CHAPTER XXX
Master Fox conducted them back to the dining room and found a replacement pair of breeches for Sidney.
“Thou’ll have to wash those thysen,” he said, indicated the soiled clothing.
“But I’m the prince’s cousin–”
“Aye, we know that. Thou dostn’t think we choose just anyone, dost thou?”
He threw the breeches to Sidney and left them to their own devices. Kit explored the room, examining every window and piece of furniture, but found nothing of interest. After an hour or so the sound of footsteps came down the stairwell, followed by the boys themselves. They trooped past Kit without so much as a word and headed up the steps to the front hall. Even Heron and Shrike barely glanced in the newcomers’ direction. It was all very odd, and Kit didn’t like it one bit.
Master Fox returned and showed Kit and Sidney upstairs. The upper room was as large as the lower one, and served as a dormitory. The two boys were assigned beds near one end, then Fox set them to carrying buckets of water from the well in the rear courtyard back up to the dormitory and filling the jugs on the washstands. When they had done that he gave Sidney a wash-ball to clean the soiled breeches with and sent them back down to the yard.
“Don’t they have any servants here?” Sidney grumbled as he draped the sodden breeches on a bush to dry. The branches bowed under their weight and they fell to the ground, getting dirty again. Sidney burst into tears. Kit picked the breeches up and rinsed off the worst of the muck, then hung them up properly. Wiping his hands on his own clothes he led the way back into the house. One day soon he would test Master Shawe’s finding charm, but not yet. He needed to fill his belly a few more times, and work out where to steal some food from to take with him.
As they neared Cambridge, Coby realised she had never actually been through the town before. The college authorities did not allow companies of players within the bounds lest they distract students from their lectures, so Suffolk’s Men had had to perform outdoors at Stourbridge Fair or avoid Cambridge altogether. On one visit they had skirted the northern edge of the town, where a somewhat decayed and neglected castle stood on a south-facing escarpment. There she had seen the whole town laid out below her like a map: the spires of churches poking up through the trees; the pale towers of the colleges, their new stone and gilded banners gleaming in the sunlight, and the river winding round the western edge and under the bridge at the foot of the hill.
Coming at it from the south, Cambridge was less impressive, its stonework half-hidden behind streets of timbered buildings such as one could see in any market town in England. Unless she raised her eyes to the rooftops she could pretend she was back in London, apart perhaps from the greater number of black-robed scholars in the streets.
“I thought you said the university term was over,” she said to Mal as they approached the town centre.
“It is. If you think there are a lot of students here now, you should see it in a few weeks’ time.”
Coby stared up at a gatehouse as fine as any palace she had ever seen, with a gilded coat-of-arms above the door, topped by a statue of a woman wrapped in a blue cloak and flanked by a crowned red rose and a golden portcullis.
“Christ’s College,” Mal said. “That’s the foundress, Lady Margaret Beaufort, grandmother of old King Henry.”
“She must have been a very great lady, to have founded a college,” Coby said.
“Two colleges. And yes, I believe she was.”
“But you didn’t go here, did you?”
“No. I was at Peterhouse. We’ll visit it later, but first I want to find us rooms for the night.”
They rode down the main street, past at least three more colleges and a great many shops, until they reached a bridge over the river. Ahead was a church, and the hill Coby had climbed all those years ago. Little remained of the castle now except an enormous gatehouse and the ruined keep on top of its mound. She wondered what had happened to the rest of the walls. Taken apart to build more colleges, perhaps.
Mal dismounted and led them to an inn on the far side of the bridge.
“The Pickerel was always my favourite,” he told them. “We’d come here by boat, to avoid the watch.”
The landlord greeted them as they went in, and when Mal explained he was a former student come to visit old friends, the man offered them his best bedchamber at a very reasonable price.
“He’s probably short of guests this time of year,” Mal said in a low voice once they were alone. “If we’d come here when the fair is on, we’d have been lucky to get a pallet on the common room floor.”
“So what now?” Coby said, dumping her saddlebags next to the bed.
“Supper, I think, then tonight Sandy and I will explore the town whilst it sleeps.” He put an arm around both their shoulders. “We’re close, I’m sure of it. But we must be cautious. We’re no help to Kit if the enemy captures us first.”
After supper, Mal left his brother at the inn under a strict promise not to dreamwalk alone, and took Coby on a reconnoitre of Cambridge. A walk would sooth his nerves; to sit in one place when they were so close to Kit was nigh unbearable.
“What if we’re seen?” Coby asked, as they crossed the bridge back into town.
“I’m willing to chance it,” Mal replied. “It’s more than fifteen years since I lived here, and if any of the town has changed greatly, we need to know about it in case we have to make a swift retreat that way. Besides, who is to notice a master showing his prospective student about the town, eh?”
He led Coby back down Bridge Street, past St John’s with its gilded gate even more magnificent than Christ’s, and his heart was eased a little to be able to walk arm-in-arm with her, showing her all the places he had known as a youth, before his father’s death and Charles’s disappearance had torn his life apart. It was fitting that it would be the place where his family were reunited at last.
“I only wish Sandy had been able to come here and study with me,” he said as they crossed the market square, dodging the pigs that grubbed amongst the trampled debris for anything edible. “But he fell ill, after…”
“Why do you think they took the other boy?” Coby said, tactfully changing the subject. “The King’s godson.”
“Who knows? He may not be noble himself, but his family is very well connected. His grandmother was the Prince Consort’s sister, and on his grandfather’s side he’s related by marriage to Lady Frances as well. His uncle was Sir Philip Sidney, her first husband.”
“Elizabeth Sidney’s father?” Coby sighed. “I shall never get all these families straight in my head; they all seem to marry one another.”
“They do indeed.”
“Did your father never plan your marriage to some pretty heiress?”
“Why, are you jealous all of a sudden?” He smiled down at her. “I suppose he must have, but Charles was the heir so he always came first.”
They paused to admire the delicate towers of King’s College Chapel rising above the timbered houses along the high street, glowing gold as the sun sank towards the rooftops.
“That’s a chapel?” Coby breathed. “It’s as big as Saint Paul’s Cathedral.”
“Not quite,” Mal said with a laugh. “But it is rather ostentatious, isn’t it?”
She chuckled. “Just a little. Where is your old college?”
“Down that way. It’s the oldest in Cambridge, you know. But we’ll see it tomorrow. I think we should get back to the inn; I don’t like leaving Sandy alone for too long.”
The walk back to the Pickerel felt much shorter than the walk into town, perhaps because he was hurrying now. He released her arm as they approached the inn and strode ahead. Something was amiss, though he could not put his finger on it.
The taproom was even quieter than when they left, only a couple of men seated at a table with their backs to the wall. They wore heavy jerkins despite the hot weather, and belts well-worn and bearing the marks of sword-hangers. Soldiers. Mal halted in the doorway, motioning for Coby to stay behind him.
A man in his mid-forties with a broken nose stepped out from behind an upright timber.
“Master Catlyn.”
“Captain Monkton.” Mal grimaced. “I should have known you’d be first in line to do the usurper’s bidding.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Coby walk past the front window of the inn without a second glance inside. Monkton paid her no attention.
“Usurper? Is that any name for an old friend, Catlyn? But then you did rather fall out of favour with Prince Arthur after you murdered Josceline Percy.”
“I wasn’t referring to Prince Arthur. And I did not murder Percy. If that’s what you’re here about, you can leave now.”
Monkton smiled. “Percy is old news.”
“Where’s my brother?”
“I send some of my men upstairs to subdue him – and that trull you call a wife. Oh, don’t fret.” Monkton held up a hand. “I’m under orders to take you back alive and unharmed. Which is more than I can say for your other friends.”
He stepped aside and gestured towards the other end of the taproom. Ned and Gabriel were gagged and tied back-to-back, straddling a bench. Another soldier with untidy straw-blond hair and a stubbly beard stood behind them, arms folded. Ned shook his head slightly, his eyes pleading.
“What happened to the landlord?” Mal asked.
“He knows to stay out of the King’s business. Now, are you going to come along quietly, or do I have to make an example of one of your friends first?”
Monkton jerked his head, and Strawhair drew a knife and laid it against Ned’s throat.
“First I want to see my wife,” Mal said. “Do what you will with these two, but if you’ve harmed a hair of her head–”
“You don’t care about them?” Monkton strolled over to the captives. “Perhaps I’ll take out this fellow’s eye. They’ll make such a handsome pair of cripples.”
He seized Gabriel’s hair and pulled his head back, holding out his other hand for the knife. Ned squirmed against his bonds and made a desperate whining sound. Overhead the floorboards creaked, and someone coughed twice. All clear.
“All right.” Mal held up his hands. “I’ll come with you.”
He stood motionless whilst the soldiers disarmed him.
“Good. I knew you’d see sense.” Monkton flipped the knife, caught it by its blade and handed it back to his comrade. “Kill them both.”
Ned lurched sideways, tipping the bench over and pulling Gabriel with him to the floor. Monkton stumbled as the two of them slammed into his legs, and groped for his sword. Mal punched the nearest soldier on the jaw before he could draw his pistol, seized his rapier from the table as the man crumpled and slashed it around in a backhand stroke that narrowly stopped an incoming blow from the second man. Disengage and counterthrust. The soldier clutched his bloodied ribs, gasping for breath.
Footsteps clattered on the stairs, but instead of the reinforcements Monkton was no doubt expecting it was Coby who appeared in the doorway, a brace of pistols at the ready. Behind her came Sandy, still in his woman’s garb but bare-headed and with a bruise blooming on one cheekbone.
“Drop your weapons,” Coby said. “All of you.”
After a few heartbeats blades clattered to the floor, and the man with the pistol slowly drew it and placed it on the table where Mal’s rapier had been. The room was silent but for the wheezing breath of the wounded man. Monkton edged forward a few inches, trying to regain control of the situation.
“Where are my men?”
“They’re sleeping,” Coby said. “Well, sort of sleeping. I’m not sure what my brother-in-law here does, but it knocks them out sure enough.”
“Useless bastards!” Monkton spat on the floor.
“Tie him up.” Mal kept his blade pointed at Monkton. “The university proctors can deal with this.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll be happy to arrest the ruffians who attacked men going about their lawful duties.”
“My brother will persuade them to do the right thing, won’t you, Sandy? After all, there were no other witnesses to this fight. Good of you to arrange that, Monkton, I’m much obliged.”
Monkton’s face twisted into a snarl. “You may have won this sortie, Catlyn, but the battle’s far from over.”
“Get him out of my sight.” He drew his brother aside. “Find out what he knows about Shawe.”
Sandy nodded. “It will be my pleasure.”
When Coby had finished tying up Monkton and his two uninjured men, Sandy and Gabriel marched them upstairs to join their comrades.
“I think we could all do with a drink after that,” Coby said, taking down five tankards from the bar.
“First I have to fetch the proctors’ men,” Mal said. “And a surgeon for that one.”
The wounded man stared back at them, dull-eyed.
“I’ll go,” said Ned, brushing himself down.
“Don’t be a fool. I know this town better than the rest of you put together. Just stay here and try not to get into any more trouble.”
He pulled Coby close and kissed her brow.
“Good work,” he murmured. “We would all have been dead without you.”
“Sandy’s the one you should thank,” she replied. “He bewitched all three of his guards whilst they were tying him up; I just had to untie him again.”
“Even so. You were brave and resourceful. As ever.”
“I had a good teacher.”
Ned coughed loudly. “If you two lovebirds have finished, I could do with that beer. My mouth’s as dry as a Moorish tavern.”
Mal laughed and made the sign of the fig at him, then unbolted the door.
“Lock this behind me,” he told Coby. “And don’t let anyone in, except the landlord.”
He waited until he heard the bolts scrape back into their staples, then headed into town at a jog. If Sandy could get some useful intelligence out of Monkton and his men before Mal returned with the proctors, it would save them a lot of time. Time he feared they did not have.
By suppertime Kit was hungry as a hunter and exhausted from all the chores Master Fox had set them. Thankfully Sidney was too weary for once to complain, and Heron and Shrike ignored the two newcomers completely. No one said grace, nor were there prayers afterwards as there had been in the prince’s household. Kit wondered if this were some secret academy for Papists, like they had read about in history. But surely Papists prayed too, even if the words were wrong?
After supper Master Fox gathered the older boys around him.
“Roebuck, Ash, Flint: you’re on patrol tonight. Stay out of sight, but don’t let anything through, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused.
“Leveret, Crow: I think I shall need your special talents.”
The last two boys grinned. One was as black-haired as his namesake, tall and thin with a pointed nose overshadowing his faint moustache; the other was shorter, with sandy hair and freckles. They turned as one and looked down the table towards Kit with bright eager eyes, like cats that had caught sight of a mouse. Kit looked away, not wanting them to see how scared he felt right now. This was something to do with the test Master Fox had spoken of, he was sure of it. He wondered if it was going to hurt more than the ear-piercing.
Despite their instructions, all of the boys retired to the dormitory and Master Fox snuffed out the candles one by one. Kit lay staring at the moonlight tracing the beams above him as the schoolmaster’s footsteps retreated down the spiral stair.
He took a long time to fall asleep that night, despite the unaccustomed labour and the generous supper. His ear still itched terribly, and some of the other boys talked in their sleep or even cried out. When sleep did come, it was deep and dreamless, and he woke what felt like only moments later. The sun was already up, and the other boys were getting dressed. The bed next to him, however, was empty, its sheets thrown back. Kit lined up to wash his face and hands, expecting to see Sidney in the queue, but the prince’s cousin was not there. They all went down to breakfast, and still Sidney did not appear. Heron gave Kit a sympathetic smile; Shrike peered over his shoulder, smirking like someone with a secret they were dying to reveal.
“What is it?” Kit said. “Where’s Sidney?”
Heron just sighed.
“You’ll find out, soon enough,” Shrike said.
Kit forced down his porridge, feeling sick. Had Sidney run away in the night and not even woken him? Had he been caught and punished, perhaps locked up in the storehouse again? He waited until all the other boys had left the dining hall before approaching Master Fox, who was putting something away in the chest. It looked like a set of clothes, of a size to fit Kit. Or his friend.
Fox looked up at the question. “Sidney? He’s gone.”
“Gone where, sir?”
“Away. He failed his test.”
Kit stared at him. “But he only just got here.”
“We have no room for those who do not fit in.”
Fox closed the lid and straightened up.
“And… when do I take my test, sir?”
“Tonight, I believe. Master Shawe is looking forward to it.”