‘Well, he’s going to be out of pocket today.’ I needed to encourage the others. ‘It’s one against four and he daren’t come over here until the light has gone. That gives us time to get help.’ I called out to the youngest and most agile member of the group. ‘Simon, do you think you could reach Master Locke’s and tell him what’s happened?’
‘Yes, Master Thomas.’ The reply was eager.
‘Good! Take Walt’s mare. She’s the fastest.’
Instantly Simon ran over and took the reins from my groom’s hand.
‘No wait!’ I shouted. ‘See if our attacker fires again. Then go while he is reloading.’
Simon’s mare whinnied and backed away, sensing well the danger. We waited for what seemed long minutes. Then came the flash again.
‘Go!’ I shouted.
Simon leaped into the saddle, spurred his mount into a canter and was away up the track in an instant.
I sat down with my back to the wall, thinking hard. Highwayman? Footpad? Some infantryman from the king’s wars using his knowledge of firearms for personal profit? Somehow, I doubted it. This assailant was no common robber lying in wait for fat-pursed travellers. If he had wanted money he would have confronted us in a place where the woodland gave him cover, threatened us with his weapon, grabbed his loot and made off through the trees. If he was intent on murder what would his next move be? He would realise we had sent for help. That meant he had little time to finish his job. But he would have to wait for darkness to mask his movements. I turned to peer at the space between us. Grey clouds crowding in from the west were hastening the dusk. The shapes of trees and bushes were already becoming blurred.
‘Will help arrive in time, Master Thomas?’ Walt called out quietly.
‘I’m sure of it,’ I said. ‘Master Locke is an upright man. He’ll waste no time before sending aid. Meanwhile, keep a careful eye on our friend out there. Watch for any movement, however small. I must look to Dickon while there’s still enough light.’
I had tethered the grey to a broken door frame and he stood, now, patiently holding up his damaged leg and whimpering quietly. Blood was running down his flank. I peered at the wound closely, trying to see how deep it was. Dickon pulled away as I probed with my fingers. I made soothing noises and felt for the ball. If it was in deep there would be no hope for my horse and I vowed that his attacker would pay dearly for the loss of my faithful steed. But I could feel no metal and concluded with relief that the ball had not penetrated the muscle. It had, as far as I could see, cut through hair and skin, then emerged, leaving only a bloody furrow behind. I patted Dickon’s neck. ‘Be brave, old friend. Whoever did this will pay dearly,’ I promised. I was more angry about the damage to my horse than about my own peril.
As I stepped back, I was suddenly aware that everything had gone quiet. The marksman had stopped firing. Had he gone? Was he creeping forward in the deepening gloom — coming to finish his task?
‘What’s happening?’ I demanded of the others. ‘Can you see him?’
‘No.’
‘Not a sign.’
Walt said, ‘Shall I go out and have a closer look?’
‘No!’ I replied. ‘That may be what he wants. We must turn the fading light to our own advantage. Time, I think, for a game of hide and go seek. If he wants to find us, he’ll have to come looking. Collect your horses and come, with me — very quietly. We’ll move back, using the buildings as cover.’
‘Shouldn’t we just wait for Simon to get here with help?’ Walt asked.
‘Our friend out there will know he hasn’t much time. He’ll come.’ It now seemed that we might be able to turn the tables on our assailant. I certainly hoped so.
We moved back some twenty yards, until the cottages were nothing more than a black mass against an ash-grey sky. We waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. No sound but the wind ruffling the heathland grass. Then there came noises away to our right. Clattering hooves. Men calling. Our rescuers had arrived.
I was actually disappointed.
There was no point in searching for our attacker. We returned to the lodge. William Locke came out to greet us, solicitous in the extreme. He insisted that Dickon should be cared for in his own stable with Walt to look after him until the groom declared him fit enough to be moved. Then, when we had made the horse as comfortable as we could, my host insisted that I join him for supper and that we all spend the night under his roof.
We sat alone in a room that was something between a small hall and a large parlour. Though modest in size it lacked nothing in opulence. The walls were hung with impressive Flemish tapestries and the food was served on fine silver. Locke himself was no less impressive than his surroundings. He was dressed in the latest fashion and the pomander hanging from a chain around his neck was of gold. Here was a man who enjoyed aping his social superiors and had the taste and wealth to do it well. He made me recount my misadventure in minute detail but made no comment until he had dismissed the servants.
Then, ‘You think it was the same assassin?’ he asked.
‘I am sure of it.’
‘Why? We live in evil times. The realm is full of desperate men.’
‘But none who lay murderous ambush and cut their victims down with handguns.’
Locke pondered for a moment, fingering his close-trimmed beard. ‘If you are right, this fellow must know that you are hunting him.’
‘The criminal world has its own efficient information networks,’ I said. ‘That is something I have learned in recent days.’
‘In which case, the sooner you find him, the better.’
‘Aye, him and his paymaster.’
Locke closed his eyes and lines of concentration scored his brow. I noticed that his lips were moving slightly, almost as though he were praying. Then he looked up suddenly. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘there is something I will tell you for your own safety. We spoke earlier about Englishing the Bible — how some promote it and some oppose it. You declared yourself neutral.’
‘Yes, I can see that there are arguments on both sides.’
He shook his head vigorously. ‘Young man, you have already taken a stand. Whether you like it or not; whether you know it or not, you have joined the battle.’
‘Not so. I simply — ’
‘Nothing is simple!’ he snapped. ‘Everything — ideas, beliefs, principles, convictions — they’re all up in the air, whirling around like leaves in an autumn storm. What are men arguing about everywhere from the royal council chamber to the most verminous village inn? The king’s divorce, his murder of his queen — aye, murder, I say, look not so shocked — the pope’s setting up other princes to make war on us, the downfall of the monasteries, pilgrimages and fraudulent miracles, the abomination of jewel-bedecked statues and other fripperies in our churches, the greater abomination of the mass.’ Locke’s tone had risen almost to a fervent shout. Now he lowered his voice. ‘Yet is there one issue that underlines all, defines all, decides all, judges alclass="underline" shall we or shall we not base our life on God’s word written?’
The man’s zeal was undeniable — and worrying. ‘You seriously believe all our problems can be solved by one book?’ I asked.
He smiled. ‘If you knew how that book is already changing many people’s lives you would not be so sceptical. There are thousands of copies of Master Tyndale’s Testament being read all over the land.’
‘Much good that did Tyndale,’ I muttered.
‘There are other Tyndales. They are at work in Antwerp and Cologne. Soon we shall have a whole Bible in English to distribute.’
Now that Locke was speaking less guardedly he was confirming what I had come to suspect. ‘Then, that is what the “Christian Brothers” were doing — distributing Bibles? What part did Robert play in this traffic?’
Locke sidestepped the question. ‘’Tis the bishop’s laws not the king’s that are being disobeyed. Last year the queen herself persuaded His Majesty to sanction an official English Bible. Had he done so, there would have been no more need for copies to be smuggled over the Channel in bales of cloth and barrels of wine. Now that Her Majesty has gone’ — he shook his head sadly — ‘the enemies of the Gospel have their tails up and think that by rebellion, and burnings and imprisonments — aye, and by murder in the streets — they will prevail. So the war continues and you have taken sides. By setting yourself to uncover the truth of Robert’s death you have been marked as one of us. Tonight’s work apparently confirms that.’