The King's Exile (Thomas Hill Trilogy 2)

by Andrew Swanston

  ‘What do you mean by “in a manner”, Thomas?’

  ‘I mean, for example, by means of a pamphlet like this – circulated widely and likely to be read by or to men disposed to take one extreme position or another. The same view expressed privately, mind you, may be quite acceptable.’

  ‘So it’s the manner of its expressing rather than the view itself that you would restrict?’

  ‘In this case, it is both.’

  Adam changed the subject. ‘Thomas, Patrick has told me how you came to be indentured. He asked me to help, but in these delicate times and as a member of the Assembly I did not feel that I could. The laws of indenture are clear. Whatever the reason for a man’s indenture, voluntary or forced, once here he must serve his term. It would be wrong of me to argue otherwise.’ He paused. ‘However, the behaviour of the Gibbes at the meeting made me think again and Patrick has suggested another approach, which is why I am here.’ The screaming had stopped. ‘Perhaps I’ll walk up to the boiling house. You might care to accompany me.’

  At the boiling house, a smiling Sprot, his bald head protected as ever from the Caribbean sun by a large straw hat, was packing away the tools of his trade in a battered leather bag. He saw the two men approaching.

  ‘Mr Lyte, good morning,’ he greeted Adam warmly, ignoring Thomas altogether.

  ‘Good morning, Sprot. I see you’ve been busy.’ The brown stains on Sprot’s jacket were mixed with bright red ones – a sure sign of recent custom.

  ‘Just a routine affair, Mr Lyte. The man got his arm caught in the mill. I thought I might save it and just took the hand off first, but then I observed that the forearm would have to go sooner or later, so off it came. I have only charged for one cut, mind you; I don’t care to profit unduly from another’s misfortune, as you gentlemen will vouch. I’m quick with the saw though I say so myself and the man is alive. They have taken him to the slave quarters. He’ll have a sore head when he wakes up with all the rum he swallowed but he should survive. I don’t know what they’ll do with him, though. One-armed slaves aren’t worth much.’ Thomas dreaded to think what the brutes would do with the poor wretch.

  Sprot went on cheerily, ‘Good day, Mr Lyte. You know where I am if you need me. Free men, indentured or slaves, and I’ll make you a good price. And between ourselves, I have just received a consignment of a most efficacious new medicine from London, should you have need of it. It comes highly recommended by the distinguished apothecary Nathaniel Foot, as a sovereign cure for various ills including headaches, vomiting, gout and fatigue. And I am able to offer it to my best customers at only a guinea a bottle. Be sure to look lively, though, my stock won’t last long.’ Sprot lowered his voice. ‘And, if I may, a word of warning. There are charlatans about. I have come across one who claims that a cup of the late king’s blood, taken with seawater, will cure the scrofula. And so it may, but the late king’s body must have held a deal of blood and been shipped here with great speed. The man has sold gallons of it.’

  Sprot had just left when the Gibbes returned from the slave quarters. ‘Well, well. Look who it is, brother. Good day, Mr Lyte. Come to tell us the king has come back to life or for another turkey and shoat? I thought it was your turn.’

  ‘Good day, gentlemen,’ replied Lyte politely. ‘No, not looking for dinner today and my apologies for not giving you notice of my visit. There’s something I want to ask you both.’

  ‘How to make his slaves work harder, eh, Samuel? The whip, Lyte, the whip, and as often as you please. Or where to find the choicest women? No, no, he must know that by now. I have it. Where to find a good husband for his sister? That’ll be it. Well, look no further, sir. John Gibbes is your man.’

  Thomas saw the disgust in Adam Lyte’s face and the effort it took him to ignore the remark. ‘No, gentlemen, nothing like that. As a matter of fact, I wanted a word about Thomas here.’

  ‘Hill? What have you done, you puffed-up little prick? Something serious, I hope. It’s time you had a thrashing.’

  ‘No, no. He’s done nothing wrong, as far as I know,’ said Lyte quickly. ‘I just wanted to make you a business proposition.’

  At this all four bloodshot Gibbes eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘About the windmill?’

  ‘No, something else.’

  ‘Best go down to the house then. Back to your hut, Hill, while we listen to what Mr Lyte has to say.’

  Thomas waited until they had rounded the bend in the path down to the house, and then quietly followed them. Whatever Patrick had suggested, he wanted to know. He crept through the woods and round to his listening tree in time to see them sit down at the battered oak table on which the turkey and shoat had been served. ‘Right then, Lyte. What is it?’ Samuel asked impatiently. ‘We’ve wasted too much time already today.’

  ‘Mary and I would like to buy Hill from you. We’ll use him to keep our records and accounts.’

  Again the Gibbes’s eyes narrowed. ‘And how much had you thought of paying?’ asked John Gibbes.

  ‘Thirty guineas we thought would be a fair price.’

  It was a huge price. Two or three new men could be bought for that. The Gibbes hesitated, but not for long. ‘Thirty guineas? I don’t think we’d sell him for that, would we, brother? He’s a good cook as you know yourself, and well trained. Stronger than he looks, too. Works hard with a little persuasion. He’d not be easy to replace. Thirty guineas wouldn’t do it, sir, not by a distance.’

  ‘I could go to thirty-five.’

  ‘Nor thirty-five.’

  ‘Forty is my final offer.’

  The brothers exchanged glances as if they suspected a trick. ‘We’ll discuss the matter and send word. Good day.’

  Adam rose and left. Thomas, behind his tree, kept listening. So that was Patrick’s idea. A perfectly legal transaction. Simple. And forty guineas. Surely the brutes would be tempted.

  The brutes were smug. ‘That’ll teach the devious scab not to come here and try lording it over us. Forty guineas? It’s a good price.’

  ‘Let’s go and find Hill and tell him the news.’

  ‘Ha. Excellent idea, brother. We’ll take a drink first.’

  By the time they came thundering up the path Thomas was back in his hut. ‘Hill, come here,’ shouted Samuel. ‘Lyte has an offer for us. We thought you’d like to know what it is.’ I do know, thought Thomas. What I want to know is whether you’re going to accept it. ‘The pompous toad wants to buy you. Any idea why?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Want to know how much he was willing to pay for you? Forty guineas, that’s how much.’ Thomas pretended to be astonished, which at the price he was. ‘We thought you’d be pleased to know how much he thinks you’re worth. We’re pleased too.’ John had a sly look about him. Thomas held his breath and waited. John jabbed a finger into Thomas’s chest. ‘But we’re not going to sell you. The Lytes can go and hang themselves. You’re not up to much but we’re not letting you go to be pampered by a pair of prissy king-lovers.’ The Gibbes laughed. ‘Now get back to the books. The magistrate would be only too pleased to order a public flogging if we asked for one. And don’t even think of running off. We’ll make sure you can’t run anywhere again if you do. Even Lyte won’t want a gelded cripple.’

  CHAPTER 12

  ON A BRIGHT spring morning the black coach emblazoned with the monogram TR drew up at the coaching inn outside Romsey. The brutal winter was at last over and the roads were passable again. As before, Rush left his coachman to take care of stabling for the horses and accommodation for himself and walked into the town. The market square, bustling and busy when he had last been there, was deserted. There were no drinkers outside the Romsey Arms and no children in the streets. It was as if the whole miserable place was still in mourning for the late king.

  Business and the weather had detained Rush in London longer than he would have liked and he was impatient to see the woman again. Reports from his agent had been satisfactory enough but he wanted to check for himself
that all was well. He strode up Love Lane to the bookshop.

  There were no customers inside so Rush went straight in. Margaret Taylor was sitting behind her desk, writing in a ledger. From upstairs he could hear children’s voices. She looked up from her writing and stared at him. ‘I know where my brother is and I want proof that he is alive.’

  Rush hid his surprise. ‘I am aware that you have disobeyed me and made certain enquiries.’ The lie came easily.

  ‘You are not the only one with contacts, Rush. I know that a ship named the Dolphin left Southampton for Barbados in March last year and I know that my brother was among the prisoners on board. I want proof that he arrived safely and is alive.’

  ‘And if you don’t get it?’

  ‘My daughters and I will disappear.’

  ‘You will be found.’

  ‘That is a chance we will take. I want to know that my brother is alive.’

  Rush thought for a moment. ‘I can tell you that he arrived safely at his destination and that I have received no message to suggest that he is not perfectly well.’

  ‘I want proof.’

  ‘How do you suggest that I provide such proof?’

  ‘You will send him a message asking him to write a single word on a sheet of paper to be delivered to me. He will know what the word is and I will know if you attempt another forgery.’

  ‘Why should I agree to this?’

  ‘I have explained the consequences if you do not. We will no longer be pawns in your vicious game.’

  ‘Your brother will suffer if you try to escape me.’

  ‘If he is alive, he is already suffering. If not …’ Margaret let the thought hang in the air.

  ‘It has taken you some time to arrive at this.’

  ‘But now I have.’

  Again Rush thought before replying. The woman had surprised him. ‘It will take time.’

  ‘It is a six-week voyage to Barbados. I will wait until the first day of August. If I do not have the letter by then, I shall assume that my brother is dead.’

  ‘I could kill you and your daughters now and tell him you are alive and well.’

  ‘You could, but then your pleasure would be the less. Only he would be under your control and then only by virtue of a lie. If he knew we were dead he would have no care for himself. Equally, I could kill you with the loaded pistol on my lap but then I would not know that my brother is alive.’ Margaret raised the pistol just enough for Rush to see the barrel. ‘Since you first came here it has never left my side. You might wish to tell your incompetent spy that.’

  ‘It will be done.’

  Rush did not return directly to the coaching inn but made his way around the old abbey to Church Lane. He turned into a narrow alley running off the lane and stopped outside a rough cottage. He tried the handle, found the door unlocked, and went in. It was a mean hovel, with just a few sticks of furniture. In one corner blankets had been thrown down to make a bed. On the bed lay the man he had come to see and astride him a fat woman with lank red hair. He slid the blade from his cane and thrust it into the woman’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound and she fell sideways. A second thrust into her eye and she was dead. Rush glared at the naked man. ‘I do not pay you to spend your time whoring. The woman has been asking questions.’ The terrified man tried to rise. Rush kicked him back. ‘I have no use for incompetent fools.’ He whipped the blade across the man’s throat, watched him die and left.

  CHAPTER 13

  WEEKS OF NOTHING, then, suddenly, a torrent of newsbooks, pamphlets and reports from the Assembly. Despite James Drax’s plea for calm, the king’s execution had given the Walrond brothers the opportunity they had been waiting for and they were not going to miss it.

  On the little Speightstown beach, Patrick was bursting with news. ‘While the Assembly was sitting Walrond led a troop of his militia to the Assembly House and demanded to be heard. Bell went out to meet him and found him mounted, dressed as a Royalist officer and backed by a hundred infantrymen armed with muskets and pikes. When Bell demanded to know why he was at the head of an armed force, Walrond replied that he had a thousand men at his disposal and would not hesitate to use them. He insisted that Bell immediately step down as governor and that he be appointed as his successor.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Bell asked for time to consult the Assembly. When he appeared again word had spread and a large crowd had gathered. Bell announced that he had resigned and that Humphrey Walrond had been appointed as his successor. And that was that.’

  ‘And what did Adam Lyte make of it?’

  ‘He is furious. He does not trust Walrond.’

  ‘So Barbados has a new governor,’ said Thomas. ‘What will that mean, I wonder?’

  ‘For you it might mean a way home,’ replied Patrick. ‘Walrond has hinted at an early release for men indentured to any landowner who refuses to swear an oath of loyalty to the king.’

  ‘Has he now? Awkward for the brutes.’

  ‘Let’s hope the brutes refuse to swear. Then you can go home and they can go to hell.’

  ‘An excellent outcome.’

  ‘However, Mr Lyte thinks that we’ll soon see Cromwell’s ships in Carlisle Bay. And there’s another thing. Word has come that Lord Willoughby has Charles Stuart’s commission to take over as governor and plans to sail soon.’

  ‘Lord Willoughby of Parham?’ asked Thomas in surprise. ‘Once Parliamentarian admiral, now loyal servant of the man who would be king?’

  ‘The same. Mr Carrington and he have known each other since they were boys.’

  ‘So we shall be visited by both sides.’

  ‘Probably, and one way or another there’s going to be trouble. On some estates there’s been singing in the fields. The news of master fighting master has spread fast. There is unrest among the slaves and some are waiting for the right time to strike. I have warned the Lytes.’

  Thomas sighed. ‘Bell and Walrond, Cromwell and Willoughby, master and slave, king and Parliament. I fear you’re right, my friend.’

  ‘The Lytes are talking of building defences around the estate and laying in stocks of food and weapons.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they’d like me to come and help?’ asked Thomas. ‘I’m sure the brutes wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘And how are the brutes, Thomas? Charming as ever?’

  ‘Bestial. One night they had two whores at the house – mother and daughter. They nearly killed them.’

  ‘For the love of God, Thomas, don’t provoke them. They could easily kill you.’

  ‘Adam Lyte told me it was your idea for him to offer to buy me.’

  ‘It was, and I’m sorry it took so long. He was not willing to speak to a magistrate about you, and that seemed to be the end of the matter. I only thought of buying you later. How much did he offer?’

  ‘Forty guineas.’

  Patrick whistled. ‘A lot. Will they take it?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They won’t sell me.’

  ‘Damnation. Why not?’

  ‘They should have been tempted. There must be a reason why they refused. They treat me like an animal but they haven’t whipped me to death and they won’t take forty guineas for me. They could get three more animals for that.’

  ‘It is odd, I agree. And what now? For the love of God, please do nothing foolish.’

  ‘For the love of my family, I shall try to survive. What else is there?’

  The following week Thomas was in his hut, working diligently at his ledger, when he heard what sounded like a troop of horses arriving at the house. Knowing the Gibbes were out in the fields, he put down his quill and went to attend to the visitors. There were six of them, all mounted and armed. Their leader was a young man, once handsome perhaps, but now raddled by rum and debauchery. He spoke with authority. ‘I am here on the command of the governor, Colonel Humphrey Walrond, to speak to Samuel and John Gibbes. They are, I believe, the owne
rs of this estate?’

  ‘They are, sir. And I am Thomas Hill, an unjustly indentured man, their bookkeeper and sometime cook.’

  ‘So, Hill, where are the gentlemen in question?’

  ‘In the fields, sir, as is their custom. Shall you wait for their return?’

  ‘I will send word for them. Corporal, Hill will show you where they are. Bring them back at once. We shall wait here.’

  The corporal dismounted and followed Thomas back up the path, past his hut and down to the fields. They crossed one field of newly cut cane. Thomas thought the brutes would be in the next field, where he could hear the slaves singing. As they approached, he saw them, whips in hand, overseeing the cutting. It occurred to him how easily one can tell from the set of a man’s head and shoulders what sort of a man he is. Aggression, diffidence, stupidity, intelligence – all are evident without sight of a face. Samuel saw them first. He summoned his brother and they strode towards Thomas and the corporal.

  ‘What are you doing here, Hill? Why aren’t you at the books? Or have you come to do some real work for a change?’

  ‘I have brought this gentleman with a message. His captain was most insistent.’

  ‘Captain, what captain?’

  The corporal looked nervous but held his ground. ‘Our captain, representing the governor, is here to speak to you on an urgent matter. He asks you to return with me immediately.’

  ‘Does he now? And what might he want to speak about?’

  ‘That I am not at liberty to disclose but the captain has the authority of the governor to insist on your presence.’

  ‘The governor, eh? Do you hear that, brother, Walrond himself commands us. Then we’d best oblige the man, eh? We can tell him what we think of Royalist fairies.’

  The captain and his mounted troop were waiting for them. ‘Are you Samuel and John Gibbes?’

  ‘We are. And what of it? Who are you and why are you on our land?’