by Papist priests.
‘It’s a nest of Papists entirely,’ he said. ‘John Paulet, that’s the Marquess, is a declared recusant and he has sworn to hold Basing-House for the King. To death, if need be.’
‘And the treasure? Is it really so much?’
‘Who can say? They have golden idols in their churches. We’ll find out, my lads.’
The men returned his grim smile.
‘Why are we to besiege a house?’ asked Ferris. ‘When there are whole towns held by the Cavaliers?’
I saw Tommy step out through the door and close it behind him.
‘It gives courage to the enemy. And, what some might consider worse, it blocks the wool trade, and there are solid citizens in London bothered thereby.’ The officer’s voice was steady. I looked at his creased face, the scars on his right temple, and wondered had he been at Naseby.
‘Their godless riches can be put into godly hands,’ he added in the same flat voice. This was a heart I could not read; I wondered if Ferris could.
We lay down in broken straw. In the night there was a storm overhead. I listened to the usual snoring, then the cough and stir of every man around me under the hammer of the rain and sudden boom of thunder. Some groaned, perhaps for the wet roads and the labour of the coming day. Waiting for Tommy, wondering if he would get back in time, I had not slept at all. When the storm went off I dozed a while, and was woken by water running down my neck. I shifted, and a hand touched mine. My messenger was wintry cold and the rain dropped from his hair onto my shaven head so that I jumped.
He whispered angrily, ‘That’s nothing man, it’s right through to my skin.’
‘I’m sorry for it, Tom. What news?’
He lay down beside me. ‘Rub my hands, for the love of God. They’re ice.’ I did so, and blew on them. Such cold and bony flesh, it was hateful. He could hardly keep his teeth from knocking together. That was like Zeb, feverish.
‘Thin folks feel the cold the most,’ he said.
‘Keep your mind on the ration,’ I suggested, chafing warmth into his fingers. ‘There, put them under your arms.’ The carcass hands slithered out of mine. ‘So, what news?’
‘What do you most want to know?’
I was unsure where to start. ‘Well. Who did you speak to?’
‘I couldn’t come at any Isaiah or any Peter. There’s no such men there.’
My heart sickened. ‘What, then?’
‘A maidservant.’ I almost cried out, but he went on, ‘French, pretty as you’d see anywhere.’
Madeleine. If My Lady had kept her on, Caro could not be returned. Or she might be in gaol. I waited in terror to hear Caro or Patience spoken of, unsure which prospect frightened me more.
‘But you asked after Isaiah?’ I urged.
‘To be sure. She said that she remembered him, and that he was run away; there was a great hurly-burly with the servants, just about the time you joined the army.’ He laughed hoarsely, throat full of phlegm. ‘There’s two men run off with a maid. That was the second maid they lost, she said, and a lad found dead in the pond. Fine house, by the sound of it.’
‘They’ve caught neither maid nor men?’
‘Still looking for them. Not in the right place, eh, Jacob?’
‘And the third brother? Isaiah?’
He hawked and spat.
‘Isaiah? He’s not dead, Tommy?’
‘Not that she knew. They took him before the magistrate. He had a whipping and was turned out of the house; they said he was more fool than knave.’
Whipped. O Izzy, forgive me. ‘If he was no knave, why turn him out?’ I asked. ‘He was a party to their going?’
‘Some said this, some that. They found a great many papers and pamphlets wrapped up secret and buried behind the stables, where this young maid who gave evidence, I forget her name, said the brothers used to go and talk. But again, he had stayed, and that argued innocence. The other servants gave him an excellent character.’
And the Roches turned him out, I thought. I could remember the name of this young maid – young whore, young spy – if he could not. We had buried nothing behind the stables, all had been burnt. I knew now what they were doing that night when I killed the boy, and most likely other nights too. Poor babes as we were, burning our reading and thinking ourselves safe, when these devils had already laid a mine there could tear us in pieces. My breath came in gasps. Suppose I ever came up against Cornish again, my first thought would be to run, be he never so fat and grey.
‘They do say one brother drowned the young lad,’ Tommy added.
In the darkness it was impossible to read his face.
‘They had an old mother,’ I said. ‘I don’t suppose you have news of her?’
‘You never asked for any.’
‘And have they heard anything of this Isaiah since he was turned off?’
‘Not that she told me.’
‘No. Thanks, Tom. I’ll see you all right tomorrow.’
‘O, I nearly forgot. The heir is dead, poisoned.’
I thought I would faint from the shock. ‘Poisoned! By whom?’
‘The brothers, who else?’
Most likely Mervyn had brought the thing on himself. Or had Mounseer had the last laugh after all, and at our expense?
‘God rot all poisoners, I ate some soup there,’ Tommy said. ‘As for you, you’ll have to be cleverer.’
‘How, cleverer?’ I thought he wanted more of the ration from me.
‘I called you Jacob a while back. You never noticed.’
No more I had. As I tried to think how to recover my mistake Tommy moved away into the darkness. I heard him snort to himself, ‘Prince Rupert, forsooth!’
Anguish kept me awake afterwards. I was not sure that I had paid out my bread and beef for any good end. I could not make restitution now, be I never so willing. Izzy might be a soldier, a pressed man fighting for the other side. I shuddered. But no, I could not see either him – or Zeb – being well enough. Izzy was not strong enough to bear a whipping – he would be sick a long time after. Thanks to me, my wife and brothers were all of them destitute. I told myself that Zeb and Caro had the jewels. Did Izzy understand what Cornish had done to him? Did he try to prove that those devils buried the papers themselves?
I turned over and my thoughts flowed into a different channel. Now I marvelled at the coldness of Patience, who had lain in Zeb’s arms and plotted his destruction. Carnality is of the flesh, but this was a pure deep drink of the Devil. As for Cornish, he knew who it was had killed his boy, and had doubtless laid plans for me.
There are foes against whom it is no help to be tall and strong. I was afraid of a young woman and a man past his prime, because they outwent me in imagination. Now I was possessed of a friend who might help, yet I was afraid to lose him, as I had lost Caro, in the act of unburdening myself. Tommy had said I was not clever. I had spun myself a wretched web; but I would at least try to learn from my errors. Yet it was hard to see how that might be done, and I lay sleepless long after.
Ferris was awake before me and shook me until I opened my eyes. ‘Rupert. Tommy’s back.’
‘We’ve already talked.’ I rubbed my face. ‘I’m not much wiser than I was.’
‘But he did get there?’
‘He