‘That I am visiting my elderly tutor. It was what Abraham and I agreed.’
‘You didn’t tell her anything of your work, I trust?’
‘No indeed. That would have been quite improper.’
‘Improper and foolish. Oxford is a dangerous place, and it is best to trust no one.’
Thomas was sick of being told that Oxford was a dangerous place, and having started it he now wanted to end this conversation before it got any more awkward. ‘Quite so. I shall take every precaution. Now, if you will forgive me, I shall retire. The journey has tired me.’
‘As you wish. Good night, Master Hill. And remember what I have said.’
Lying on his bed, Thomas replayed the dinner conversation in his mind. Was Rush suspicious of Jane Romilly? Or was he just suspicious of everyone? Thomas had not asked about seeing Rush in Merton. Best not to ruffle his feathers. And ‘The king will have the advantage in cavalry,’ Rush had said, ‘and his enemies in infantry.’ No ‘we’ or ‘they’. An oddly dispassionate manner of speaking. Intellect rather than emotion. A clever man. And his bag had been searched – he was sure of it. A thief or a traitor?
They set off again at dawn and covered the eighteen miles to Newbury in a little over three hours. Outside the town they en countered a troop of dragoons who had been sent to meet them. From the dragoons’ captain, they learned that Prince Rupert and his cavalry had arrived from Gloucester two days earlier to find the town already occupied by Essex’s quartermasters, busy arranging provisions for the Parliamentary army. The prince had wasted no time in taking them prisoner, and had assumed control of the town. The bulk of Essex’s army was still twenty miles from the town, having been overtaken by the prince’s cavalry.
Their carriage passed through the cavalry’s encampments, proceeded into the town, which, like Oxford, was heaving with soldiers and their equipment, and was led to a large house by the market square. There the carriage stopped and they were shown inside by the captain. ‘This house has been requisitioned for you, Master Rush. Sir Henry was happy to oblige.’
Rush looked around. ‘It will do well enough, captain. Master Hill and I will base ourselves here. Have the men bring in my chest and Master Hill’s bag.’
It will do well enough to be sure, thought Thomas, admiring the high ceiling and tall windows. The walls of the entrance hall were decorated with tapestries and paintings, including a sumptuous Rubens nude and two portraits by Van Dyck, which he took to be of the owner of the house and his wife. An enormous red and gold Persian carpet covered the floor. This Sir Henry was a man of wealth, a man who would have much to lose in the event of a Parliamentary victory in this war. No wonder he had been ready to offer his house to the king.
Having taken his bag from the coachman, Thomas climbed a magnificent curving staircase, more family portraits covering the stair wall, and found a bedroom with an elegant window looking out over the square. He threw his bag on the four-poster bed and deposited himself into a large padded library chair. As he admired the room, also adorned with tapestries and paintings, the thought occurred that even war might have its good side. It was nothing short of luxurious. Velvet curtains, an embroidered silk cover on the bed, a collection of miniatures, a handsome fireplace, the padded chair and a fine rosewood writing table. Then he caught himself. It was a disgraceful notion. Nothing could excuse war and there was nothing good about it. And he had work to do.
He laid the intercepted message out on a writing table and concentrated on it once more. To Thomas, it had become the ‘Vigenère message’.
URF UBD HE XQB TF KGA OEMD RRFUO TLC WMG LRB WHT R XHGORKZ IO KPW769 WA MQFV BVMF HPL ZFTD RVV57 4SEWMFREJ VGL SVKMGE 852 GTSC WZTD QE TIJG IVL GJT RA KDOE IK EOJAAQLV GGJR MQU IOIGSI GRQF HBFZG JGY ALG EE OLWEEA GJR YIFS1 82AEL2 64SGE SC AAD ZVY JP KP WXR JB JTN XBZ77 5XNW WJBS LA LWAK371 EAIH TPA AD RVV BAP TWPVV AGDN WWJ URR VUT IW EW HTI QCT WY QDT37 1IE852 769UMHT RKC CONT WSGV WMG IEN DJEE KWIHV ZW PNU EAIH371 ZV GJR YIFSS NQ DA BV NGGCVL LD SVMC IRLKW DN KMJ BS WINDU IITAE KW42177 5OX LCIVK IJM LXMV IFS PCI UT FFZ SEPI MZTNJQGCOW3 71E ZDWZTD QE SZGJ GYB LD 574SKIFS RVIV N GFL OX LC QFV WV AZPLCJJX NX IF TNU BG IHZA OP RJWGC
Twenty-six possible encryptions for each of the four hundred and fifty-six letters, plus forty-five numbers and one hundred and thirty-eight spaces. A cipher that had never been broken. Where to begin? He made another effort to envisage its encrypter, this time with more success. He saw a small man, precise in dress and manner, a pair of spectacles perched on his sharp nose and a cap on his head. He sat in a dark room, working by the light of a single candle. This man would work carefully and make no mistakes. He might well use the square, he might use codes, but he would not use nulls or misspellings, which would offend his sense of order. What sort of keyword would he use? Nothing random, nothing too complex. A Latin word perhaps, or a religious one, or something historical. Or a million other things. Use your head, Thomas. There’s no future in playing guessing games. Concentrate on the cipher. There must be a way.
He gazed idly out of the window at the toings and froings in the square below. It was a square full of noise and bustle, and the hubbub of a town preparing to defend itself. Officers about their duties, soldiers about theirs, tradesmen about their businesses, fascinated children standing in huddles around the square, noise and movement and excitement. The king and his army were coming to Newbury, and there was to be a great battle. A great battle in which Thomas would have a part to play. That reminded him that he needed a keyword. Not too long for the sake of speed, not too short for the sake of security. Five or six letters, with no repeats. It came to him. MASQUE. Perfect. He would tell Rush the keyword for all incoming and outgoing despatches would be MASQUE.
He decided that nothing of the cipher would reveal itself for the moment and ventured back downstairs, intending to take a stroll around the town. He was met by Rush hurrying in through the door, cane in hand. ‘Master Hill, there you are. I have word that the king will arrive this evening, and the bulk of the infantry tonight. We believe that Essex’s vanguard will not arrive until tomorrow, so we shall have the advantage of him. Kindly remain here until I give you further instructions.’
‘I was about to take a walk around the town.’
‘That will not be possible. You are safer here, and you might at any time be needed. Is your room comfortable?’
‘Very comfortable, thank you.’
‘Is there anything you need?’
‘Some ink, if you please. Nothing more.’
‘It will be arranged. Have you decided upon a cipher?’
‘I have. A simple alphabetical shift, using the keyword MASQUE.’
Rush’s smile was as humourless as ever. ‘Very appropriate. I will inform the king and our commanders.’ And with that, he was off. Here one minute, gone the next, thought Thomas again. A busy bird, with a nest to build and food to gather. An odd man, but I’d rather be with him than against him.
Unfortunately, Sir Henry, for all his interest in art, was not a literary man, and there was not a book to be found in the house. Thomas had little to do but make himself comfortable and await events. Having been admirably fed and watered by Sir Henry’s cook, he sat by the window in his bedroom, staring at the encrypted text and thinking about Jane Romilly. Those eyes had looked straight through him. Would they always?
News of the king’s arrival came from Tobias Rush that evening. ‘His majesty is housed safely in the town, and the army, as expected, will be in position by tomorrow morning. There is every chance that Essex will also arrive during the night, and, if so, the king intends to join battle tomorrow.’
‘Have I any instructions?’
‘Remain here for now. I will escort you to your station in the morning. You and I will be with the king and his personal guard at the rear of the lines. From there, you will deal with all despatches, taking instructions only from the king or from me.’
‘Very well, Master Rush. I shall be ready.’
Thomas slept badly, tossing about o
n the fourposter bed until dawn. On the eve of battle, he was nervous. He could only guess at what it would be like actually to witness a battle, but he knew he would see blood and carnage, and a good deal of it. He wondered how he would react, and how his brain would work in the heat of the moment. Would he have much to do? Would he make mistakes? If he did, would they matter? Would they win? If they did not, what would happen? A hasty escape, capture, death? He thought of Hannibal, who was reputed to be able to go without food and sleep for as long as was necessary, and of King Henry, moving freely, according to Shakespeare, among his soldiers’ camp fires on the eve of Agincourt. If all soldiers lay awake on the night before a battle, there would be two very tired armies facing each other in the morning. The Earl of Essex and Prince Rupert had both marched from Gloucester, and the king from Oxford. Every man on both sides must already be weary and footsore, not to mention cold and wet. A sleepless night, and they would scarcely have the energy to draw their swords or lift their muskets. Although that might not be such a bad thing. Everyone too exhausted to fight and anxious to get home as soon as they could. Take up your weapons, men, and follow me to London, or back to Oxford. Wives, sweethearts, warm beds and strong ale await us. Could it happen?
It could not. Thomas was up, dressed and breakfasted when Rush arrived to fetch him before dawn. ‘It is as we expected,’ he reported. ‘Essex’s army arrived during the night and has taken up position outside the town. He cannot reach London without engaging us. The king is determined on a victory which will greatly set back the cause of Parliament, and open the way for his own advance on London. Follow me, Master Hill, and we will join his majesty on Wash Common.’
Wash Common lay less than a mile to the southwest of the town. They rode through dozens of tents and carts belonging to the camp followers and wives upon whom the army depended for its food, drink and necessities of life, to the king’s station. It was on a low rise behind the centre of the Royalist infantry, from where they had an excellent view of the surrounding country. Two tents had been pitched on the mound, both flying the royal standard. The king sat in full armour on his grey stallion, his heavy cavalry sword resting across its back. His Lifeguards and servants surrounded him. A heroic figure with a righteous cause, or so he made it look. Staring fixedly into the middle distance, his majesty acknowledged neither Thomas nor Rush. Thomas could not even guess what was going through the royal mind, but he hoped it was more than the fixed smile on the royal face suggested.
From their vantage point, Thomas saw four ranks of infantry and artillery – pikemen, musketeers and cannon – in the centre of the line, with massed cavalry on either wing, the whole army stretching across perhaps as much as a mile. Facing them, drawn up in similar fashion, was Essex’s army. Rush had been right. The king’s cavalry was the stronger, his infantry weaker.
At his first battle, and wanting to be properly informed, Thomas asked a young captain of the king’s guard to point out the salient features of the terrain and the armies’ dispositions. The captain was most obliging and seemed pleased to be asked to explain how matters stood.
‘We are formed up on Wash Common,’ he replied, ‘and our enemy opposite on land known as Crockham Heath. The area between us is open but marshy. Our position is essentially a defensive one, as our first task is to prevent Essex reaching London. Thus, Sir John Byron’s Lifeguards rest on the river Kennet.’ He pointed to their right. ‘And the prince’s cavalry near the river Enborne.’ His arm traversed the battlefield and settled on a point to their left. ‘Essex cannot reach the road to London without engaging us. It is as we would wish.’
‘I notice the enemy hold some higher ground, captain,’ remarked Thomas quietly. ‘Is that as we would wish?’ He pointed to two low hills upon which Parliamentary infantry had been drawn up.
‘I confess that it is not. They presently occupy Round Hill and Biggs Hill, and I daresay we shall have to clear both.’ The captain glanced at Thomas and smiled. ‘Worry not, sir. We shall make short work of them.’
Thomas thanked the young man for his help, and asked him if he had much experience of battle. ‘Very little, sir,’ he replied. ‘I was at Gloucester, but that was more of a siege than a battle.’
‘What made you become a soldier of the king?’ asked Thomas.
‘I was a schoolteacher, sir, and hope to be one again. I joined his majesty’s Lifeguards because I believe his cause to be just.’
A schoolteacher. That explained why he was pleased to answer Thomas’s questions. ‘You have been most civil, captain. I wish you a safe day and an early return to the classroom.’
Wondering how the enemy came to occupy the high ground when Prince Rupert’s cavalry had been first on the scene, Thomas steeled himself not to worry. He dismounted, handed his reins to a groom and followed Rush into one of the tents. There a table and chairs had been placed ready for them. On the table were papers, ink, sand and quills. Thomas took a seat. The king had still not favoured them with so much as a glance.
There was no time to dwell on the matter. Shots were being fired and the battle had started. Thomas heard the sound of Flemish pipes in the distance and wondered where his friend from Amsterdam had been stationed. Rush left the tent, returning within a minute to hand Thomas a despatch to be encrypted and delivered to all commanders. As there were five of them, five copies would be needed. The despatch was from the king and informed them that the infantry must hold firm against the expected enemy advance, while both wings charged forward to outflank them. With these tactics, the day would surely be theirs. Thinking that this was not entirely consistent with holding a defensive line, Thomas dutifully wrote the date – 20 September 1643 – at the top of the page, encrypted the order, using the keyword MASQUE, made four more copies and handed them to Rush. Five messengers on five horses galloped off to deliver them. Each commander had an aide to make the decryption, and they too would have to work fast.
It began slowly. Essex’s infantry, firing as they went, advanced steadily towards the king’s musketeers. As ordered, the musketeers returned fire, but did not advance to meet them. The lines on both sides thinned as the Parliamentary infantry approached. It had not occurred to Thomas before that, in battle, it was the screams of the wounded which were most terrible. The dead simply fell and lay still. Although from his table in the tent he could see very little, he could hear everything.
For ten minutes or so, Thomas could do no more than sit, listen and wait. By that time, the sounds of battle were deafening. Cannon and muskets fired, swords clashed, and men shouted and screamed. Deciding that not seeing was even worse than seeing, he stood up and went outside. Immediately, he regretted it. To his right, a cannon fired, and he saw three heads detached from three bodies by the shot. He turned away and vomited. More cannon fired, and more men fell, headless, armless, disembowelled. One file of infantrymen, struck by a cannon shot, fell like ninepins. Thomas wanted desperately to look away, but found that he could not.
He might have stood there until nightfall had Rush not appeared beside him and handed him a second order. It was for Sir John Byron on the right wing, and instructed him immediately to take Round Hill, which lay before him. Wondering how Sir John was going to manage this, given that his cavalry would have to find a way over a muddy mess of fields and ditches before they could even think of attacking the hill, Thomas returned to his table, encrypted the order and sent it off. Having seen the carnage already being wreaked on the cavalry by Essex’s men hidden among the trees and hedges below the hill, he thanked God that he was not with Sir John.
Thomas could not sit still. Again he left his post and went outside. The king sat unmoved on his grey stallion, his Lifeguards and entourage still surrounding him. Thomas hoped they had more idea of what was happening than he did. As the air grew blacker with smoke and thicker with the smell of gunpowder, a curtain fell across the field. Muskets and cannon went on firing, soldiers went on bellowing and shrieking, and horses screamed, but only occasionally did the clash o
f swords and the thrust of pikes appear briefly through the smoke. It was ghostly and unreal. Yet these were real men, real weapons, real wounds, real deaths, real war. Noise, pain, fear, confusion.
From somewhere on the left, news arrived that Prince Rupert, in typical fashion, had charged the enemy, and might have broken through to attack from their rear. On the right, Sir John Byron’s cavalry was probably being destroyed as it struggled towards the hill. With the battlefield all but invisible, there was no way of telling how they were faring, or even if they were still alive. Thomas half expected a troop of Parliamentary infantry suddenly to emerge out of the smoke and shoot him. By this time, he could barely see the king.
Two messages from Sir John Byron arrived in quick succession. The first, speedily decrypted by Thomas, reported that, despite strong resistance, he had captured Round Hill, and the second, in clear text, that he had lost it again. Thomas was glad that he did not have to decrypt the second one and hand it to the king himself. Rush could do that.
All morning, and for most of the afternoon, the fighting con tinued. The king was forced to deploy troops to plug a gap in the lines caused by a successful advance by Essex himself, Rupert led his cavalry in charge after murderous charge at the Parliamentary pikemen, Sir John Byron battled in vain to recapture Round Hill, and Thomas sat in his tent, decrypting incoming reports, encrypting outgoing orders, trying to assess the state of the battle by the reports and wondering if he would still be breathing that evening. There were no captured despatches to deal with, which was just as well as they would inevitably take longer. Rush came and went, saying little and asking nothing. He seemed quite unruffled. Thomas reckoned that if anyone knew the state of affairs, Rush did. He probably had his own army of messengers, galloping backwards and forwards with news. He was not a man to tolerate being in the dark; he would have to feel in control.
In mid-afternoon, a report came in that Colonel Thomas Pinchbeck’s Regiment had taken heavy losses, and the colonel had been killed. Thomas wondered fleetingly if a certain Captain Fayne had been among the casualties.
The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) Page 13