Black Powder (14 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Friday 1 November

T
hey journeyed on in the moonlight, the clip-clop of hooves and the creak of cart wheels the only things to break the silence. From time to time, Tom looked back the way they'd come. The black ridge of the downs rose up behind them like a sleeping dog. The road was empty. Why hadn't Sergeant Talbot caught up with them yet? Perhaps Viscountess Montague didn't care about a few missing barrels of wine? After all, they had a cellar full of them. Would it be the same when she discovered he was gone too? Probably. She'd never pretended he was anything but an annoyance.

He sighed and wrapped his cloak tight around him. Who cared? He might be tied by blood to the Montagues, but they weren't family. The Falcon had shown him more
kindness. In less than two days they'd reach London and then, with his help, he would work to get Father released.

The rocking of the horse lulled him into a doze. When he opened his eyes, the stars had faded and there was a soft, pink tinge to the sky. A blackbird struck up a tune. Another answered. Soon the air was filled with birdsong. Tom yawned. He ached all over and his legs and feet were numb with cold. Riding on horseback might be the way gentlemen travelled, but it was just as uncomfortable as sitting on a hard wagon seat. He stretched his arms and flexed his knees, trying to get some feeling back in them.

They travelled on, stopping at a chalk stream to water the horses and again in the afternoon to dine on some bread and a hunk of game pie the Falcon produced from one of his saddlebags. Tom was grateful for the chance to slip Jago some crumbs and a few drops of water when the others weren't looking. As the sun moved westwards, a line of hills rose ahead of them. The sound of a church bell rang out across the fields.

Tom sat up in the saddle and peered over the Falcon's shoulder. ‘Where are we?'

‘Outside the town of Guildford. We'll break there for a while and then travel on. It's another thirty or so miles to London and we need to get across the bridge by dusk tomorrow before they shut the city gates.' The Falcon tugged on Shadrach's reins, wheeled him round and trotted back to the cart. ‘I'll go on ahead and get what is needed, Mister Browne. We'll meet again in the old chalk quarry next to the crossroads on the other side of
town. You know the spot?'

Browne tipped the brim of his hat back and glared at him, grey eyes flashing. ‘I do. But I don't see why you should have the pleasure of riding on horseback for the whole journey. We both know who the true gentleman is in this party. Let me take the jennet into town.'

The Falcon laughed. ‘You ride Shadrach?' He shook his head. ‘I'm afraid not. My horse is a wild one and would not take kindly to another man's weight on him.'

Browne jerked up from the seat. ‘Do you doubt my horsemanship?'

‘Not at all. All I meant is that we cannot afford any accidents. Now, down you get, Master Garnett.'

‘What?'

‘You will travel this next bit of the road with Mister Browne and Goliath.'

Tom's chest tightened. ‘Can't I come with you?'

‘No. We don't want to attract any undue attention. A man and a boy on a cart will pass unnoticed in the bustle of the marketplace. A man and a boy on a horse will not.'

Tom glanced at Browne. The black scowl on his face showed he was as pleased as he was at the news.

The Falcon twisted round in his saddle. ‘Come now. We're wasting valuable travelling time.'

Slinging his bundle over his back, Tom slid down from the saddle and hobbled over to the cart.

‘Until later then. Yaaa!' The Falcon flicked Shadrach's reins, dug in his spurs and set off in the direction of the town.

Tom looked up glumly at the empty seat next to Browne. He was about to climb on board when the tail of a whip flashed across Goliath's back. The horse and cart lurched forwards leaving him standing in the middle of the road. He curled his fingers tight against his palms. Why did the man have to be so mean to him? He shook his head. Folding his arms across his chest, he stumbled after them.

They travelled in silence in the dull grey afternoon light, past fields of ragged grass and hedges filled with brambles. As Tom found his stride, his legs and arms loosened up and he began to feel less stiff. The church bell rang out again. Three strikes. Back at Cowdray lessons would be nearly over for the day. He didn't miss them one little bit, or that slimy snake, Mandrake – in spite of his bad-tempered travelling companion.

The cart rumbled past a line of cottages and splashed through a shallow, sandy ford. Tom jumped across the river using a row of stepping stones. He was cold enough already without giving his feet a soaking. The grey flint bulk of a church rose up on their right. The town looked busy for the time of day, although some of the shopkeepers were already pulling in their goods and closing the shutters.

As they turned into the main street a rosy-faced woman walked past them, a basket strapped to her back. ‘Apples,' she called. ‘Come buy my sweet apples.' A grey-whiskered man stepped out of a shop and lifted up a tray of pies from the wooden window counter. Tom's stomach churned. It seemed an age since they'd last eaten. He'd give anything to sink his teeth into a juicy bit of spiced meat and pastry and
let Jago have something tasty too. But he had no money. Browne and the cart trundled on ahead of him. No point asking him.

He swallowed back the saliva and plodded on up the hill, past women carrying baskets of eggs and men driving geese and cattle before them. The cart picked up pace as it crested the hill, threatening to leave him behind.

‘Wait for me.' He ran alongside it, gasping for breath.

Browne glanced over his shoulder and shrugged. ‘'Tis no concern of mine if you can't keep up. I never wanted you along anyway.' He pulled a lace kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his forehead and the back of his neck, then flicked the whip across Goliath's back. The cart groaned on.

At the first crossroads out of town, Browne turned Goliath down a small, stony track, through a copse of birch trees and into a chalk-walled hollow in the hillside. He tugged hard on the reins, jumped down from the seat and strode round to the back of the cart.

Tom's mouth filled with water again. He was so hungry! Thirsty too. Perhaps Browne was fetching some provisions? He hesitated, then followed.

Browne had the sack laid out on the ground and was halfway through untying it. He jumped up as Tom approached. ‘Keep away!' He planted himself in front of it, arms clamped across his broad chest, daring him to come closer.

‘I . . . I thought there might be something to eat.'

Browne's eyes grew hard and narrow. ‘Well, you thought wrong. I don't like your prying ways, boy. If it were up to me,
I'd have left you to the mercy of that ruffler. But luckily for you, my friend seems to think himself your protector. While we are getting our cargo to safety, I will humour him. But be assured' – he curled his top lip to reveal a row of dog-like teeth – ‘things will change when we meet the others.'

Tom frowned. ‘Others? What others?'

Browne untied a large leather bottle from the side of the cart. ‘You'll find out soon enough. That's if your protector doesn't tire of you first.' He thrust the bottle at him. ‘Enough talking. There's a spring further down the hill. Make yourself useful and fetch some water.'

Tom grabbed it and trudged off down the track. It wasn't fair. What had he ever done to Browne? And who were these
others
? Or was he just trying to scare him off ? He gritted his teeth. Another day's travelling and they'd be in London. He'd bear it until then, for Father's sake. But the sooner the Falcon was back with them, the better.

He crunched over piles of dead leaves and twigs, squinting between the lines of thin white tree trunks. Where was this spring anyway? Or had Browne made it up to get him out of the way? A gust of wind carried a faint gurgling sound up from the hillside. Leaving the track, he slipped down a chalky slope and into a dank hollow filled with willow and alder. A smell of mould wafted up from the soft, boggy ground beneath his boots. He shivered. It was colder down here. Darker too. It would be a perfect place for an ambush . . .

A splash of silver caught his eye. He squelched through the mud and bent down next to a pile of moss-covered
rocks. Water bubbled up from between the stones. Dipping his hand in, he scooped it to his lips. Cold and sweet. He scooped another mouthful then uncorked the bottle and positioned it beneath the flow.

He'd almost filled it when a crack of dead wood and a rustle of leaves sounded behind him.

He pulled out his knife and spun round.

‘Steady, Master Garnett. 'Tis a friend, not a foe.'

‘I . . . er . . . I know.' He jerked back his shoulders and stuck out his chest. The last thing he wanted was for the Falcon to think him a shadow-jumping coward.

‘Good. Then put your blade away before you do me an injury and let's go and eat.' Seizing the bottle, the Falcon strode along the track to where Shadrach stood waiting beneath a large beech tree.

Tom rammed the knife back in his belt and hurried after him.

Chapter Twenty

B
rowne sat slouched against a mossy grey rock, the brim of his hat pulled over his eyes. He leapt to his feet as Tom and the Falcon approached and reached for his knife.

‘No need to excite yourself, Mister Browne. 'Tis only us.'

Browne pushed back his hat and shot the Falcon a cold-eyed look. ‘Did you get it?'

The Falcon slid a small stoppered jar from Shadrach's saddlebag. He ran a finger across the lid and frowned. ‘The apothecary said it should be used sparingly to avoid lasting harm.'

Browne cracked his knuckles and thrust out a hand. ‘Let me have it then.'

The Falcon considered for a moment, then tossed the jar to him. Browne caught it and marched round to the back of the cart.

‘What's it for?'

‘Mister Browne has an attack of the toothache, but it's nothing a little oil of mandrake won't cure.'

Tom pulled a face.

‘Does something ail you too, Master Garnett?'

‘No, but Mandrake was the name of the tutor we had at Cowdray.'

‘He did not treat you well?'

‘He didn't, but it's not that.' He licked his lips.

‘What then? Come on, boy, spit it out.'

‘Nothing, it's just that, well, I think he's a spy.'

‘A spy?' The Falcon's eyes darkened. ‘Why d'you say that?'

‘I saw him meet with a stranger outside the gates the night I arrived at Cowdray. The stranger asked Mandrake if he'd found any evidence.'

The Falcon stiffened. ‘Evidence? What kind of evidence?'

‘I don't know. Something that could be used against the family I think. He talked about papists and setting a trap.'

The Falcon frowned. He gripped Tom by the arm. ‘Did you catch sight of him, this stranger?'

‘No. He kept to the shadows.'

‘A pity.' The Falcon let his hand fall.

‘There . . . there was something else.'

‘What? Tell me.'

‘The stranger talked about reporting back to a man called the Master.'

‘The Master, eh?' The Falcon raked a hand through his
red-coloured locks.

Tom's eyes widened. ‘You know him?'

‘Not personally, no. But by reputation; although there are other less flattering names for him.' The Falcon gave a bitter-sounding laugh.

‘Who is he?'

The Falcon's scar twitched. ‘Robert Cecil, the Earl of Salisbury, the King's most powerful minister and servant.'

Tom's heart skipped a beat. ‘The Viscountess told me it was Cecil who put my father in prison.'

The Falcon's eyes glowed with a sudden fire. ‘Cecil is the Catholics' greatest enemy. Pouring venom in the King's ear about so-called papist rebellions and plots, all to turn him against the true faith.'

‘So you are a Catholic too?'

The Falcon flashed Tom a look then thumped his fist against his chest. ‘Yes, boy. Through and through.'

A moaning sound came from the back of the cart. The Falcon jerked round. ‘Is everything all right, Mister Browne?' His voice was knife-sharp.

Browne stuck his head above the sailcloth. ‘It will be when this potion kicks in.' He dipped out of sight again.

More moaning. Muffled this time. Tom allowed himself a secret smile. It looked like the mandrake oil was as unpleasant as the man who shared its name.

The Falcon's jaw twitched.

The moaning stopped.

‘At last.' He let out a sigh. ‘Now, food. A soldier cannot fight on an empty belly. Here.' He reached inside the
saddlebag and threw Tom a leg of cooked chicken and a hunk of bread. ‘'Twill build your strength for the rest of the journey. We won't be stopping again until we reach the Duck and Drake.'

‘The Duck and Drake?'