The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) (34 page)

‘He might, but I sense he is not far away.’

‘And there is little point in looking for him unless we assume you’re right,’ said Simon. ‘The question is, how are we going to find him in time?’

‘In time for what?’

‘Thomas and I must leave Oxford soon.’ Simon covered his mistake smoothly. It would not have done to mention the queen’s departure, however well known it might be.

‘I learned nothing at the Crown or in Magpie Lane,’ pointed out Thomas. ‘Have you gentlemen any ideas?’ Smithson shrugged and Tomkins shook his head. ‘Then allow me to suggest a plan. Fayne is an inveterate gambler. Let us use his weakness to lure him out of hiding.’

‘It would take a big bait to tempt him out of hiding if he’s in fear of being hanged,’ said Tomkins.

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Smithson.

‘I have in mind a game of hazard for very high stakes and against a very bad opponent.’

‘For that we shall need money and a player we can trust. Not you, Master Hill, as Fayne knows you, or either of us.’

‘No. We shall have to find someone else.’

Simon coughed delicately. ‘Fayne does not know me. May I offer my services?’

‘You, Simon? What do you know about hazard?’ asked Thomas.

‘In the inns and taverns of Norwich, a young man may learn many things.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Why on earth not? Am I too stupid?’

‘No, no, it’s just that …’

‘Try me. Ask me a question.’

‘What is a nick?’

‘A winning throw by the caster.’

‘Main of seven, chance of nine, how much does the caster win if he wins the hand?’

‘One and a half times the stake.’

‘With a main of five, what are the odds on the caster winning?’

‘Just under one in two.’

Thomas sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘Father de Pointz, you never cease to astonish me. Praying, fighting and now gambling.’

‘Fighting and gambling only when necessary. Praying I do every day, as should everyone.’

‘What do you think, gentlemen?’ Thomas asked the captains.

‘I think we have the perfect man for the task,’ replied Tomkins, ‘but how are we to entice Fayne into the trap? I doubt he’d show his face in Oxford, even for a thousand guineas.’

There was a voice from the gallery. ‘One moment, sirs,’ called out Silas, standing up so that he could be seen. ‘I shall come down.’

Thomas and Simon had forgotten Silas hiding up there. Neither of the captains showed any surprise. They must have assumed that they would be watched. Silas came into the library and stood at the table. ‘If you’ll pardon me, sirs, I don’t think you’ll require any further protection, and I have a suggestion.’

‘Excellent, Silas,’ said Thomas. ‘Are you another expert player of hazard?’

‘No, sir, nothing at all like that, although many of my young scholars have enjoyed the game over the years. Indeed, I recall you yourself playing the occasional hand, Master Hill. The thing is, since the court has been in Oxford, one or two houses have turned themselves into agreeable places for dice- and card-players. They offer good food and wine and a bit more comfort. They charge for it, of course, but the winners are happy enough to pay. There is one such place – very popular with merchants and the like – which might be suitable. Very discreet, no signs, no prying eyes or wagging tongues. It’s a house just inside the west gate.’

‘Have you been there, Silas?’ asked Simon.

‘No, sir, but I have heard it’s frequented by well-to-do gentlemen who like to play for high stakes. No weapons are allowed in the house.’

‘Sounds perfect.’

‘I agree,’ said Thomas. ‘We have the bait and we
have a place to set our trap. Now how do we persuade Fayne to take the bait?’

This time it was Tomkins’s turn. ‘Word of new players gets around like the pox. If Father de Pointz goes there this evening dressed as a travelling merchant, and is seen to lose plenty of money, I’ll wager Fayne will soon hear about it. If he’s in the county, that is.’

‘If he’s not, we’re wasting our time. But we won’t know unless we try. So, Simon will lose heavily at this house tonight, let it be known that he is in Oxford for a day or two and will be playing there again tomorrow evening. Have you got plenty of money to lose, Simon?’

‘The money will not present a problem. Losing it will be more difficult.’

‘Well, make sure you do. A winning merchant is not what we need.’

‘And you, what will you be doing, Thomas?’

‘I shall be nearby.’

‘And us?’ asked Smithson. ‘What would you have us do?’

‘You won’t be needed tonight. Tomorrow you’d best not show your faces. Hide somewhere outside, somewhere you can watch the door. If he arrives, guard the door. If he tries to run, stop him.’

‘Why don’t we shoot him?’

‘Fayne may be a traitor and a coward, he may be a
rapist, but he must face the king’s justice, not ours. We’ll take him alive if we can. Six o’clock tomorrow evening, gentlemen. Silas will show you where. Let’s hope the bait smells tasty enough to bring the creature out of his lair.’

A little before seven that evening, Silas led Thomas and Simon to the house. As he had said, it was close to the west gate – close enough for a man who did not want to be seen in the town to slip in and out safely. It was two storeys high, with leaded windows and a tiled roof. A substantial house, brick-built in the Dutch style, restrained in design and displaying no sign of what went on inside. Thomas guessed that it belonged to a town official or a lawyer. It was not extravagant enough for a merchant.

From somewhere, Simon had acquired a long black coat edged in fur, a plain white shirt and black woollen breeches. His sandals had been replaced by soft leather boots. As they approached the house, he jangled the coins in his pocket. ‘I hope you’re as rich as you sound, Simon,’ said Thomas, ‘and penniless when you leave.’

‘Don’t worry, I shall lose everything but my faith, and the clothes I stand up in,’ replied Simon in a strange voice.

‘Why are you speaking like that?’ asked Thomas.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my acting skills. This is my merchant’s voice.’

‘Of course it is. Foolish of me. In you go, merchant, and lose convincingly. Remember you’re our bait and we need Fayne.’

Simon knocked boldly on the door and was admitted at once. When he did not immediately reappear, they assumed that he had been accepted as a genuine gambler looking for an evening’s entertainment.

‘You go back to the college, Silas,’ said Thomas. ‘I shall stay here and keep an eye on things.’

‘As you wish, sir, but take care.’

‘Thank you, Silas. I will.’

When Silas had gone, Thomas walked around the house. The windows were small and there was no door at the back. Visitors could come and go only through the door at the front. He peered through a window, but the glass was too thick to see through. The walls must have been thick, too; he could hear nothing from inside. A very private house indeed.

It was no more than fifty paces to the west gate, and in the fading evening light Thomas could just make out the guards stationed there. He thought he could see six of them. How secure really is Oxford? he wondered. A few more Newburys and it would be very weakly defended, and vulnerable to attack. He hated to think
what Parliamentary artillery might do to the town. Christ Church in ruins, Pembroke a heap of rubble? God forbid. Then what would the king do? Sue for peace or take his court somewhere else? No doubt the former was too much to hope for. His majesty was not going to back down now. The plot to take prisoner the queen and her unborn child showed that Pym and his colleagues would negotiate a peace, but only on terms that the king would not accept. Stalemate.

He was jolted from his thoughts by the crack of nailed boots on the cobbles. The guard was about to be changed. The ancient gates were guarded even though the town had long ago spread outside them. It wouldn’t do to be seen loitering in this quiet part of the town, so he strode purposefully towards the arriving troop. When he had passed them, he turned and repeated the exercise with the troop that was being replaced, ending up back where he started. What in the name of the king and all his men do you think you’re doing, he thought, walking backwards and forwards along this dark street like a thief in the night? If Margaret could see you now, she would think your brain was addled. And perhaps it is. Being arrested for behaving suspiciously is more likely than catching Fayne. With Simon inside the house, how ever, it was too late to change his mind. Simon
might need help, and Thomas dare not desert his post until he came out. He would just have to suffer silently.

Two silent hours later, Thomas was cold and bored. Wishing he had thought to wear a thicker coat, he wrapped his arms around himself and jumped up and down in a futile attempt to keep warm. He had watched as gamblers had come and gone – not one of them remotely mistakable for Francis Fayne – some alone and miserable, others laughing and boasting about their skill with the dice or the cards. Thomas, hidden in the shadows, heard everything and smiled. Gamblers were the same wherever you went. When they won it was skill, when they lost, ill luck. Still there was no sign of Simon. Either he was enjoying himself so much that he was in no hurry to go home, or he was having trouble losing his money. Thomas was just beginning to wonder if he could stand waiting there any longer, when the street began to fill with women. They came in ones and twos and took up positions near the house. When one of them saw him, she pointed at him. ‘Look at that, girls,’ she squawked, ‘we got competition tonight. Must be some funny ones playing. What’s your name, dear? Got a friend in there, ’ave you?’ Thomas, not knowing whether to answer or not, pretended not to hear. ‘Lost your tongue, ’ave you? Shame, you might need it later.’ The women in the street cackled. Thomas
turned his head away and willed Simon to appear.

At ten o’clock, the door opened and the remaining gamblers emerged into the night. Ten o’clock, early though it was, was evidently when the house closed for the day. Perhaps the owner liked to get rid of his visitors before he retired. They were immediately surrounded by women loudly describing their charms, promising excellent service, and not being easily put off. Some followed a chosen target down the street, others hung on to an arm or a waist until they were accepted or thrown off.

Simon was one of the last to emerge. He called a cheerful good night to his new friends, fended off a persistent woman who clearly knew money when she saw it, and strode away towards Christ Church. Thomas ran to catch up with him. When Simon heard him coming, he turned and waited. ‘Ah, Thomas, there you are. I do hope the waiting wasn’t too tedious.’

‘It was. How did the evening go?’

‘It wasn’t an easy part to play, but I believe I carried it off rather well.’

‘And?’

‘I had to be at my best to lose to those clods. Or do I mean worst?’

After three cold, solitary hours, Thomas’s temper was short. ‘For God’s sake, Simon, I know you have a
high opinion of your theatrical talent, but this is not a play. Abraham and Jane are dead, Rush is still at large, and we are trying to find Fayne. Did you lose your money?’

‘Of course. My apologies. I must have been carried away by the moment. Eventually, I did. And I made it obvious that there is plenty more where that came from and that I would be back tomorrow. I even asked if there were any young men in town who might like to play for higher stakes.’

‘And are there?’

‘It seems that there might be. Word of a visiting merchant with deep pockets and a knack of laying foolish wagers will be passed on. There’s a decent chance Fayne will hear of it and come tomorrow.’

‘Was there any mention of Fayne?’

‘No. Nor of Francis. Christian names are preferred.’

‘A pity. I had hoped he would be known there. Anything else?’

‘Only that they are expecting me tomorrow evening at seven.’ They had reached Merton, where Simon bade Thomas good night and went to change his clothes before evening prayers with the queen.

Back at Christ Church, Thomas wondered again what foolishness he had embarked upon. A devout Franciscan acting the part of a gambling merchant, and
a homesick bookseller lurking in the street for three hours – all in the vain hope of luring their prey into a trap. And planning to do it all over again tomorrow. What would Montaigne have said?

After an interminably long and wearisome day, Simon the merchant and Thomas the watcher set off again the following evening for the house by the west gate. They found Tomkins and Smithson already there and anxious for news. At least this time Thomas would have company. When Simon had left them to be about his business, he told them what he knew. ‘We must hope that Fayne does not owe money here,’ he said.

‘It’s unlikely because it’s the rougher places he prefers, where he can drown his disappointments and take his revenge on helpless women,’ replied Tomkins.

‘Helpless women’ immediately brought to Thomas’s mind a hideous picture of Jane lying on a bed bleeding to death. Had other women suffered as she had? If so, all the more reason to find Fayne. One eye is brown yet the other is blue. The eyes that had shown him the way to break the cipher. Beautiful eyes, a beautiful lady. Rush might have escaped, but if there was a grain of justice in the world Fayne would show his face tonight.

The three men stood together in the shadow of a
broken wall almost opposite the house, very near to where Thomas had kept his vigil the previous evening. Thomas Hill, Hugh Tomkins and Philip Smithson – each of them for their own reasons determined to find Francis Fayne. Looking at the others, Thomas could see precious little difference between them. Both were medium height, about Thomas’s age, dressed in black coats, hats, breeches and boots, and armed with swords and knives. They looked exactly what they were – officers of his majesty’s army. Simon, Silas and he had agreed that the two men were genuine in their loathing of Fayne, and desperate to bring him to justice.

To pass the time, Thomas asked, ‘Are you gentlemen in the same regiment as Fayne?’