The other voice spoke. ‘It would be a grave mistake to touch Brother Peter. His mind is deranged and he is infected by unholy poisons. I have seen this before. The infection can be passed by touch.’
‘Is that so? In that case, you get him up.’
‘That I cannot do. It might drive his mind still deeper into torment. Peter is sick and harmless. Can you not leave him to his prayers?’
‘Get him up and let me see him.’
‘I cannot.’
Thomas heard a sword being withdrawn from its scabbard and involuntarily tensed his back. ‘As you wish …’ The sword clattered on to the stone floor, and the man cursed loudly. ‘You’ll pay for that, you fucking monk.’ It was more than he could bear. Thomas looked up from his prayer and saw the back of a soldier of the King’s Lifeguards and the face of a tall Benedictine monk, the soldier’s sword in his hand. Only he was not a Benedictine monk, he was Simon de Pointz, a Franciscan friar. Quite unperturbed, Simon stared at the soldier, and spoke in the voice Thomas had not recognized.
‘I think not. Here we serve only God, and it is God who commands us to take care of this suffering creature. Search where you please. Peter will not be harmed.’ The soldier stared back. Then he turned and stormed out of the room. Simon signalled to Thomas to resume his praying, and followed the defeated soldier. He closed the door carefully behind him.
Still on his knees, Thomas wondered again at the extra ordinary presence of the man. Having arrived unknown and uninvited, he had convinced Thomas to leave his home and family and to travel with him to a foul, dangerous place, where sickness and death were everywhere, and now, without so much as raising his voice, he had faced down a soldier of the king intent upon carrying out his orders. And he had done so at great risk to himself. Fortunate for the king that the wayward Norwich boy had become a Franciscan, not a Parliamentarian.
Quite suddenly, the sounds of the search disappeared and the abbey grew quieter. Daring to hope that the troops had given up and left, Thomas got to his feet and stretched his back. He could guess what had happened. The men at Abraham’s funeral had reported back to Rush that two friars had been there, one of them looking after the other. Rush had assumed that Thomas had slipped through his net and sent men to search every monastery and abbey around Oxford. Thanks only to Simon, the fish had escaped the net again.
Or had it? Hearing footsteps approaching his door, Thomas was back on his knees in a trice, head bowed in solemn prayer. He heard the door open and held his breath. ‘You can stop now, Thomas, unless you have more upon which to ask for God’s guidance. They’ve gone.’ Thomas got up again and faced Simon, now back in his familiar grey habit.
‘Rush’s men?’
‘Yes. By a stroke of fortune, I passed them on my way here and arrived just in time. Otherwise you would be on your way back to Oxford Castle. Happily, the abbot had spare tunics to hand, including a long one, and I was able to dissuade their leader from dealing with you as King Henry’s knights dealt with Thomas Becket.’
‘Again I owe you my thanks, Simon. Do remember, though, that I am only here because of you, and I may yet have further need of your services.’
‘Let us pray not. Now, knowing that you make little sense until you have breakfasted, I have arranged for food to be brought. I am impatient to hear of your progress on the cipher.’
‘Good. Simon, why the voice?’
‘Ah, an interesting question. I am not entirely sure myself, except that I believe Richard Burbage liked to assume the voice of the character he was playing, even before learning his words. He claimed that it helped him to forget who he really was, and to become the character.’
‘As actors do.’
‘Actors, yes, and traitors. Good God, I almost forgot.’ Simon took a letter from inside his habit and handed it to Thomas. ‘This arrived yesterday from Romsey. Good news, I trust.’
Thomas was about to open the letter when a loud knock on the door signalled the arrival of breakfast. It was brought by a slightly built friar who kept his eyes to the floor. ‘And we want to know how the work is going. Have you made progress?’
‘We?’ asked Thomas, looking pointedly at the other friar, who had so far kept his face hidden under his hood.
‘Ah. Of course.’ Simon nodded to his companion, whose hood came off to reveal a serenely smiling Jane Romilly.
‘Good morning, Thomas. We thought to surprise you, although the disguise was necessary to gain access to the abbey. The abbot would not approve of a lady visitor.’
Torn between Jane, the letter and the decrypted message, Thomas blathered. ‘Lady Romilly. Jane. An unexpected pleasure. How are you? Well, I trust. And the queen? Is she well?’
Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘The queen’s spirits are low, but she is well, thank you. As am I.’
‘Good, good. Excellent. That is a comfort. You must have been here when the search was on.’
‘I was. Disguised as a Benedictine and making an excellent mutton stew in the abbey kitchens. Our friends will have a good dinner tonight.’
‘You weren’t searched?’
‘Thankfully not,’ laughed Jane. ‘The poor man might have died of shock.’
Or delight, thought Thomas. ‘It’s well that you’ve come. I have news. The message is decrypted. Here it is.’ Thomas passed his decryption to Simon, who read it twice and handed it to Jane.
‘The brackets, Thomas? Guesses?’ asked Simon.
‘Guesses, yes, from the context. 182 and 264 could be any of their commanders, and 421 may be Parliament. They matter little. It’s 775 we need to know.’
‘It’s Rush, isn’t it?’
‘We know it is, but this is not proof. Rush would just laugh at it.’
‘Are you quite certain of the decryption, Thomas?’ asked Simon.
‘Quite certain. The idea I mentioned worked.’
‘Then, proof or no proof, the queen is in grave danger of being abducted. We’re lucky they haven’t already tried, if this is their plan. The king must be told at once. Jane and I will leave immediately.’
‘Why me?’ asked Jane. ‘You’ll travel faster without me, and I can add nothing to the task. Go alone, Simon, and I will wait here until you return.’
‘Leave you here? The abbot would never speak to me again if he found out. A woman alone in the abbey. My soul would be in mortal danger. Yours too, I daresay.’
‘Nonsense, Simon. Your soul is quite safe, as mine shall be. Thomas will make sure of it, won’t you, Thomas?’
‘Certainly I will. Go, Simon, and return as soon as you’ve warned the king. I’ll show Jane how a Vigenère cipher works.’
‘Very well,’ replied Simon with a nod to Jane. He handed her a key. ‘Lock the door after me. And be here when I return.’
‘Read your letter, Thomas,’ said Jane when Simon had gone, ‘and then we’ll eat.’
Thomas broke the seal and read the letter. It was short and direct. Margaret thanked him for writing, albeit belatedly, and was glad to learn that he was in good health. She and the girls were also well, but missed him greatly. Lucy asked if he would be home for her birthday at the end of October. The town had been quiet since he left. News of the war arrived daily, occasionally something about the king and queen in Oxford. And, finally, she had received two unsigned letters advising her to take great care of herself and her daughters in these troubled times. The hand was untutored and the grammar poor, and she had dismissed them as the work of some mischief-maker. Still, she hoped they would see Thomas soon. They all sent fondest love.
Uncertain quite what to make of this, Thomas read it out to Jane.
‘I’m sure it’s no more than a local man with his eye on a handsome widow. While you’re away, perhaps he’s hoping to persuade Margaret that she should take a husband. Can you think of anyone who might do that?’ she asked.