For King or Commonwealth (18 page)

‘Why was I not told?'

‘In case we wished to charge you thereafter with treason. As I say, your case has been under constant review and has caused some little flurry in Lincoln's Inn.' Fox's tone had a certain charming levity, as though the entire matter was of no great moment but a teasing challenge for the lawyers. Beyond the laws of prize and reprisal, in which Mainwaring had coached him, Faulkner's unusual past denied him any understanding of the wider common law. ‘Your expiation, though unremarkable, has stayed the Council's hand in respect of treason. If you are willing, at the termination of your sentence and upon your affirming by oath your loyalty to the state, we may have some employment for you. Part of that affirmation will be your further good conduct under the beneficent care of the good Fitchett.' Fox stared at him. ‘Do you understand?'

Faulkner was certain that he did not. There seemed something odd about the whole affair, something peculiarly irregular. True, some walked out of the Tower with their heads still set firmly upon their shoulders, but more left in two distinct parts concealed in a coffin.

‘Well?'

‘I, er, I greatly appreciate the clemency of the Council,' he said hurriedly, ‘and will do whatever I can to justify its confidence.'

‘I would not put it that high, Captain,' Fox remarked drily, sorting some documents in his satchel, ‘but I note your remark. Now, I wish you to attest to this document drawn up in your behalf.' Fox passed a single sheet of paper across the table and proffered a short quill and a travelling inkpot.

‘I have my own,' Faulkner said, as he began to read.

‘Of course,' said Fox, watching him. The document was short; a simple repudiation of his oath of allegiance to King Charles and his heirs. He knew an instant's hesitation would utterly ruin his case, and why Fitchett had remained in the room. He signed immediately, whereupon Fox spun the document, witnessed Faulkner's signature and held his quill out to Fitchett to act as second witness. A moment later Fox was on his feet, the papers scooped into his satchel and his hat upon his head.

For a long moment after Fox's departure Faulkner wondered what consequences would follow. After a little reflection, however, he realized he was one of many who had renounced the King, most he suspected for reasons of self-preservation. And did he not have all the more reason if Prince Charles had seduced Katherine, as he had been led to believe?

After the long and wearying months of isolation, Faulkner's life now entered a new phase. Despite the years of incarceration he had yet to endure if he was to regain his future at all, within a week of Fox's visit he was allowed to walk in the Tower grounds. At first he found the full sunlight agony to his eyes and his muscles ached abominably from having to climb the steps of the Beauchamp tower but, of all things, a few apples – upon which, he noticed, both his own fate and that of Adam turned – had ended his incipient scurvy and all but fully cured him of his noxious breath.

Ten days after he was first allowed to exercise in fresh air he was awakened one morning by Fitchett and another, a superior officer in the Tower who conducted him to another part of the fortress. The man said little beyond informing Faulkner that he was being permitted an interview with another prisoner, one but recently arrived. On enquiring the other's name, the constable's officer merely smiled, saying, ‘I am sure you will not need to ask after you have seen him.'

Faulkner was at a loss, but knew the face that turned towards him as he was ushered into a room not unlike his own. ‘Sir Henry!'

‘My boy! They told me you were here, I had not thought . . .' Mainwaring, who looked much older than his sixty-odd years, broke off choking. He was visibly moved by their encounter. Faulkner himself was overcome as the two men clasped each other.

‘Have you been well treated?' Mainwaring asked, holding Faulkner by the shoulders at arm's length.

‘As well as I suppose I had a right to expect,' Faulkner replied. ‘But what of you? How come you too are in this place?'

‘'Tis a long story, Kit, and not entirely disconnected with you, for much happened after your departure and much, I suspect, has a bearing on your own fate and your long imprisonment.'

‘I do not understand. Surely you are in England, as you intimated was your intention, of your own accord? Why should you be sent hither?' Faulkner, who had persuaded himself that, whatever the vagaries of their politics or religion, the Commonwealth authorities prided themselves on a less arbitrary form of government than the late King. If they had thrown a willing supplicant for mercy into the Tower, what did that make of Fox's reassurances to Faulkner himself?

Mainwaring shrugged wearily. ‘My long negotiations are not yet sufficient but that I must pay some penance by time in this place. I have reached what they are pleased to call a “composition” with a committee for compounding the estates of “Malignant Royalists” and have admitted to owning a few effects to the value of eight pounds. My case is being decided and I have been warned to expect a forfeit of one sixth of this estate.' Mainwaring paused, looking at the younger man who seemed to need time to digest this intelligence. In his eyes, Faulkner looked older, thinner, his face lined, his beard, though not long, neglected, as though he shaved infrequently.

‘You did not apply for
habeas corpus ad subjiciendum
?'

Faulkner looked blank. ‘I do not understand . . .' he said again.

Mainwaring smote his forehead. ‘Of course! You had no knowledge of it! I neglected to give you legal education necessary to . . . God rot me, Kit, but I am so sorry. Damn me, but 'tis too late now. But tell me, what is the state of your affairs?'

Faulkner, realizing the Latin expression articulated by Mainwaring was some legal process for which the time of application had long expired, told him what had passed between himself and Fox a few days earlier. Mainwaring nodded, asked a few questions and then agreed that he had done the only thing he could. ‘They made me sign a repudiation, too. Does it trouble you?' he asked, referring to Faulkner's broken oath of allegiance.

Faulkner shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But that rather depends upon what you are going to tell me by way of news from The Hague.'

Mainwaring blew out his cheeks, as though deciding where to start, but avoiding addressing the question Faulkner most wanted answered but feared asking. ‘Well, the King, having gone into France secretly, is now in Scotland.'

‘Raising an army?'

Mainwaring nodded. ‘He left McDonnell in The Hague to answer awkward questions. Rupert is God knows where by now, but probably the Mediterranean. When I learned of Charles's advances to King Louis, which followed hard upon definite news that you had been taken, I determined to make my peace with the Commonwealth. It was not easy, for the Parliament's agent in The Hague, a man I think you met named Isaac Dorielaus . . .'

‘Yes, I knew him, but did not trust him.'

‘Well, he was murdered by someone acting for Charles, or those advising him, which is the more likely. That put my own plan behind hand, for it had of course to be a most secret undertaking otherwise those who slit the throat of Dorielaus would have despatched me with as little regret. Indeed, it entirely unravelled and I had then to reconstruct it without it being known to those close about me.'

‘And was Kate among those close about you?'

‘She was . . . for some of the time.'

‘And did you intend that I should learn she had been bedded by the King?' Faulkner found he could ask the question without his voice betraying his emotion.

Mainwaring nodded.

‘And was it . . . is it true? Or did you wish me to believe it so that I too might be of the same mind as you and make my composition with the Commonwealth?'

‘Both; it was true and I strove to get the message to you indeed to induce you . . .'

‘To turn my coat.'

Mainwaring shook his head. ‘No, Kit, no. These are not the times for such crisp distinctions. Why, half the Fraternity of the Trinity House, men you and I loved like brothers, have bethought it best for themselves and their country to throw up the old order and embrace the new.'

Faulkner was not listening. He was musing on his numbness at the news of Katherine's undoubted infidelity and discovered that it pained him less than he had thought it would. After the loneliness of the recent past he found himself almost indifferent. She, like he in his extremity, must make the best of things as they stood, not things as they might desire. Perhaps Judith had been right, and Katherine was nothing but an elegant whore; perhaps Katherine had had no alternative with him gone and Mainwaring lacking in income once he, Faulkner, had ceased taking prizes. Eight pounds' worth of personal effects said all there was to be said about exile.

‘Kit?'

‘Eh? Oh, yes, yes. Truth to tell, I am not greatly troubled any more. If I escape this place with my head upon my shoulders I shall consider myself well served.'

‘More closely touching yourself,' Mainwaring said, lowering his voice, ‘you have money in the hands of a banker in Amsterdam. Some two thousand pounds.'

‘Great God!' Faulkner paused, puzzled; he had not thought the proceeds of his privateering career had yielded so much. ‘Why did you not use it for yourself? Or for Kate?' he asked, as Mainwaring put his index finger to his lips.

‘Because, my dear Kit, whatever I may have been and whatever the world may think of me, I did not raise you from the gutter to rot here or anywhere else. I am old, a dying old fool, but I would yet see you acquit yourself in this benighted country's service. There is a war brewing, if not with the Dutch or the French, while Charles and his bloody Scots are likely to march south to raise those Royalists still to be smoked out of a few corners of the kingdom.'

‘Perhaps that is not the correct term,' Faulkner said, with a smile at his old mentor's enthusiasm.

‘They would have a king in the Channel Islands and the Scillies – and London too, if Charles succeeds in his mad enterprise.'

‘Do you think he will?'

Mainwaring shook his head. ‘No, the army of the Parliament is a force to be reckoned with for it has grown in stature during these last years, whereas the King's dwindled in proportion.'

Faulkner recalled the tough old cornet-of-horse and the troopers of his own escort to London. ‘Happen you are right,' he said, ‘but if we fight the Dutch, what of my money in Amsterdam? And why so much? I thought the sum remitted to the King.' He paused frowning, the revelation occurring to him as he studied Mainwaring's wry expression.

‘You! You have been manipulating . . .'

‘It was only necessary for Charles and Rupert to tax your efforts to the extent that I thought necessary,' said the shrewd old man. ‘I was, after all, in charge of refitting Rupert's ships.'

‘You put money by!' Faulkner said, his eyes wide with wonder. ‘But you, Sir Henry,' he paused, thinking of those eight miserable pounds that represented Mainwaring's entire fortune. ‘What of yourself? After all you have done for me, I would have had you well provided for.'

‘I know that, my boy, I know. But what was the point? The old have fewer wants and needs than the young and would you have me forfeit it to the Commonwealth, notwithstanding the fact that it was derived from their shipping?' Mainwaring's watery eyes twinkled. Twisting his mouth he added ironically, ‘Besides, what would you have an old pirate to do, eh? Honest broking is too straight for these twisted times.'

‘And the money now?'

‘Oh, it is safe enough.' Mainwaring rummaged in a pocket and brought out a small sealed packet.

‘You know the man, Johannes van Oven?' Faulkner nodded, Van Oven had, from time to time, acted as a prize agent on his behalf. ‘This is a letter of credit which will allow you to refit yourself in London. There are also papers lodged with Meneer Goudsmit.'

Faulkner recollected the Jewish banker and his fine house on the River Ij in Amsterdam. Shaking his head, he remarked, ‘You have considered everything.'

‘Up to the point where matters must take their course. What shall you do about your future?'

‘I must serve out my sentence before my expiation is effective.'

‘It was not I who sent for you today, Kit,' Mainwaring said pointedly. ‘I was asked, in that way that a room in the Tower makes plain, to indicate to you that, if you are to be of any value, you must commit yourself – and soon.'

‘How is that possible until my sentence is passed?'

Mainwaring smiled. ‘How well do you recall Jersey?'

‘Jersey?'

‘Aye. We were there some months before His Royal Highness passed into the Low Countries. And you know the Scillies well enough.'

‘You mean . . .' Faulkner responded, Mainwaring's meaning becoming clear. ‘You think my services as a pilot might be of value to an expedition to these places?'

‘I am told,' said Mainwaring, ‘that a certain Captain Henry Brenton is fitting out the
Basilisk
at Deptford and has yet to complete his complement.'

‘Why could they not have made this matter plain?'

‘Because you are under a sentence and because the notion has to come from you as proof of your honourable intentions.'

Faulkner shook his head. ‘They have a rum way of doing business.'

‘They wish to be taken for honest men, Kit. It is best to accept them at their own valuation. I do not know that they will accept your offer, but –' Mainwaring shrugged – ‘who knows in this uncertain world?'

‘Was it Brenton who was in touch with you?'

‘No. Others, who come by night, and do not reveal their names. And now, for all our sakes, my lips are stopped.' Mainwaring patted Faulkner on the shoulder. ‘Now let me send for wine and then you must to your own place and summon your wits with pen and paper.'