The King's Spy (Thomas Hill Trilogy 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

and the girls unprotected, and to make a dangerous journey to carry out an unknown task for a king who limped and stammered, and who had led his country into a bloody civil war. Would he, he wondered, have done the same for John Pym and Parliament? No, he would not. Pym did not have an Abraham Fletcher at his disposal, andhad not been born to the throne. Did that make Thomas a Royalist? Probably, although he would rather be neutral. Did he really hope to shorten the war? That would depend upon what he was asked to do. Codes and ciphers were commonly used in the diplomatic world as well as in the military, and there were others perfectly capable of devising and deciphering them, yet Abraham had recommended him. Why?
    Deciding finally that he would find out soon enough, Thomas allowed his thoughts to wander. To the bookshop and the repair work that awaited him on his return, to Polly and Lucy, whom he had left to sleep, and to his student days at Oxford. He wondered how much the town had changed. Soldiers and courtiers and their trappings no doubt, but surely still the ancient buildings, the castle, the meadows by the river, the Bodleian Library, the Physic Garden, the tennis court, the tranquillity of the colleges and, in every inn and tavern, the clamour of opinionated scholars wanting to be heard. At Pembroke, newly built in the middle of the town, Abraham Fletcher had become a dear friend. Now well into his seventies, he remained one of the few with whom Thomas still exchanged letters. It would be good to see him again.
    By the time they neared Andover that evening, Thomas knew that he could not have made a worsedecision. His chest and back were covered in livid sores, which incessant scratching only made worse, and he was hot, tired, thirsty and hungry. Unlike Simon, he needed food to sustain him. Simon appeared to go comfortably from dawn till dusk on a cup of water and a piece of bread. Thomas offered a silent prayer that some form of dinner would be available in the town. As for the scratching, the previous owner of the habit must either have had cow’s-hide skin or have actually enjoyed the torture of biting fleas. He would burn the loathsome thing that evening and find something cleaner to wear. Either that or go naked. Was there a Lord Godiva? he wondered.
    No more than half a mile from the town, they heard horses approaching. Simon signalled Thomas to stop, and then to make quickly for a stand of elms fifty yards to their right. They had barely reached cover when the first horsemen appeared. They were Parliamentary cavalry. Thomas held his breath. They were not invisible from the road, but dared not move for fear of being noticed. They sat quite still until the cavalrymen had cantered past. ‘I daresay they’d have ignored us,’ said Simon, ‘but better not to be seen. We’ll avoid the town and stay here for the night.’
    ‘Here? Here I see neither food nor bedding. Are you not tired and hungry?’
    ‘A little, perhaps. I’ll find us something to eat, and we’ll sleep under God’s heaven.’
    ‘Excellent, Simon. Poisonous berries and damp leaves. Not to mention this revolting garment, home to families of voracious insects with a particular taste for the flesh of peaceful booksellers.’
    ‘You’d have made a poor friar, Thomas. We’re expected to rise above such trivial matters.’
    ‘An empty belly and festering sores may be trivial to you, friar, but not to me. Go and find food. I’ll find grass for the horses, and then try to dislodge some of the inhabitants of this infernal thing.’
    When Simon returned with their dinner in a fold of his habit, Thomas, naked but for his sandals, was thrashing his habit against the trunk of an elm. ‘Take that, you devils. And that. And that. Be gone, and don’t come back.’
    ‘English-speaking fleas are they, Thomas? How fortunate. Here’s dinner.’
    Thomas dropped the habit and inspected his next meal. It looked as if it might kill him.
    ‘God’s