Thomas started at a trot and went to a canter as soon as he felt the horse was used to him. Without a saddle, a canter was smoother and easier for a rider than a trot. He did not care to risk a full gallop, so a canter home it would have to be. And, in any case, with only three shillings to his name, he would not be able to buy another horse if this one became lame or exhausted. Horse and rider would pace themselves over the distance.
North of Abingdon, the road ran over a narrow stream, where they stopped to drink. Until then, Thomas had concentrated entirely on not falling off. Now, sitting on a grassy bank, the horse tethered to a tree and quietly nibbling grass, he thought about the incident. Both coachmen shot dead by men who knew how to use pistols, the carriage searched, his three shillings ignored and his life spared. Damned odd. More to the point, what would Tobias Rush make of it all? He had not been joking when he said that Rush would not take kindly to the deaths of his men and the damage to his carriage, and he might very well want to know why Thomas had allowed it to happen, and how he had escaped being shot. All manner of reasons might occur to Rush’s suspicious mind, and he did not look forward to making his report.
The image from the night before of the troop of infantry led by the fair-haired captain also came back to him. It was Fayne, no doubt about it, and looking for all the world as if he had spent a peaceful day fishing. No signs of blood or battle on him or his men, despite their regiment having reportedly been in the thick of the fighting. Thomas stored the unspoken thought away. One day it might be needed.
Now, he had to reach the safety of Oxford. After a short break he remounted, and, still at a canter, made steady progress along the road, trying to ignore the stares of the few travellers he passed, and untroubled by the lack of a saddle or the state of the road. In an odd way, he found himself rather enjoying it. When his father was alive, they had often ridden together over the downs and through the woods, sometimes bareback, and the old sense of elation came creeping back. It was certainly less grim than his last journey to Oxford in that flea-ridden habit. He grinned at the memory.
When the late-September light began to fade, however, he was still six or seven miles from the town, and the Oxfordshire countryside was no place to be after dark. Deserters from both sides, none too particular about whom they robbed and killed, and bands of clubmen, armed with axes, scythes, cudgels and whatever else they could find, were known to hide out in the woods all over the county. The clubmen were becoming a serious problem for both sides, ferociously attacking anyone who strayed into their locality and might be a threat to their villages and families. And there were highwaymen, of whom Thomas had had quite enough that day. A solitary rider would make an easy target for any of them, especially one going at no more than a canter.
As it grew dark, Thomas found himself looking nervously over his shoulder and peering into the shadows at the side of the road. He started when a dog barked, then laughed at himself in embarrassment. God’s wounds, Thomas, he thought, you are a feeble creature. There are only a few miles to go, so make haste and stop being spineless.
He knew from the stench when he was nearing the town. It came from the burial pits outside the walls, drains overflowing with human excrement, rotting middens and animal carcasses left to fester in the streets. When a breeze from the north blew the mixture straight into his face, Thomas gagged, and only just kept his seat. Not daring to risk holding the reins in one hand, he left his handkerchief in his pocket and tried not to breathe.
With relief, he entered the town through the south gate, and, just as he had with Simon a month earlier, made his way up St Aldate’s towards Pembroke. By this time, the streets were quieter, and he was soon able to hand the horse to one of Silas’s boys, with an instruction to look after it well. He walked stiffly across the courtyard to his room. There he rubbed his backside, stretched his back and took off his clothes. He retrieved the message from its hiding place and unfolded it carefully. It seemed none the worse for the journey, and its secrets were as safe as ever. Thomas laid it on the table and sluiced himself with water from the jug; trust Silas to keep it full for his return. Much as he wanted to eat and sleep, he tucked the message under his shirt and set off for Christ Church. Master Rush would have to be faced sooner or later and it might as well be sooner.
When Thomas arrived at Christ Church and asked for Tobias Rush, he was instructed to wait in a small room just off the gatehouse. ‘Master Rush does not care for visitors to call at his rooms. Wait here, if you please, sir, and I will send for him,’ said the guard.
Thomas stood waiting and tried to rehearse what he was going to say. When Rush swept in, he looked anything but pleased to have a visitor. ‘Master Hill, after a long and unhappy journey from Newbury with the king, I was at my dinner. What brings you here? Have the coachmen not taken my carriage to the stables?’
‘My apologies for disturbing you, sir. I did not think this matter should wait. On the way from Newbury, we were attacked by highwaymen who killed your coachmen and ransacked your carriage.’
Rush peered at him. ‘Were you harmed?’
‘Strangely, I was not.’
‘Both coachmen killed, yet you were allowed to escape? That is strange indeed.’
‘I cannot account for it.’
‘I imagine not. And what of my carriage?’
‘I left it with the dead men and three of the horses two miles north of Chilton. I rode the fourth horse back. The carriage is damaged but not, I think, beyond repair.’
‘Did the criminals take anything?’
‘Nothing. Not even my three shillings.’
‘Yet they let you live to tell the tale.’
‘Master Rush, I have no more idea than you why that is so. I am not familiar with the ways of such men.’
‘One would hope not.’ Rush’s black eyes were boring into Thomas’s head, as if trying to see into his mind.
He does not believe me, thought Thomas. ‘There is one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Before we departed for Newbury, my room in Pembroke was broken into and turned upside down.’
Rush looked surprised. ‘Why did you not tell me this earlier?’
‘I did not wish to trouble you. I think it was the work of the man who occupied the room before me, Captain Fayne. He resents my having taken his room, and he is a gambler. He might have been looking for money. Both the intruder and the highwaymen were certainly looking for something.’
‘And what would that be?’
Absolute discretion, Abraham had said. Not a word. ‘Again, Master Rush, I have no idea. All the despatches I have dealt with so far have been trivial in the extreme. Not a hint of a military secret from either side.’
‘So nothing was taken from your room either?’
‘As far as I could tell, nothing.’
For a few moments, Rush was silent. Then, abruptly, his mood changed and he smiled. ‘It seems to me unlikely that the two events are connected. How would the men who attacked you know you were alone in my carriage on the Newbury road? And I daresay you are right about your room. Fayne was most reluctant to hand it over to you. The important thing is that you are unharmed. The deaths of the coachmen are of course regrettable, but in war there are casualties. I will send men to bring their bodies back to Oxford, and to arrange for my carriage to be repaired.’