‘He has said so?’
‘It’s in his face every time your name is mentioned.’
He was silent, wondering if he should tell her he had been disinherited, his legacy willed to her husband now, that their father loved him less than she supposed. But then he thought, What good would it do?
‘Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you leave these shores and be safe? You don’t have to work for Father. There are other ways you could go.’
‘Because …’ He shrugged. Why did he not go? Why did he stay and choose to put himself in danger? So he could put himself in harm’s way and die as Cecily had died? Perhaps. He said, ‘Because I’ve stayed away long enough avoiding things. I cannot run away all my life.’
‘But England does not want you and you will never be free here. You are a thorn in the side of the Church and you’re going to end up back in prison eventually. Or worse.’
‘England is my home.’
‘Then come back to the Church.’
‘No.’ He rubbed at his scars, dropped his voice. ‘No.’
‘Why do you do this to yourself?’ Her voice was growing shrill with desperation. ‘Why can you not just accept things as they are?’
‘Because I know better,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘Because the Bible tells us otherwise. I will not put my soul in danger so my body may be safe. Christ died for us, so why should I be afraid?’
‘Is that what you want for yourself?’ She stepped away, then wheeled to face him, eyes savage. ‘To die like He did? To be a martyr? Is that the end you’re seeking?’
‘No one wants to be a martyr.’
‘You have a choice, Ben.’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t. I don’t have a choice. Do you think I haven’t questioned myself? That I never feel fear or doubt?’
‘You? Doubt?’ She snorted.
He swallowed, half tempted to explain himself: his loss of faith in prison, the fear he still wrestled every day. His guilt for Cecily, his sin, his unworthiness in front of God. But where would he begin? And how could she understand?
He said, ‘You know me less well than you think.’
‘Then tell me,’ she replied, and he saw from her face that his words had hurt her.
‘It’s beyond the power of words to explain, and it is my burden to bear. I would not trouble you with my sorrows.’
‘But you are troubling me. You are here in my house on the run from the law. How much more trouble could you bring me?’
He smiled. He had no other answer to give her. Then, ‘I am weary, Nell. Give me food and ale, some clean linen, and I’ll be gone. No one need know I was here.’
‘Except the servants, of course. Probably half of Westminster knows already. So you may as well stay. The damage is done.’ She sat once again beside him on the window seat, took his fingers in her own. ‘What happens now? Will they come for you here? Will they be looking?’
He turned his eyes away from her towards the window, but saw little of what was there, his mind turning on what he had done, the danger he was in. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps. I should not have come here. I’ve put you in danger too.’
‘You are welcome here always, Ben. You are my brother, whatever you have done.’ Then she said, ‘Will you visit our parents?’
He drew in a breath, still undecided. ‘I would prefer Richard not to know what has happened,’ he said, though he had no doubt Richard would hear of it soon enough, from Bancroft or from Andrewes, or from one of the others who spent time at Court. ‘It would be better if he doesn’t know I’m here.’
‘You don’t trust him?’ Surprise flickered across her features. ‘But he’s your oldest friend.’
‘He was my friend, Nell, many years ago. Things have changed since then. We have changed since then.’
She said, ‘You were like brothers once.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ But still, he had believed he could always count Richard a friend, their love undimmed despite the hardships and their differences. To distrust him now felt unworthy somehow, and it saddened him, but his instinct left him no choice.
She nodded, thoughtful, unconvinced, but she said no more about it. Instead she said, ‘You look exhausted. And filthy. You have no linen?’
He looked down at his road-blackened clothes and could smell the sourness of his sweat. ‘I left in a hurry,’ he replied. ‘Remember?’
‘I’ll find you clean things. Hugh’s shirts will fit you and you can wash in my chamber. Come, I’ll show you the way.’
She stood before him, fingers still in his. Then she turned and led him from the room, along the spice-filled corridor and up another flight of stairs. There she left him to cleanse himself with a jug of water that was cool and pure.
Chapter 19
Summer 1606
To him that is afflicted, pitie should be shewed from his friend; But he forsaketh the feare of the Almighty.
(Job 6:14)
* * *
After supper Richard sat in the garden in the shade of an apple tree, the branches sagging with fruit above his head, and he was thinking more or less of nothing, allowing his mind to wander in the warm summer evening. Between the trees, the sky above him was striated with high wisps of cloud that were slowly turning pink, edges gold-rimmed as the sun began to leave the sky. It was a pretty sight and he was still and peaceful with contentment.
Alice’s approach did nothing to mar the tranquillity. He liked her company: the unassuming manner belied a sharp mind and curiosity. She asked him often about his work, which he explained as best he could. She seemed to understand his stumbling explanations, and asked more questions, which showed at least he did not bore her.
‘It’s a beautiful evening.’ She smiled, seating herself on the other end of the bench, a small distance between them.
‘Indeed it is,’ he agreed. ‘God’s Heaven in all its wonder.’
‘I’m not interrupting you?’
‘Not at all. I was merely enjoying the view. I’ve finished translating for the day, even in here.’ He tapped at his temple.
She laughed. ‘But I thought you never finished.’
He smiled, pleased by her laughter but made unsure by her teasing. He had always lacked Ben’s ease with women, in spite of all the sisters on the farm. He was silent, uncertain what to say.
Alice smoothed her skirts across her thighs then lifted her eyes to the sunset. After a moment she turned her face towards him, took a breath as though to speak, then changed her mind and looked away, once more smoothing her skirts with nervous hands.
‘Alice?’
She raised her head and gave him a quick smile but did not meet the question in his eyes.
‘What’s wrong, Alice? What is it you would say?’ He was curious now, wondering what could make her nervous of him when they were usually so easy with each other.
‘I heard something today,’ she said, without looking up from her hands. ‘In the kitchen.’
‘I gather the kitchen is a great source of news …’
She flicked him a small smile but did not go on.
‘What is it you heard?’ he prompted, gently.
‘Ben is at his sister’s house,’ she replied, lifting her face and turning towards him. Above them the last of the sunlight flared behind the clouds, trimming them with a pink-gold brilliance before withdrawing and leaving the sky to the oncoming dark. ‘And his parents do not know. Do you not think it strange?’
Richard said nothing, wondering. Ben would not have travelled so far with no good reason – it did indeed seem strange his parents did not know. But perhaps he wanted time alone with his sister first. Perhaps he would come to Thieving Lane in time.
‘Doctor Clarke?’ Alice was peering at him with curious eyes. ‘Do you not think it is strange?’
‘A little,’ he conceded. ‘But I’m sure he has his reasons.’ Reasons he also had no doubt that Bancroft would be keen to know.
‘Will you go and see him?�
�� Alice asked.
He sighed. He would rather not face Ben’s contempt and mistrust. He would rather have no knowledge he might report back to his masters.
‘We are no longer friends,’ he said. ‘I doubt he would be pleased to see me.’
‘You were like brothers once though.’
‘It was many years ago and our ways parted a long time since.’
‘Still …’
He observed her for a moment, wondering. He said, ‘Did the servants have any suggestions as to the cause of his arrival?’
She shook her head, but did not meet his eyes.
‘Alice?’
She sighed, lifted her face briefly towards him, then shook her head again. Whatever the servants were saying, he realised, she was reluctant to pass on to him. Was she trying to protect Ben in some way? Or was it him, Richard, she was hoping to shield?
‘Do you not trust me?’ he coaxed.
‘Of course I trust you,’ she answered quickly, looking him in the face, hurt by the suggestion. ‘But it is only gossip after all, and not worth repeating.’
‘They think he is in trouble?’
‘Yes,’ she conceded, sliding her gaze away. ‘That’s what they think. They say he has run from the law. And I thought perhaps if you went to him you might be able to help …’
He said nothing for a moment, touched by her faith in him, so far from deserved. Lifting his eyes to the sky above the trees, he saw the dying moments of the day, dark clouds edged and flaring with brilliance.
‘I think he is beyond any help I can give him,’ he said gently. If Ben was truly an outlaw now, there was little to be done to save him.
‘But surely you can try?’ she persisted.
He was silent, considering. He had made a promise to himself, he recalled, a promise to God that day at the scaffold when he had watched the Papist martyrs die. He had vowed to make Ben see sense and to save him from himself. So now he could not simply turn away. He must go to Ellyn’s, he realised, as Alice wanted, and do all he could to send Ben to safety across the sea, to Holland, to Aleppo. Somewhere, anywhere, out of Bancroft’s reach. Somewhere far, far away where betrayal by a friend could not hurt him.
Even so late in the day the sweat broke out along his spine as he walked, the humidity still unbroken. Richard cast his eyes skyward in vague hope of seeing the beginnings of a storm, but the clouds were high and thin and there was no promise of an end to the heat. He wiped a hand across the back of his neck and kept walking, looking about him and unsure of the road. The house was close to the river; the shouts of the boatmen lifted and fell above the slapping of the tide against mud and shingle.
He found the street: a row of merchants’ houses, all much the same, narrow brick and timber with an upper storey that reached out above his head. At the level of the street many served as shops, but they were closed now for the evening and there were few people about. He stopped at Merton’s house, remembering Alice’s description, a bright blue door, and the sign above it that announced the spice shop within. A lantern had been hung from the hook, its light just beginning to make itself felt against the encroaching night, and a fragrant scent of spice surprised him. He lifted a hand to knock then lowered it again, hesitating. He knew he had scant chance of success in his task – Ben was the most stubborn man he had ever met – and his instinct was to walk away. But his fate was tied to his friend’s: God had given him this friendship for some purpose he could not know, so he resisted the urge to turn and leave and raised his fist again to bring his knuckles against the wood, rapping loudly. He took a deep breath as he waited, heartbeat quickening, sweat along his spine. Deep inside the house a dog barked and a woman’s voice was raised. Footsteps clattered along a passage and the door was hauled open. A servant greeted him politely.
‘Is your mistress at home?’ Richard asked.
‘It is late,’ the servant returned. ‘Who shall I say is asking?’
‘Richard Clarke.’
‘Wait here.’
The servant closed the door and Richard heard the footsteps briefly retreating into the house. Then the door opened again and Ellyn was there, backing away to admit him into the narrow hall.
‘Richard.’ There was surprise in her voice. ‘What brings you here at this hour?’
‘I heard Ben was here,’ he replied.
‘Ben? Why would Ben be here?’
He glanced behind her, lifting his eyes to the top of the stairs. She stood like a sentinel before them, innocence in her smile, but he was not persuaded.
‘I know that he’s here, Ellyn,’ he said.
‘Why would I lie?’
‘I’m sure you have your reasons.’
A footstep at the top of the stairs drew their attention. Ben’s voice sounded out of the gloom as his form descended into view. ‘Let him in, Nell.’
Ellyn turned abruptly and trotted up the stairs with Richard following on behind her. He found himself in a sitting room that was hot and airless, and instinctively his fingers reached to loosen his collar. Ben sat near the empty hearth and the greyhound rested her chin on his knee. With one hand, her master absently fondled her ears. Across from him sat Merton, nursing a cup of wine. He gave the visitor a cursory nod of greeting but said nothing. No one offered him a drink or asked him to sit and the hostility in the room was stifling. Richard drew a chair near to the hearth and sat down. There was a silence until he spoke into the tension. ‘What brings you to London, Ben?’
‘I wanted to visit my sister. I had not seen the child.’ Ben leaned over and picked up his cup from the hearthstone, nodding to Ellyn, who came with the jug to refill it. ‘She is a delightful baby. Have you seen her?’
‘No,’ Richard replied. ‘I haven’t. Perhaps another time.’ He gave a quick smile in Ellyn’s direction. She was standing now behind her brother’s chair, hands gripping the back of it, in profile to where Richard was sitting. She turned her face away from him.
‘It was a sudden decision?’
‘It was.’
‘But you didn’t think to tell your parents?’
‘I have argued with my father.’ Finally Ben turned his head towards his visitor and fixed him with his eyes. There was no trace of friendship in their light.
‘I am sorry to hear that. He has mentioned nothing of it to me.’ Then, because it seemed too late for the normal courtesies, he said, ‘What have you argued about?’
Ben tilted his head. ‘He still wants me to go to the East. I would rather avoid another argument about it. That, and … other matters, which would be of no interest to you.’
Richard looked again towards Ellyn, still standing at her brother’s back, hoping to find some softening, but her gaze remained trained towards the hearth. The ill feeling in the room was palpable, and though he understood their reasons, their distrust hurt. He had not yet earned such hatred; he still hoped to save Ben and not betray him.
‘Ben?’ he ventured. ‘What has happened, Ben?’
‘Nothing. Nothing has happened.’
Ben drained his cup, pushed the dog’s head from his leg and stood up, crossing the room to the sideboard that stood behind Richard. He poured himself more wine then remained at the cupboard, leaning his hips against it, putting distance between them and forcing Richard to turn awkwardly in his chair to look at him.
‘Why have you come here?’ Ben asked.
‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
Ben smiled at that. ‘You haven’t heard? News must travel less quickly to your masters than I thought.’
‘What news?’
‘No doubt you will hear soon enough.’
He did not know what to say in the face of Ben’s contempt for him. How could he persuade him to leave England now? How could he even broach it?
‘You want me to trust you? To confess?’ Ben said.
‘Do you have something you ought to confess?’ Richard got up from his chair and turned it round towards the other man. Then he sat, balanced on the arm of
it, facing Ben, waiting.
‘I hope you pray hard at night,’ Ben said.
‘I pray for you always, Ben,’ Richard answered. ‘And I pray that you will leave these shores and be safe. I have only ever wished that for you. That you might be safe.’
‘And far away from you.’
Richard said nothing, reluctant to admit the truth of it.
‘I am right, am I not?’ Ben said. ‘If I stay you will have to make a choice. Whether to remain a friend to me or be loyal to your Church. Because the time has long passed when you can fool yourself I might one day recant.’
‘Why do you refuse to go? There can be only danger for you here.’
‘I don’t have to explain myself to you.’
‘You will end up on the scaffold like the Papist traitors. Or like Henry Barrow. Is that what you want?’
‘You will never understand.’
‘Then explain it to me.’
Ben regarded him with interest, head tilted, eyes appraising, judging. Richard met the scrutiny without flinching: he would not allow Ben to rattle him. He wished they had offered him wine. After a moment Ben said, ‘I owe you nothing.’
‘Ben?’ Ellyn’s voice drew both men’s attention from each other. ‘Please.’ There was a silence as she went to her brother and placed her hand on his arm, looking up into his face. Richard could not read the look that passed between them, but he saw Ben twitch the corners of his mouth into an attempt at reassurance before he lifted his head once again.
‘You should go,’ Ben said softly, gesturing to his sister and her husband with slight movements of his head. ‘I would like to spend some time with my sister and her family. So go and do whatever it is that you have to do.’
Richard held his gaze. ‘Tell me what’s happened at least.’
‘Why? What difference would it make? You have chosen your side …’ He shrugged.
‘You think it’s that simple?’ Richard’s voice grew harsh. He was almost quivering with emotion. How could he make Ben see how hard this was for him? ‘You think it is that black and white?’
The King James Men Page 24