogs fester, orphans rot, ere rooks lay down and die
.”’

‘You tell me, Frank. You are a man who loves to unveil the secret of a cipher. I sent a copy of the original to Cecil, but at that time I had not discovered the
hidden
writing.’

‘Are you sure you
wish
to know what it means?’

‘I will take the risk.’

‘Will you now ride to court and Cecil?’

‘I cannot. Tell him I will come to him as soon as I have found the boy. But if I discover he has already crossed to Brittany, then I must follow him there.’

Mills closed his eyes and stretched his tall thin frame as though wondering how to say something, and how much to reveal.

‘Frank?’

‘There is more, John. Let me just say this …’ He chose his words with care. ‘Cecil will not be unhappy if you make your way to Brittany.’

‘Is that so?’

‘I don’t know any more, just that. Whatever the mission he proposes for you, it is over there.’

‘Are you suggesting Cecil is somehow behind all my troubles?’ Shakespeare felt a sudden chill of fear.

‘Indeed not. No, no. The fact that you are likely to go to Brittany anyway is merely fortuitous. But we both know how the Cecils like to seize on fortuitous events and use them to advantage.’

Shakespeare relaxed a little. It seemed that whatever diversion he took, his road would always ultimately converge with Cecil’s planned path. Well, if Cecil wished him to go to Brittany, he had every intention of obliging him on his own account. Cecil could reveal his hand there.

He thanked Mills. He was almost warming to the man. Their relationship over the years since first they worked together for Mr Secretary Walsingham had always been difficult
and tempestuous. Perhaps they were learning to live together, like a couple forced to marry who discover after ten years together that they quite like each other after all.

‘Thank you for dealing straight with me,’ Shakespeare said. ‘And do what I suggested to you long ago: be done with that wife. You are looking less melancholy than I have seen you in months now that you are away from her.’

Mills uttered a small, sad laugh. ‘In truth I find myself remarkably cheered by my absence from the adulterous slattern. I no longer dream of slitting her throat. Well, not so frequently, leastwise. But no, I fear I will not leave her. Death will us part.’

I
N THE STABLES
of Thomas Digges’s manor house, Shakespeare appraised Ursula in her new clothes. Her tatters had been replaced with a plain worsted gown belonging to Digges’s wife, Agnes. She looked respectable.

‘How does that feel?’

‘Like nettles and hedgehogs. It’s going to be hot today. I’ll die in this.’

‘Well, you’ll have to deal with that as it happens. I can tell you that you look a great deal more comely than you did. No one would take you for a thief dressed like that.’

‘They’d be pigging wrong then, wouldn’t they.’

‘There is to be no more stealing. You are staying here in this manor and you will be in the charge of Mr Mills. He will ensure you are fed properly and I have told him I want you to have some education. He will arrange that.’

‘I don’t want no learning. I want to come with you. You’re going to pigging France.’

Shakespeare ignored her plea. ‘If you are caught stealing again, then you will be sent away from this place and your chance of a decent life will be gone. Stay here, try to learn your alphabet and some writing, and I pledge that, when I return, I will find a position for you in some household. I believe you to be good. This is your one chance to prove it.’

‘You’re worse than Andrew pigging Woode.’

The groom brought out Shakespeare’s bay gelding, saddled up.

‘And if you are permitted to do any riding while you are here – and that is down to Mr Mills and Mr Digges – you will use a saddle. For if you do not, you will be marked down as a vagabond wherever you go. Try it – you might grow to prefer it. You might also find that townsfolk treat you with a great deal more respect.’

Ursula turned her face away. For a moment, Shakespeare wondered whether she was about to cry, but then realised it was a preposterous thought. This girl had lived through harshness that a seasoned soldier might never see. What was left in life to bring tears to her eyes?

Shakespeare mounted his charge. Without another word, he patted the horse’s neck, then shook the reins and rode out.

Marching. Endless marching. Andrew had always had strong legs and a good heart. He had been the fastest runner of all his friends. But nothing could have prepared him for this daily, gruelling slog, through the summer heat as the ever-changing band of recruits threaded its way down through southern England. Along the way, they picked up new pressed men and lost others to desertion and, in the case of one persistent offender, the sting of Provost Pinkney’s summary justice.

Andrew kept his head up and marched. He did not complain about the exhaustion, nor the poor food of oatmeal and rotting salt beef. The only comfort was the ale, which was bought or requisitioned from alehouses and taverns along the way.

They were camped near Weymouth when Reaphook approached him. ‘I’m going tonight, slipping away. Come with me.’

Andrew gulped down the remainder of his cup of ale. ‘Why would I want to go with you?’

‘It’s our last chance. Together, we can get away. Help each other … It’s got to be better with two.’

‘You’re insane, Reaphook. I’d rather dine with the devil than go with you. Anyway, he’ll hang you.’

‘Not if he doesn’t catch me he won’t. I’m not going to no war. Only sheep walk willingly to slaughter. And for what? Eightpence a day they’re supposed to pay us, which is paltry enough seeing that they take half of it for the muck they call food. And even the fourpence left over we never see. Whose purse do you think that goes in?’

‘Stow you, Reaphook. Do you ever stop complaining?’

‘There’s a great deal to complain about. My feet are nothing but blisters so that my feet squelch with blood and pus.’

‘Wish you were still with Staffy, do you? Should have treated him with respect. He was twice the man you are.’

Reaphook snarled. ‘He wasn’t so bastardly clean. You didn’t see the worst of him.’

Andrew laughed. ‘Well, he put up with you until you betrayed him. Being in his band was worse than marching with the militia, was it? You should have seen how the vagabonds all laughed when Provost Pinkney pressed you into service. Just like you betrayed Staffy. Serves you right, Reaphook.’

‘I’ll kill you one day, boy. I’ll pluck out your eyes with my sickle and tread them into the dust.’

Andrew’s fear of Reaphook had been replaced by anger. ‘You’re a dirty turd of a man. You’re less than a man for the way you treated Ursula.’

‘Well, I had her, boy. She’s a grubby little drab, but I had her first.’

Andrew considered pushing his fist into Reaphook’s nasty face for talking of Ursula in such terms. Instead, he arched his
aching back. ‘I’m tired of listening to this. I’m going to lay out my palliasse and sleep. You can piss off into the night if you want to, but I’ll be laughing when Pinkney whips you and strings you up.’

Reaphook looked at him with loathing. ‘Spindle should have done for you when he had the chance. There’ll be another time, though. I’ll make sure of that.’

The monkey leapt through the rigging with crazy abandon, as though she had returned to the freedom of her jungle home in the Americas. The mariners fell for her instantly, could not take their eyes off the little animal.

Boltfoot sat on the deck beneath the bulwark, watching the antics with half an eye. Mainly he watched Ivory, who had climbed higher up and stood alone in the maintop, keeping lookout.

After days without wind, the
Vanguard
was out in the open seas, tacking east towards Cape Margate and Foreness Point, before the long turn into the narrow seas and the run westwards. The sea was racing with white-flecked waves. If the wind held, they should be in Brittany within three or, at the most, four days. The sooner, the better, for Boltfoot. The crew and fighting men on this vessel seemed to have been dredged from the gaols of London. He trusted none of them.

Boltfoot had heard that Captain-General Norreys was confined to his cabin, seasick. The monkey was what most men talked of, though – that and its exotic owner, a great and beautiful lady, travelling with Norreys. No one knew who she was, though someone said she was a Frenchie, for they had heard her speak with a strange accent. Most believed her to be Black John’s whore.

Frobisher stood by the helm or on the poopdeck. He was restless, ever-present. Two years away from the sea, ashore at
his Yorkshire home, had made him hungry for the churn of the ocean, and even hungrier for action. Men who had served under him before knew to avoid him when he was like this. His energy could be brittle.