Owen - Book One of the Tudor Trilogy Page 15

At first I expect to hear what charges are brought against me but several long weeks pass and still no news comes. Then at last the heavy iron bolts on my door scrape and I hear the rattle of the key in the lock. The door bangs open to reveal Thomas Lewis. My first thought is relief that my long wait is finally at an end.

  Then I realise what the grim-faced, unkempt appearance of my friend means. Always clean-shaven, Thomas is almost unrecognisable with his dark growth of beard. It is clear from the way he looks at me that he has suffered in his captivity.

  I embrace him. ‘It’s good to see a friendly face. What happened to you?’

  Thomas crosses to the rusty iron grill in the door and looks through to see the keeper has gone. ‘We are in what they call the wards.’ He looks around the tiny cell. ‘Not as grand as this but at least we have company. Petty thieves and cut-purses.’

  ‘I paid one of the keepers here to find out about you and Nathaniel.’ I smile ruefully as I remember. ‘He took my money and forgot his promise.’ I look at Thomas. ‘How is Nathaniel?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you, Owen. Nathaniel was beaten quite badly. They took all his money. Everything.’

  ‘Is he hurt?’

  ‘No bones broken—a black eye and some nasty bruises.’

  ‘And you? I hoped you would have been released by now, Thomas.’

  ‘I’ve been working as a chaplain, hearing confessions and tending to the sick. It’s not very different from what I was doing before—and it means I can visit you.’

  ‘You are only here because of me, Thomas. I’m sorry.’

  ‘We knew the risks—and we’ve come up with a plan. Before his money was stolen Nathaniel paid to write a letter to Duke Humphrey, pleading our case.’

  ‘The duke will be in no mood to do me any favours, Thomas. He can hold us for as long as he wishes.’

  ‘There was a reply.’

  ‘What did the duke say?’

  ‘We have to await the deliberations of the council.’ Thomas frowns. ‘We fear they will keep us here indefinitely, so we have a new plan. We can’t wait much longer, Owen. Men are dying in this disease-ridden place.’

  I curse. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Nathaniel told me about Samuel Carver.’

  ‘The man with the scar helped Carver escape from here once.’

  ‘Nathaniel thinks they will only help us if someone were to persuade them in person.’ His words hang in the air.

  ‘Who?’ I cannot think of anyone at all.

  ‘Someone we can trust, completely.’ Thomas looks uncomfortable. ‘We sent a note to Briony, asking her to visit me here.’

  ‘Briony?’ I think back to her nervousness when the baby was born.

  ‘She is working in the abbey infirmary and visited me last week.’

  ‘I would rather not involve Briony.’

  ‘We have few options, Owen. Who else could we ask? Most of the people Nathaniel knows in London are honest merchants—none we could ask to help us escape.’

  ‘There are risks. This could put her in danger.’

  ‘Briony is resourceful. All we asked her to do is deliver a message to the man in the inn at Abbot’s Langley.’

  Carver proved it is possible to escape from Newgate—but he is a ruthless man with no scruples. Now I have unwittingly put Briony in danger. Far too late, I wish we had made more of an effort to escape when we could. The duke must have learned from his mistake, which is why he sent Lord Beaumont in person to arrest us. I know my friends are right but it pains me to know I must rely on men who should be in Newgate.

  ‘Do you have any money left, Thomas?’

  ‘It was taken from me by Lord Beaumont’s men when we were arrested.’

  I feel for my purse, hidden under my doublet. ‘I’ve had to pay the keepers but still have most of the gold and a few silver coins.’

  ‘Good. I told Briony to promise five gold nobles once we are freed. We started to worry when Nathaniel was robbed, so were counting on you still having gold in your purse.’

  I am already thinking about returning to Ynys Môn. ‘Lord Beaumont will take it personally if we escape. They will be covering every road into Wales. We’ll have to hide somewhere during the day and travel only at night.’

  ‘Nathaniel has an idea.’ Thomas looks through the door grill again, as they both know the keeper could return at any moment. ‘We are close to the Thames. He thinks we should take a boat and head up the river towards Wallingford.’

  We hear the sound of heavy boots outside and the keeper arrives to escort Thomas back. Thomas makes the sign of the cross and raises his voice so he can he overheard. ‘God be with you.’

  I know this is for the benefit of my gaoler. ‘And with you, Chaplain.’

  After Thomas has gone I lie back on my uncomfortable straw mattress, my head buzzing as I think about the possibility of being a free man again. My neighbouring prisoner resumes his habit of banging on his cell door. The sound echoing down the corridor had driven me to distraction before but now it hardly bothers me. My friends have achieved so much while I have done so little, and I resolve to make it up to them when I can.

  I sleep with my boots on, ready and waiting for news for three weeks before I hear the furtive scrape of a key in my lock. I know the keepers’ routine and feel my heart race as I guess it must be my rescuers at such an early hour. The bolts slide slowly to reduce the noise and the heavy door swings open.

  Thomas is waiting and beckons to me. ‘Come quickly! We need to get out before they notice we’re missing.’

  We run down the corridor and pass through a side door into a dingy, high-walled courtyard topped with spiked iron railings. I see the crude rope ladder dangling over the wall and climb to the top, then over the railing and drop to the ground on the other side. I almost collide with Nathaniel, who is waiting in the near darkness with the scar-faced man.

  Nathaniel looks relieved to see me with Thomas following close behind. ‘I was starting to worry.’ He glances towards the river. ‘We must be quick—a boatman is waiting.’

  I take a last look back at the brooding, silent gaol then we run towards the river. My breath freezes in the air, but I am oblivious to the cold in the excitement of the escape. We dart down an alleyway and soon reach the Thames, where the boatman waits with a lantern. A dog barks somewhere in the darkness, startling me. I hand my purse to Nathaniel, who counts out payment for the scar-faced man.

  The clinking coins make me feel a surge of anger as I watch the man pocket his money. ‘What happened to Samuel Cleaver?’

  The man scratches his head. ‘I’ve no loyalty to Cleaver. You’ll find him working as a cook at The Swan in St Albans. He uses a different name—but I’d stay away from him if I were you.’ The threat in the man’s voice brings back long-forgotten memories as he disappears into the morning mist.

  I turn to Nathaniel. ‘How did he manage to get us out?’

  ‘The gaol was designed to keep people in, not out. It seems it is quite easy to break in, although we still needed the key to your cell.’

  ‘How did he manage that?’ I can’t imagine either of my keepers handing over the key without a fight or a significant bribe.

  ‘I have no idea.’ Nathaniel looks relieved our rescuer is now gone.

  The boatman helps us aboard and I see the tide is against us as we head to the opposite bank. We make slow progress and the murky brown water, littered with floating debris, seems sinister. The grey mist seems like the ghosts of the dead who drowned there, and the dark outlines of buildings are full of shadows, any one of which could hide witnesses to our escape.

  ‘Take an oar, if you will, sir?’ The boatman struggles against the flow of the river and nods towards a second set of oars stowed in the bows. I unfasten the spare oars and fit them into iron rowlocks. Pulling with all my strength, I feel a satisfying improvement in our passage up the dark, swirling Thames.

  We round the bend in the river and I recognise the silhouetted tower of Westminster Abbe
y rising out of the mist, a useful landmark to show our steady progress. Rowing against the stream is hard, physical work, but it is good to feel the fresh air in my face after so long in the dismal prison. With each stroke we move further from the horrors of Newgate and closer to my new future. I grit my teeth, pulling hard on the oars, keeping pace with the boatman and tasting brackish spray.

  I row facing Nathaniel, who cowers in the stern of the boat, making himself useful as a lookout. I can see the strain our time in Newgate has taken on him, as his pale face is thin and his eyes dart from bank to bank, scanning ramshackle buildings. I have already asked too much of Nathaniel and decide we will soon have to part, at least until I secure a royal pardon.

  At last the river narrows and the buildings begin to give way to open ground. A rickety wooden jetty reaches out into the river from the southern bank, with several old boats tied up, waiting for the morning trade. There are no signs of movement, so although the area is unfamiliar to me it will have to do.

  I call to the boatman. ‘Drop us off here, if you please.’

  We reach the old wooden supports and I grab hold of one to pull our boat in before climbing out onto the jetty. I help my friends out of the boat and raise a hand in thanks to the boatman, then we head into the mist. The path leading to the jetty widens to become a road and I hope it will soon lead us to a town or village.

  The cold morning air freezes in my lungs but we keep a good pace until we cross what I suppose is Wandsworth Common before slowing to walk again. The pinkish tint of dawn begins to brighten the sky and it will soon be light, so the risk of being spotted is increasing with every passing minute.

  Nathaniel glances back towards the river as if expecting to see soldiers chasing after us. ‘Where are we heading now?’ He sounds out of condition.

  I must keep an eye on him but continue at a brisk pace. ‘I thought to head due west, towards Windsor, about twenty miles.’

  ‘Are you going to give yourself in at Windsor?’

  I shake my head at the thought. ‘They would send us back to Newgate. We could make it to Kingston by noon, then buy horses and press on to Wallingford.’

  Thomas is uncertain. ‘Why Wallingford?’

  ‘Windsor is too close to London. We know the Wallingford area well and should be able to find a bed for the night.’

  Nathaniel stares up at the wintry sky. ‘We are lucky it’s dry now but I fear the weather is going to change soon and we’re not dressed for a long journey.’

  We continue on foot until we reach the busy town of Kingston, where I stay out of sight while Thomas and Nathaniel use some of my remaining money to buy horses and cloaks to keep out the winter chill. Keen to put a good distance from any pursuers, we make good time on the back roads towards Wallingford, riding until a bright moon appears in the sky. I am tired by the time we reach a popular stopping place at a busy crossroads on the outskirts of the town.

  Nathaniel finds an inn with a room and after stabling our horses we look for something to eat. Dimly lit and low-ceilinged, the inn is warmed by a roaring log fire and full of travellers drinking and sharing stories. Several men are gambling while others sing with drunken enthusiasm.

  A woman with a low-cut bodice and rouged cheeks catches my eye and gives me a welcoming smile. I see Thomas scowl and laugh as I realise she makes a good living from passing travellers. We manage to find an empty table in the corner and the portly innkeeper, wearing a grubby apron, serves us with steaming bowls of meaty stew and tankards of strong ale.

  I allow myself to relax a little for the first time since leaving Newgate. Although we are still some way from the relative safety of Wales, it is good to be on the road after the misery of the gaol. The landlord returns when we finish our meal and replaces our empty bowls with an earthenware jug of ale. I nod thanks and hand him a silver half-groat in payment, then take the heavy jug and pour us all another drink, as the salty stew has made me thirsty.

  Nathaniel raises his tankard in a toast. ‘Here’s to a safe journey!’

  Thomas touches his tankard to Nathaniel’s. ‘And to seeing Wales again, God willing.’

  ‘Fortune's Wheel turns again.’ I look at my friends. ‘To new adventures!’ Our tankards clunk together, splashing ale on the battered oak table.

  Nathaniel is curious. ‘What is our plan when we reach Wales?’

  ‘I thought to head for the island of Ynys Môn off the northern coast.’ I take another mouthful of ale. ‘I’m hoping that’s too far for the duke’s men to travel. With luck they will soon forget about me.’ In truth I doubt it but feel it is time for our luck to change.

  ‘It should be easy enough to buy a passage on a ship to Ireland if they come after you.’ Thomas sounds thoughtful. ‘If they don’t, I’m sure we will find plenty to keep us busy. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the place after all these years. I may even be able to track down some relatives.’

  ‘We can earn our keep.’ Nathaniel looks reassured. ‘I would like to visit Ireland—if you do go there I’ll be happy to accompany you.’

  ‘I hope it won’t be necessary, but I will be glad of your company Nathaniel.’

  Thomas drains his tankard and places it on the table. ‘We’d better turn in, as there’s a long ride ahead.’

  I agree. ‘We should be able to reach the border tomorrow—then I want to head across the mountains, away from the coast road.’

  We check on the horses and retire for the night but I lay awake for a while, trying to remember what I can of my parent’s home in Penmynydd. There is nothing for me there now, so I will settle in the nearby town of Beaumaris. I recall the narrow streets and the long seafront with its imposing castle and stony beach. As a boy I sailed to the mainland on one of the many little fishing boats that ply their trade in the often treacherous Menai Strait. I drift off to sleep dreaming of my parents and wishing they were there to greet me on my return.

  A bright lantern shines in my face and I wake to the sound of men shouting and heavy boots clattering on wooden floors. I rub my eyes and find the room full of armed men. One is tying Nathaniel’s hands with a length of rope and another is arguing loudly with Thomas.

  ‘Owen Tudor?’ A bearded man stares at me with questioning, blood-shot eyes.

  I nod and am rewarded by being roughly pulled from the straw mattress that serves as my bed and pushed against the wall next to Thomas. I see right away these are not the king’s men. They look like farm workers. One is armed with a cudgel and another carries an old sword with a broken blade.

  I dimly recognise the man and struggle to recall his name.

  Nathaniel beats me to it. ‘Thomas Darwent. You worked at Wallingford Castle.’

  The man nods and studies me again. ‘Wasn’t certain it was you, Tudor, until I recognised your accomplice.’

  ‘What do you want with us?’

  He shows blackened teeth. ‘I hope to be well rewarded for capturing you.’

  ‘I can reward you, if you let us go.’

  ‘How much?’

  I sense I can’t trust Thomas Darwent but dread the prospect of returning to Newgate Gaol. I take my purse from its hiding place and hold it in front of him. ‘Let us go and this is yours.’

  Darwent lunges forward, snatching the purse from my grip. ‘You probably stole this.’ He turns to his men. ‘Take them to the castle. I’ll be happier once they’re safely locked up.’

  My hands are tied behind my back and I am dragged bodily out into the cold dawn by two men and lifted into a cart, soon to be joined by Thomas and Nathaniel. The men may not be professional soldiers but they planned their attack well. I stare at my friends and feel a surge of remorse. I should have separated from them when I could, as once again I have led them into danger.

  * * *

  I find it strange to be confined in the familiar surroundings of Wallingford Castle, a place with so many happy memories. The castle was once the county gaol and still functions as a prison, with a row of securely locked iron-barred c
ells. Although we are the only inmates, we know Wallingford is a temporary home. Nathaniel has already discovered from the men guarding them that it will not be long before Lord Beaumont arrives from London to escort us back to Newgate. We also learn the castle has a new constable, Sir William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk, an ambitious man who commanded the English army at the siege of Orleans.

  I brighten a little at the news. ‘Suffolk is a supporter of Cardinal Beaufort. There is hope he might listen to our case.’

  ‘If only to spite Duke Humphrey,’ Nathaniel agrees. ‘We have nothing to lose by trying.’

  Thomas has been listening to our exchange. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘We have to ask for something which is in his power. Sir Walter Hungerford is still constable at Windsor, so I will ask if you can both be released on surety and for me to be transferred to Windsor. It will be a lot easier to bring your case to the attention of the king once I am there,’ I grin to my friends. ‘I could be a free man in a month.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Duke of Suffolk refuses to see me and once more we find ourselves in Newgate Gaol. Through some oversight I am now with the others in the communal cells known of as the wards. I am relieved to be spared the loneliness of my solitary cell, although I fear what will happen if my former keepers find I have returned, especially Master Griffin, who once threatened me with his iron-studded truncheon.

  The problem we now face is the lack of any money to bribe the keepers to remove the shackles and chains fitted to prisoners who might otherwise escape. We also have no way to pay for a mattress or extra food. At first this means trying to sleep on the hard ground, although it is not long before the need for survival drives us to take unguarded bedding from other prisoners. I curse our luck when I discover the stolen mattresses are infested with tiny fleas and biting lice, which keep us all awake at night.

  Nathaniel tries to see the positive side of it. ‘At least our poverty means we won’t be beaten up and robbed.’