Holy Spy

Chapter 21

Harry Slide was struggling to recall a name. The face across the taproom had looked away too quickly. Why had the man been watching him? Now he was moving towards the door. Slide downed the last of his strong beer.

‘With your permission, Captain, I’m going out for a piss,’ he told Ballard, clapping the priest on the shoulder. ‘Then one more brandy and bed. Let us have an early night for we have a long ride tomorrow.’

As he strolled towards the door, Slide was keenly aware of Ballard’s eyes following him. Clearly, he had not allayed his concerns – or Gage’s. Were they jittery because their mission had been so unsuccessful, or had he said something out of place? Well, they were stuck with him; and he would smile and reassure them as best he could.

The stranger who had been staring at him reached the door just ahead of him. Slide gave him a slight push until they were both outside and closed the door behind them. ‘Do I know you?’

The man met his eye in the light of the lantern. ‘I think not. But I know you, Mr Slide.’

‘Then you are mistaken, for my name is Bernard Maude. You are confusing me with someone else.’

‘Not so, Mr Slide. I would spot your reptilian face among a million in the fiery depths of Hades, so ingrained is it on my

memory.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I was in service to the Earl of Shrewsbury.’

‘Sheffield Castle? What did you do there?’

‘That is no concern of yours. Suffice it to say that there was much talk about you after you left.’

Slide remembered the Earl of Shrewsbury very well. In those days his lordship had been charged with keeping Mary Queen of Scots prisoner at Sheffield Castle. Yet he could still not identify this man. ‘What is your name, stranger?’

‘You don’t need to know that either. All you need to know is that I remember you well, though you went under another name for a while. And you need to know that I require money from you. Twenty pounds will shut my mouth. Or I shall tell your travelling companions what I know of you, which I doubt you want.’

Slide considered taking out his dagger there and then and slitting the man’s throat, but they could be disturbed at any moment. He smiled instead. ‘Twenty pounds, you say?’

‘Twenty pounds, and I will not be haggled down.’

‘I might manage two pounds to make you leave me alone, but no more.’

‘Twenty. And if you refuse again, the price will go yet higher.’

Slide was silent a few moments, then nodded. ‘Very well, but I do not have such money here in my purse.’

‘Then bring it to me in an hour, down at the stone footbridge. No one will see us there.’

‘Two hours. If you try to betray me I will make it very bad for you.’

‘Bring the money and I pledge you will never see or hear from me again.’

Harry Slide slipped from the truckle bed in the chamber he shared with Ballard and Gage. From their snoring in the large bed, he was certain they were both asleep. The strong ale and rounds of brandy had done their work. Without a sound, he made his way to the door, raising the latch carefully.

Slide, on bare feet and wearing only his nightshirt, went out and pushed the door back so that he could slip back in as quietly as he had left. From downstairs he saw a light and heard muted voices; the last of the drinkers in the taproom.

He descended step by slow step. If anyone crossed his path, he would sway as though intoxicated, say he needed fresh air. But no one came his way. Quietly he made his way to the back of the inn, through the kitchens, and exited the building into the stableyard, which was bathed in dull yellow light from a pair of wall lanterns. Somewhere from behind a stable door, a horse whinnied and stamped in its stall.

Taking one of the lanterns, he crossed the flagstoned yard to the tack room, where he immediately found what he wanted. Then, more quickly now, he made his way out onto the expanse of lawn that led down to the little stone footbridge over the stream.

Looking around to be sure he was not observed or followed, he pulled his linen nightshirt over his head and hid it behind a stone on the bone-dry grass. He estimated the two hours must be almost up. Stark naked, Slide edged down the grassy bank, then stepped into the chilly water and carefully placed the lantern beneath the arch of the bridge. He slid further into the water, and crept to his left, sinking his body like an eel into the reeds.

And then he once more tested the strength of the harness chain he had borrowed from the tack room, wrenching it taut between his fists. It was more than strong enough for his purpose.

Edward Manning had no intention of staying at the inn a moment longer than necessary. It was pure chance that he had been there, for he was riding post from York to Greenwich and had merely stopped for a change of horses and food. By trade he was a courier, riding all day every day and often by night. He knew these highways as well as any man in England.

He also knew a great deal about the missives and documents sent by his masters in the north and at court. He was sworn to secrecy, of course, but vows were made to be broken. This meeting with Harry Slide was too good a chance to miss.

Four years earlier, in 1582, there had been a flurry of traffic between Sheffield Castle and Oatlands Palace. In carrying the letters, Manning had discovered more than perhaps he should have done about the activities and methods of a certain Mr Harry Slide. Now was the time to put that knowledge to good use.

Twenty pounds would set him up well. He already had money put away and this extra would allow him to go into business on his own account; establish his own staging post, with stabling and provender. No more night rides for him, no more aching balls and arse from fourteen hours in the saddle each day. Let others do the hard work.

He led his horse down to the little stone bridge and waited. He didn’t trust Harry Slide and had no intention of dismounting.

Slide heard the horse’s hoofs; then its snorting as it was reined in. He could just see it in the gloom; it was no more than seven or eight feet from him, at the side of the bridge. He waited a minute. There was no movement, nothing but the animal snuffling of the horse and the pat of a hand on a flank. ‘Come down.’ The words were little more than a whisper, but loud enough to carry at this time of night. ‘Come down. I have your

twenty pounds.’

‘Slide?’

‘Yes. Come down here.’

‘Bring the purse up to me.’

‘No, I can’t be seen with you.’

‘I’m not moving. If you’re not up here in half a minute I’m riding away and your trickery will be exposed to your companions. What say you, Slide?’

‘Are you armed, stranger?’

‘Aye, I’ve got a sword and pistol and I know how to use them.’ No highwaymen had ever had any luck against him, nor would they.

‘Then bring your weapons down here and you’ll know you’re safe. I’ll give you what you want. But I won’t be seen with you. The choice is yours.’ Silence. At last, Slide heard the click of a powderhorn lid and the soft sound of powder being poured, and relaxed. All would be well.

The man stopped at the cusp of the bank, then took his first tentative step down the grassy slope to the water’s edge. It was steeper than it looked. A man could lose his balance here. The stranger stopped, surprised by the glow of a lantern from beneath the bridge. For the merest second or two, his eyes and weapons were all aligned, pointing at the gaping arch of the bridge and the light. The very place where Harry Slide was not.

It was all the time Slide needed. In one snakelike move, he lunged forward, thrusting his naked torso and arms out of the reeds. His strong hands grasped the stranger’s ankles and clamped them tight, like a vice. In the same movement, he tugged like a plough-ox, dragging the man’s feet away so that he fell backwards.

The man gasped. Instinctively he released his grip on the weapons, flinging them aside as his hands went down to break his fall. But he fell awkwardly, his spine and shoulder blades hitting the hard earth with a boneshaking crunch that took the breath from his lungs. He let out a low scream and tried to scrabble backwards, but Slide had him fast and pulled him into the river like a predatory sea creature dragging its shorebound prey into its own domain.

Slide did not give the man time to gather his thoughts or find his weapons. They were both in the water now and the thin harness chain was twisted around the stranger’s neck, tightening. Slide had his legs around the man and wrenched his head down, down, beneath the surface of the water.

The stranger was strong, but Slide was a trained killer. Using the chain, he held the man’s struggling head beneath the water, choking the life from him. He held him there until the struggling subsided, and the body went limp. Another minute passed. Slide’s own breathing became less laboured. At last he uncurled the chain from the dead stranger’s neck and placed it on the riverbank. He dragged the corpse into the reeds and covered it as well as he could before gathering up the man’s weapons and throwing them into the reeds alongside him. Then he waded three steps to the bridge and retrieved the lantern. If he could send the man’s horse galloping away into the woods, the chances were that the body would not be discovered for a day or two, by which time he would be long gone. Satisfied with his work, he looked down at his prick and noted with amusement that it was standing to attention.

And then he looked up, and came face to face with Robert Gage.