Beside the queen’s horse walked her personal bodyguard and ladies-in-waiting. No spaniels or dwarves today. One of the ladies turned her head and stared straight at Thomas. He returned the stare. He was too far away to see them, but he knew her eyes were different colours. Neither of them smiled or gave a hint of recognition. Then she turned and walked on.
Thomas, unsettled at seeing Jane, and unsure where to go or what to do, stayed where he was and waited for instructions. They came from Tobias Rush, who appeared quietly beside him. ‘Master Hill, if you would make your way to the main gate of Christ Church, you will find a carriage waiting for us. I will join you as soon as the king has departed.’
Wondering how Rush had found him, Thomas edged his way around the meadow and up the path between Christ Church and Corpus Christi to the Christ Church gate. The carriage that awaited him was painted in royal blue, emblazoned with the gold monogram TR, drawn by four matched black geldings and driven by a magnificently uniformed coachman, whose assistant, equally magnificent, sat beside him. Inside, the seats were padded and covered in soft red leather. While the army trudged over mud, splashed through ankle-deep puddles, twisted its knees in ruts and holes and took its rest in dripping hedgerows, Master Rush and Master Hill would travel to battle in style. Thomas wondered whether the king intended to ride bravely at the head of his men, or to abandon his stallion for the comfort of a royal carriage.
It was not long before two college servants appeared carrying between them a large chest, which, with the help of the coachmen, they manhandled on to the coach. The chest was closely followed by its owner. Tobias Rush, angrily shouting at them to make haste and allow him room to board the carriage, swept them aside with his silver-topped cane and sat down opposite Thomas. ‘I do so dislike travelling,’ he said with a sigh, ‘and, with this rain, the journey will not be pleasant. Luckily, I know a tolerable inn in the village of Drayton, where we’ll spend the night. It’s about ten miles from here. Tomorrow we’ll continue to Newbury, another eighteen miles or so. The king, I believe, plans to stop at Wantage.’ Rush eyed Thomas’s small bag. ‘Is that all you’ve brought, Master Hill? We may be away for some days.’
‘Master Rush, it’s all I have,’ Thomas replied sharply. ‘I was not permitted to bring anything more to Oxford, and have not been inclined to make purchases here, with the prices three times those in Romsey.’
‘In that case, feel free to ask for anything you need. I will arrange for it.’ Rush smiled his thin smile, then called to the coachman, ‘Let us make haste. We must be away before the army sets off, or we’ll be trapped among them.’ Thomas heard the coachman snap his long whip and they were off, bumping and lurching over the cobbles. They left Oxford by the south gate, passed through the town’s defences and round three huge burial pits, and were soon on the road to Newbury. Somewhere behind them, the king and his Lifeguards marched to battle.
Conversation in the carriage was difficult, and little was said until they approached Drayton, when Thomas asked about his duties.
‘If we face Essex,’ replied Rush, ‘despatches will be coming in and out all the time. Orders to our commanders, their reports, and intelligence from our observers as to Essex’s movements. Some will be encrypted. And there is always the chance of interceptions. If they are to be of any use, you will have to decrypt them immediately. Otherwise the moment will pass and any advantage will be lost.’
‘Do we know what ciphers they will use?’
‘We don’t, but, like ours, they will perforce be simple. In battle, there is no time for complexity. Please give some thought to the cipher you will use, and advise me of it. I will communicate it to our commanders in the field.’
‘As you wish, Master Rush,’ replied Thomas, thinking that a simple alphabetical shift might be best suited to a simple military mind. Certainly not Vigenère squares.
At Drayton, the carriage pulled up outside Rush’s inn. The carriage driver’s assistant jumped down and opened the door for them. Thomas picked up his bag and was about to step out of the carriage, but Rush would not hear of it. ‘The men will take your bag, Master Hill. Leave it for them.’
‘It’s only light,’ protested Thomas. ‘I can easily manage it.’
‘Nonsense, that’s what servants are for. They’ll bring it with mine.’ Reluctantly, not wishing to make a scene, Thomas put down the bag and alighted. The innkeeper emerged, all smiles and hand-wringing, to greet them.
‘Gentlemen, welcome to the White Hart. Your rooms are ready and your dinner is being prepared. The stables are at the back.’ Rush nodded and strode into the inn. Thomas followed him. A fire had been laid in the hearth, the floor had been swept and the tables wiped clean. There were no other customers. The innkeeper had been warned. Tobias Rush did not like unwelcome company or unnecessary discomfort. While Rush supervised the unloading of his chest, Thomas was shown upstairs to a small room. There he found a straw mattress on the bed, a woollen blanket, a bowl for washing and a jug of water. It was clean enough, smelt only slightly of mice, and was superior to either of the inns he and Simon had sampled on their journey from Romsey.
The coachman’s assistant soon arrived with his bag. ‘Here you are, sir,’ said the young man with a grin. ‘Not too heavy. We can’t get the chest up the stairs, so it’ll have to spend the night downstairs by the fire, same as us. Master Rush isn’t too happy about that.’
Thomas thanked the young man, and opened the bag. He knew at once that it had been tampered with. His box of quills was no longer wrapped in the shirt, and a corner of one sheet of paper was slightly torn. Either the coachmen had been looking for coins, or Master Rush had seen fit to conduct a search. For what? wondered Thomas. Doesn’t he trust me? No, it was probably the coachmen. Too bad they had found no coins. He decided to say nothing, but to keep the encrypted message with him at all times. That, if nothing else, must not fall into the wrong hands.
The innkeeper had certainly made an effort with their dinner. After bowls of hot vegetable soup, they were served a good pigeon pie with pickled cucumbers, and a sweet apple tart with cream. While Thomas tucked in happily, washing the meal down with half a bottle of claret, Rush ate and drank little. And he would not be drawn in by Thomas’s questions about himself. He admitted to having been born and brought up in London, but that was about it. Nothing about his family, his education or his home. By the end of the meal, Thomas had given up and turned the conversation, instead, to the battle that lay ahead. ‘If Essex has fourteen thousand men,’ he asked, ‘will he outnumber us, or we him?’
‘I believe the king will have the advantage in cavalry numbers, and his enemies in infantry. As to artillery, about the same. Much like Edgehill.’
‘Were you at Edgehill?’ asked Thomas, surprised. He had not thought of Rush in battle.
‘I was, as a member of his majesty’s household. But for Prince Rupert’s cavalry who preferred to chase a broken and fleeing rabble rather than wheel and charge at the rear of the enemy centre, we should have enjoyed a great victory. As it was, we could only claim one.’
‘It was certainly reported as a victory in the newsbooks.’
Rush smiled. ‘Yes. For that, I must take some responsibility. The king insisted upon as glowing a report as I could write. The truth, however, is that the battle was inconclusive. Many are.’