Marbeck and the King-in-Waiting (13 page)

He trailed off. A short silence followed, before Feaver gave a snort of laughter. The man had already drunk freely of the table wine, and now lifted his cup. ‘Capital!' he said. ‘And is the hunting good, on this small manor in the north?'

‘I hear it's excellent,' Marbeck told him.

Drax shifted on his stool, but appeared satisfied. He glanced at Follett, who said: ‘All who do their part will be rewarded. But to begin with we face a storm – many of our countrymen may rise against us. Could you stand alongside Italians and Hollanders, even Spaniards, and fight loyal Englishmen to the death?'

‘If they come against me, they must take the consequences,' Marbeck said coolly. ‘I've fought foes of every stamp. And it's a matter of no import to me who wears the crown, so long as I may live in comfort befitting a gentleman.'

To that Follett said nothing, while Feaver seemed to be warming to his fellow officer. ‘Capital,' he said again. But when he turned to Drax and saw him frown, he lowered his gaze.

‘To return to matters in hand,' the colonel snapped, ‘we have scant opportunity to exercise our forces here. Secrecy has been our watchword … but then, the men we've recruited need little instruction. People hereabouts have been paid for their silence. Those who looked as if they might prove difficult …' He eyed Marbeck grimly. ‘They're no longer a threat. The way is paved for us to march to the port and form a bridgehead when the lady's ship arrives. Thereafter we will deploy in a column – a protective force about her and her train – and make at once for London. Do you have questions?'

‘I assume there are other forces arriving from elsewhere,' Marbeck said, after a moment. ‘Will they rendezvous along the way, or advance separately upon the capital?'

‘It behoves you not to know that,' Drax answered. ‘You will be in the rearguard, to deal with any possible pursuit.'

‘How many foot, and how many horse?' Marbeck threw back.

‘Pikemen and harquebusiers on foot, officers and a few others horsed. A large number of mounts would have drawn attention.'

‘Arms and armour …' Marbeck began, whereupon Feaver spoke up.

‘There's a stout corselet and helm for every man. Swords where needed, round shields and plenty of powder and ball. Dog-lock carbines, and good store of wheel-lock pistols.'

Marbeck showed surprise; that much weaponry would have incurred considerable expense. ‘You are well furnished, sir,' he said.

‘Nothing's been left to chance,' Drax replied. ‘I need not tell you that your life and mine, and that of every man in this undertaking, depend upon it.'

‘The port …' Marbeck began, emboldened by being given more information than he had expected. ‘Do we speak of Dover, or …'

‘Does it matter?'

It was Follett, eyeing him keenly; the man was suspicious of him still. Marbeck shook his head. ‘Of course not. When the order is given, whatever the destination I will be ready.'

The others said nothing further, and the discussion appeared to be over. Feaver drained his cup and spoke of going to his tent. Marbeck said he would take the air before retiring. But before he could rise, Drax held up a hand.

‘The man you arrived with – Garth,' he said. ‘Where did you find him?'

‘An old comrade sent him to me, in London,' Marbeck answered in a casual tone. ‘He was down on his luck … I'm assured he's a bold fighter.' When Drax said nothing, he added: ‘Will you post him to another camp, or …?'

‘I think not.' The other fixed him with a cold stare. ‘I think it best he remains here, where I can keep an eye on him. Do you object?'

‘Object, sir – why should I?' Marbeck returned the man's gaze. ‘If I were in your position, I would do the same.'

‘Very well …' Drax looked round at the others. There was a moment, in which Marbeck sensed that a decision had been made; then abruptly the commander delivered his news.

‘We leave here on the evening of the tenth of April.'

Marbeck's heart thudded. Glancing at Feaver and Follett, he found both men eyeing him again. ‘One week,' he said, with a nod. ‘Then I seem to have arrived just in time.'

Whereupon he rose, and gave them goodnight.

In the night, while Feaver snored nearby, he lay awake on his pallet and turned the matter about.

His choices were stark. He might desert, ride to London as fast as he could and sound the alarm, provided he could evade any pursuit. But that, he knew, would prevent neither the arrival of the Infanta Isabella nor her march upon the capital. And when the other force arrived from the Low Countries, England would be plunged at once into what could quickly become a civil war. The plan decided upon at Llewellyn's house – that of sabotaging Drax's army by removing their source of income – still seemed the best. But a week was an alarmingly short time.

He stretched out on his back, drew a long breath and examined the facts. During the afternoon he had done some rough mental arithmetic. Two hundred men at a shilling and a half per day, plus the higher pay the officers would receive, together with food, fodder and other disbursements, suggested a weekly expense of at least six hundred crowns merely to maintain the army. They had been here for weeks, hence thousands had already been spent.
Someone with deep coffers
… Poyns's words came back to him. Whoever was financing the enterprise risked a good deal – but then the rewards, if the plan succeeded, would no doubt be great.

Now he thought of Burridge, coming up from Dover each Sunday with the pay chest. That afternoon he had watched the man depart, heading deeper into the wood with his escort. Marbeck had no knowledge of where the other camps were. He'd hoped that Llewellyn, if sent elsewhere, could learn the locations of some of them at least. But since he now knew the strength of the entire force, it mattered less. What did matter was that he found out where Burridge went on his return journey. The next payday was in a week's time – on the very day the army was supposed to leave. It had puzzled him briefly, but now it made sense: mercenary soldiers marched and fought better, not merely on full stomachs but with full purses too.

Now, he saw only one course of action. Somehow he must get to Dover before Sunday morning, and watch the harbour for Burridge's arrival. Then he would waylay the man and force him to reveal who had sent him. Before that, he could spread a rumour in the camp that the money had dried up – and perhaps that the forces from the Continent would not arrive. Burridge's non-appearance would confirm it, whereupon the army would surely refuse to march. That, at least, was his hope. He had some days in which to forge his strategy, while maintaining his persona of Duggan the mercenary. Provided his and Llewellyn's cover held firm, they might just succeed. At least, he thought grimly, no one could force Llewellyn to talk. With that he turned on his side and tried to sleep … until a new thought struck him.

There were other means of sabotage. Without powder, for example, every harquebus, caliver and pistol was useless. Without their long shafts of ash-wood, so were the pikes. And since there were few weapons in the camp, the bulk of them had to be in the old barn near the abbey.

Despite the night chill, he found he was sweating; but as the idea took shape he grew calmer. He and Llewellyn must destroy the armoury, then ride to seize Burridge. The timing must work so that Drax was left stranded, with neither men nor arms. As his force melted away, the man would flee … but that would be for others to deal with. Once Prout had apprised Sir Robert Cecil of the whole picture, Marbeck felt sure, the man would move quickly. As for the Infanta: when her ship reached Dover and no troops arrived to see her ashore, she would be confounded … but that, too, was for others. Marbeck forced himself to focus on his aims, and suddenly a feeling of elation came upon him.

Finding the source of this treachery, he realized, would be a satisfaction greater than any he had known – and despite the risks, he relished it. Then, if everything went to plan, perhaps when it was over Master Secretary would review his recent opinions of him. At that, a weariness settled upon him at last.

As he drifted into sleep he thought of Celia, and remembered that he had not written to her after all.

The week went by, at a snail's pace; and by the end of it Marbeck was heartily sick of the camp and everyone in it. But he had laid his plans, and was doing his best not to dwell on their slim chances of success.

On Saturday night, he and Llewellyn had agreed, they would leave their billets after dark and head for the armoury. Marbeck would approach the guards boldly on some pretext, then despatch one of them while Llewellyn emerged from cover to deal with the other. Their horses would already be saddled and tethered nearby. They would then break into the barn, open the powder kegs and lay a long fuse before riding off, so that by the time the place blew up they would be clear. Their final act would be to untie the other horses from the picket line and drive them into the forest, delaying any pursuit. That, of course, meant despatching more guards. Then it merely remained for them to get to Dover in the dark, locate Burridge and capture him. If he was accompanied by others, that might present further difficulties … in fact, it had now become clear to Marbeck that the whole scheme was probably doomed.

On the Saturday morning he forced himself to face it, as he sat on a log gazing across the camp. All was prepared for tomorrow's march; packs made up, orders issued. He barely noticed when Captain Feaver arrived and sat down beside him.

‘Scares you too, does it?' he enquired in a casual tone. ‘Tomorrow, I mean. It scares me … There, I've admitted it.'

After a moment Marbeck nodded. ‘I'll wager there isn't a man here who doesn't feel the same.'

Feaver shrugged. ‘I keep one thing in my mind, and one only: an escutcheon bearing my arms, together with all that goes with the title. Then Sir George Feaver will set about righting a few wrongs …' He looked away. ‘Men will pay for what they did to me.'

Marbeck said nothing; not only was he uninterested in Feaver's tale, he was running over his plans for that night, from every angle. In the past few days he had received two hasty, misspelled messages from Llewellyn, wrapped in scraps of cloth and hidden in the agreed spot. They spoke of the fact that while he was now generally accepted and assigned to serve as a pikeman, Marbeck was still distrusted. Follett in particular was uneasy about him, and had promised Drax he would keep a watch. Drax was preoccupied; messengers arrived in the camp with increasing frequency, and the number of sentries was being doubled. It merely added to the risks the two intelligencers faced, this very night. For Marbeck, it couldn't come quickly enough.

‘Do you take the late watch?' he asked Feaver. ‘I mean to get as much sleep as I can.'

‘No, Follett has it,' the captain muttered. ‘But as for sleep, you're a lucky man if you get any.' He sighed, and got up. ‘I've letters to pen … just in case, you understand.' He met Marbeck's eye. ‘Do you, er, have someone …?'

‘Nobody,' Marbeck answered abruptly, and stood up too. ‘My horse is my truest companion … I'll go and see to him now.'

Turning from Feaver, he walked off into the trees. Soon he arrived at the picket where the horses were tethered, went to Cobb and found a brush with which to groom him. The animal greeted him with a jerk of his head. As Marbeck patted his neck he noted the guard, who was giving him a sidelong look.

‘Will there be extra feed tomorrow?' he asked sternly. ‘I want my mount to be at his best.'

‘There will, sir,' the man answered. ‘You should come around midday and take him. We've got to dismantle the picket. If you've any needs, you may tell the horse-master …'

‘I have none,' Marbeck said shortly, and busied himself at his task. But as he worked he glanced about, considering his approach for later. The sentries had rigged up a small shelter nearby, where they usually sat to smoke their pipes. He would have to come up behind it, and use a billet to lay them both out; or if necessary, his poniard. His eyes strayed towards the camp: after pacing it for a week, he knew every tree, bush and tussock. His initial fear, he realized, was getting clear of his tent without waking Feaver. But the man was drinking more heavily as each day passed … at supper tonight, Marbeck would keep his cup well filled.

A short while later he left Cobb and strolled through the camp. He saw Llewellyn, engaged with other men in carrying stores into the wood; anything that might slow the progress of the company was to be buried or hidden. Their eyes met, and the old soldier gave a nod. There was nothing further to do now but wait.

Supper that night, without the awning, was a cold and tense affair. The officers sat in the wind, saying little. It was the last meal they would share here, though none referred to the fact. But as they finished, Drax demanded their attention.

‘I have news,' he said. ‘It seems James Stuart left Edinburgh four days ago, on his progress south. He's already reached Berwick.'

The others exchanged looks. ‘It's to be expected,' Follett said. ‘It'll take him another week to reach York …'

‘Longer than that,' Feaver put in. ‘Knowing what I do of the man, he'll be stopping off to hunt every day.'

‘Nevertheless, we will make haste,' Drax said. ‘Which is why I've decided to bring the march forward.'

Marbeck had been about to take a drink, but lowered his cup instead. Without expression he stared ahead, his pulse racing.

‘That suits me well,' Feaver said. ‘I've no desire to sit in this damned forest an hour longer than necessary.'

Drax glanced at Follett, who was nodding. ‘The sooner we're at Folkestone the better,' he said. ‘I'm concerned about getting to the harbour in good time.'

‘Folkestone …?' The word was out before Marbeck could stop it. But when the others eyed him, he managed a shrug. ‘I always thought we would march to Dover,' he added. ‘Since nobody told me otherwise … Not that it matters.' He met Follett's gaze, whereupon the young lieutenant spoke sharply.