Marbeck and the King-in-Waiting (16 page)

‘Stop,' Marbeck said.

Burridge stopped.

‘Stand still, while I dismount.'

The paymaster stood, while Marbeck got down and faced him. With one eye on his quaking captive, he opened his saddle-pack and found a short rope. He took the bag from Burridge, passed the rope through its handles and tied it firmly to his saddle. ‘Now we'll walk together,' he said. ‘You'll come to no harm, provided you do as I order. Is that agreed?'

With a gulp, Burridge nodded. So the two set off, Marbeck leading Cobb, up the lane and into a wider one that led westwards. Then they were crossing the town, threading through streets that were suddenly busy. Church bells rang out – and at once the absence of the ostler was explained; Marbeck had forgotten it was Sunday.

‘Where are you taking me?'

All at once Burridge had found his voice. Turning shakily to Marbeck he added: ‘What use am I to you? I'm on foot – you can take the money. Surely you know what Drax will do when he finds out—'

‘He has other matters to concern him just now,' Marbeck broke in. His eyes were on the castle to their right, and the road that skirted it, leading north.

‘You don't understand!' The man wet his lips; sweat sheened his brow. ‘There's too much at stake—'

‘You mean the arrival of the Infanta?' Marbeck turned sharply, making him flinch. ‘I think you'll find matters have gone somewhat awry, as far as that goes.'

‘What do you mean?' Burridge stared, his eyes widening. ‘Is robbery not your motive? In God's name, then what—'

But Marbeck raised a hand. ‘Not yet,' he said. ‘Wait until we're on the road.'

‘Road to where? Burridge asked anxiously – then glancing ahead, he gulped again. ‘You mean to Canterbury? But why—'

‘I mean to London,' Marbeck said. ‘We'll walk a little, then ride, taking turns in the saddle. If we can make thirty miles a day, that means under three days' travel. By then I'll have answered your questions, Master Burridge … some of them, anyway. And you will have answered mine. But for now, keep your eyes on the road and your thoughts to yourself – agreed?'

They gained the outskirts, then walked for a half-hour until Dover was far behind. The day was fair, and larks sang in the meadows: it seemed as if spring had arrived with a rush. But Burridge, panting and sweating in his skirts, was utterly miserable. Often he glanced aside as if assessing his chances of escape, but each time he found Marbeck's eyes upon him; while one hand gripped Cobb's reins, the other hovered near his belt. Finally Burridge could stand it no longer. He halted, wiping his dripping brow with a sleeve. Marbeck stopped too, and saw that he was close to tears.

‘I cannot travel like this!' the paymaster cried. ‘I must rest … I've just spent three days at sea, damn you!'

Instead of answering, Marbeck glanced up the road. There was no one in sight. Thus far they had encountered few travellers, though those who passed looked askance at the oddly matched couple. Seeing a clump of trees some way ahead, he pointed.

‘We'll rest there, and you can drink.' He indicated his leather flask, tied to the saddle. ‘Have you no other clothes?'

‘Of course I have!' Burridge retorted. ‘If you'd allowed me, I'd have taken these off – do you see?' With that he lifted up his skirts. Small wonder the man sweated so much, Marbeck thought: underneath gown and petticoats, he wore shirt and breeches.

‘Come, then.' Marbeck gave Cobb's reins a gentle tug and started forward. ‘That copse will shield you while you disrobe,' he added. ‘But before we ride on, I have questions for you.'

With a groan, Burridge resumed walking. A few minutes later they were in the shade, Cobb cropping grass while Marbeck sat against a tree-trunk. But as the paymaster removed his woman's garb, he began to talk quickly.

‘You cannot succeed in this,' he said. ‘Even if you got me to London, it would do no good. Whatever your aims, you have diverted the regiment's pay chest …' He paused, then: ‘Clearly that was your aim, rather than mere robbery. But if you think you've ruined Drax's plans, you don't know the man. Others are involved too …' He broke off, regretting his words. And seeing Marbeck's expression, his face fell.

‘I don't doubt that,' Marbeck said grimly. ‘And in a few days' time, you'll be telling what you know of them. More, even if you're merely the paymaster, your part in the scheme will not be overlooked. You'll hang – but not before you've been racked until your arms are torn out.'

Burridge had removed his petticoats, and was standing in shirt and breeches. But as Marbeck's words struck home, his legs gave way. With a look of horror, he sank to the grass.

‘No, I pray you …' He swallowed, and his hand went to his mouth. ‘I'm but a hireling … Duggan, please …'

‘That's not my name,' Marbeck said shortly. ‘It's Sands. And I work for the Crown – did I not say?'

The other stared, shaking his head in dismay.

‘I work for the Crown,' Marbeck repeated, ‘and soon your whole design will be laid bare. Whoever your masters are – Drax, the Earl of Charnock, I care not – they will fail. And when the new King comes, they'll pay for their treason.'

Burridge opened his mouth, then closed it. He was shaking, and tears rolled down his pudgy cheeks. ‘What must I do?' he asked finally. ‘Can I not tell you what I know here and now, and save you the effort of dragging me along?' With a sob, he lowered his head. ‘My life's worth naught, whatever follows,' he wailed. ‘Do you truly think you can get me to a prison? They have intelligence – they'll waylay us before we reach London. And whatever I say, they'll deem me a risk. I'll die where I stand – as will you, and …'

But he broke off, as abruptly Marbeck got to his feet. ‘Have you finished dressing?' he asked. ‘If so, leave the woman's things here. You can ride first, while I walk. I'll bind your hands, leaving you enough leeway to hold the pommel. I will have the halter, so you won't be able to get clear.'

He looked down coldly at his prisoner; all discourse was over. After a moment Burridge got up unsteadily.

‘I'd like to have my doublet,' he said feebly. ‘It's in the bag.'

Marbeck went to Cobb, untied the bag and set it down. He unlaced it and rummaged inside, then pulled out a blue-grey coat. ‘Good serge, and silk-lined,' he murmured. ‘I'll wager your pay's somewhat more than a shilling a day.' He threw the garment unceremoniously at Burridge, then peered into the bag again.

‘Well now …' Reaching inside, Marbeck drew out a wad of papers tied with white ribbon. He looked up at Burridge, whose face was now the same colour. ‘Despatches, perhaps? Final instructions to Drax – or are they letters intended for her royal highness, the Infanta?'

Burridge looked away, shaking his head. Having noted with satisfaction the pay chest filling the bottom of the bag, Marbeck closed it, stood up and retied it to Cobb's saddle. Then he turned, one hand on the pommel. ‘Come here while I bind your wrists. Then place a foot in the stirrup, and let me hoist you up. I'll try not to let you fall.'

The paymaster hesitated. He no longer wept; his eyes scanned the landscape, but he knew he was no match for his captor. With a sigh, he came forward and held out his hands.

‘I thought you had questions,' he asked, speaking so low that Marbeck had to cock an ear to hear him.

‘I do,' he replied. ‘But on reflection, we'll save them for tonight. We might even find an inn to rest in – though if you've any notions of getting away, I'd set them aside. I mean to drive you until you can barely stand up.'

Then without expression, he drew a stout cord from his pocket.

B
y nightfall they had reached Canterbury, and Marbeck was as good as his word. Though Burridge had ridden for as much of the way as his captor had, the man was exhausted. He limped badly, his shoes being unfit for walking any distance. Despite shedding his woman's clothing, he stank with sweat. Dirt streaked his breeches. As they approached the archway known as the Riding Gate, he stumbled to a halt. Marbeck sat in the saddle, scanning the walls of the old city.

‘There's a place close by Greyfriars,' he said. ‘We'll take the best room …' He looked down at his captive, who gazed up blearily. ‘The reckoning can be paid out of that chest.'

He dismounted, and after removing Burridge's bonds, led Cobb through the gateway into bustling streets, the paymaster dragging behind. The inn was near, and they were soon installed. The landlord, used to dusty and weary travellers, barely looked at them as Marbeck detailed his needs: hot water and a good supper sent up. Once upstairs in a chamber overlooking St George's Gate, Burridge almost collapsed on the truckle-bed beside the four-poster. He looked like a man who would never rise again. Marbeck decided to let him sleep.

But later, when the paymaster had rested and eaten ravenously of a now-cold supper, he found himself seated against the wall of the room facing his captor. He was in shirt sleeves, grim-faced and sullen. Night had fallen, and Marbeck had lit candles.

‘We'll have our discourse now,' he said. ‘And if you harbour any notion of calling for help, I'd advise against it. I've told the innkeeper you're my poor, distracted uncle. You've become unhinged after the death of your wife, and are in need of confinement. In short, I said I'm taking you to Bedlam.'

Burridge was aghast. ‘By the heavens,' he muttered, ‘what further torments have you in store?'

‘We'll see,' Marbeck replied. ‘For now you must spill your tale. Who instructs you, who provides the money, and so forth.' He glanced at the pay chest, which stood on the floor near the master bed. Having relieved Burridge of the key, he had looked inside and satisfied himself of its contents. The chest contained not merely angels, half-angels and silver coin but gold ducats too: intended, or so he guessed, for the Spanish Infanta's party. Fixing the paymaster with a cold eye, he waited. But when the man's answer came, it was an attempt at resistance.

‘I won't talk to you,' he said bitterly. ‘If I'm to die, then I'll make my testimony to the proper authorities. And I want a priest to hear my confession.'

‘You don't understand,' Marbeck said. ‘Just now, I am the authority. I serve the Council, who care not a fig how I obtain my intelligence.' He touched the dagger he had taken from Burridge's escort, which was now at his belt.

‘Then God forgive you,' the other threw back. ‘You're a knave – one who does their bloody work. What will you do, stab me as you did my companion?' Wincing at the memory, he looked away. ‘You're naught but a murderer.'

Calmly Marbeck reached into his doublet and drew out a tailor's bodkin, letting it rest on his palm. ‘Making a noise will avail you naught,' he said. ‘You're a madman, remember? I'll say I had to restrain you when you tried to injure yourself.'

It was a bluff; he loathed the means by which the Crown's servants obtained confessions, though he had been obliged to witness them more often than he cared to remember. As for murder: he forced aside the image of Burridge's escort, back in the stable at Dover. Instead he thought of Llewellyn, wounded but defiant, blowing himself to pieces.

‘Then damn you, Sands!' the paymaster exclaimed. ‘And in any case you'll learn little – do you think they confide in me? You cannot prevail. A sum far greater than that' – he indicated the chest – ‘can be raised within days. You're but a sprat in a lake full of pike!'

‘I like the conceit,' Marbeck murmured. ‘I wonder what it makes you … a bloated newt, perhaps?'

The other was breathing hard, fear in his eyes. He wet his lips, then changed tack. ‘Whatever your masters pay you, it's but chaff compared to that, isn't it?' He nodded towards the chest. ‘Why don't you take it? This country's finished – can you not see? You could make a new life elsewhere …'

‘Enough!' Marbeck snapped. ‘I'll not debate my future with you. Start by telling me who commands you, and where you go to receive your orders. Quickly – my patience runs short.'

A moment passed. Burridge's eyes blazed, but his rage was short-lived. Marbeck had often watched men pass through such stages: anger, defiance and finally resignation. The paymaster had seen Marbeck fight, and knew his chances were nil. He sighed heavily and lowered his eyes.

‘I only know Drax and his people,' he said in a sullen tone. ‘The ones who hold the purse are …' He shrugged. ‘There's no word for men like them. They live by money as others live by their toil. They buy and sell nothing, yet their fortunes multiply as if by sorcery.'

He looked up. ‘I take my instruction from one man – I don't know his name. He meets me in a private room over a tavern, with armed men standing by, in near-darkness. I never see his face … I bring the chest with me, and they fill it. They also give me letters to carry. I take ship at the Custom House in disguise, and my escort meets me. We skirt the coast to Dover … if storms or winds delay the ship we put in, though I've seldom missed a Sunday. At the port Drax's soldiers meet us dressed as farm folk, with horses. After performing my duties to the regiment, I return and take ship again.' He gave another shrug. ‘The rest is known to you.'

‘You don't know this man's name?' Marbeck echoed.

Quickly Burridge shook his head. ‘He found me … I was secretary to Bartolomeo Renzi, in Gracious Street.'

Marbeck thought about that. All London knew of Renzi, a financier whose influence was felt in every corner of Europe. At last a picture was emerging.

‘They must have a hold over you, Burridge,' he said after a moment. ‘I wonder what it is? The promise of mere gold sits somewhat ill with you, I think. You haven't the courage to be a fully-fledged traitor, Papist or no.'