While they watched each other, Thomas struggled with the knot that tied his left hand to the bed frame. He got it free and reached down to tackle the rope around his legs. Rush must have seen the movement from the corner of his eye. He backed away from Simon towards the bed. A quick thrust into Thomas’s unprotected throat, and he would turn back to Simon. Thomas could not free his legs in time. He sat up and waited for the strike, hoping somehow to parry it. It never came. The moment Rush turned his head towards Thomas for the thrust, Simon launched himself at his back. Both men crashed on to the bed, pinning Thomas underneath them. Simon grabbed Rush’s arm in both hands and bent it backwards. Rush screamed and the sword fell from his hand. Winded and unable to move his body, Thomas managed to free a hand and jab his fingers into Rush’s throat. At the same time, Simon grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head back. Rush screamed again and flailed wildly with his arms. It did no good. Simon de Pointz was a strong man. He held Rush easily, pulled him off the bed and dumped him on his face on the floor.
‘The ropes, Thomas, if you can,’ he said. ‘We’d better tie this thing up before it can slither away.’
Thomas freed his legs and used the ropes to tie Rush’s arms and legs securely, while Simon sat on his back and held him down by the neck. Unarmed, Rush was no match for his tall opponent.
‘You’re an unusual friar. I thought Franciscans were peaceful souls,’ said Thomas, standing up to examine his handiwork.
‘In the backstreets and alleyways of Norwich, a boy learned to defend himself. St Francis would not disapprove of self-defence.’ Holding him by his hair, Simon hoisted Rush to his feet. ‘And if he had known this creature, he might even have advocated striking first.’
For the first time since Simon had broken down the door, Rush spoke. ‘Curse your eyes, monk.’
Simon shook him by the hair. ‘Save your breath, Rush. You’ll need it for the king. And I am not a monk, as you well know.’
Rush spat on the floor. ‘Pathetic little man.’
‘You can tell him that yourself. Clean yourself up, Thomas, and then let us escort Master Rush to his majesty.’
With his swordstick, Rush was an expert. Only drops of blood were seeping from Thomas’s wounds and he was able to stop the worst of it by pressing a damp cloth over them. The dried blood he washed off. A simple salve would heal the wounds; he’d have to speak to Simon later. Having made himself as respectable as he could, Thomas took one arm, Simon the other, and together they marched Rush off to meet his king.
In the early hours of an October morning, his majesty was not best pleased to be roused from sleep to be told that Master Hill and Father de Pointz were outside and must see him at once. His first thought was that something untoward had happened to prevent the queen leaving the city quietly. They had said their farewells the previous evening, swearing undying love and re assuring each other that they would meet again soon. Arrangements for her journey had been hastily revised and she would now travel to Salisbury on the way to Exeter. Both Hill and De Pointz were supposed to be going with her. What were they doing here?
He soon found out. A long fur robe over his nightgown, he stormed into the receiving room, where Thomas and Simon held Rush between them. Six Lifeguards stood around the walls. It took the king a moment to take in the scene. Tobias Rush, the traitor who had escaped capture, back in Oxford and held by these men. How? ‘I once observed that my birds had flown,’ he said, regaining his wits. ‘Now I observe that one has returned. Guards, take this man in charge.’ Two guards jumped to it, taking Rush from Thomas and Simon. ‘Now, gentlemen, perhaps you would explain yourselves.’
When they had done so, the king turned to Rush. ‘I once trusted you. Now I know you to be a traitor and a murderer, and of the foulest kind. Before you are executed, you will reveal everything you know about our enemies. Take him to the castle.’
‘Your majesty, if I may explain …’
‘Take him.’ With a protesting Rush between them, the two guards marched out of the room. ‘Betrayed by his own vanity and greed. How foolish.’
Indeed, thought Thomas, but he isn’t the first and he won’t be the last.
‘Is the queen safe?’ the king asked Simon.
‘She is, your majesty.’
‘Then we shall delay her departure until Master Rush has told us what he knows. I will send word to her. Master Hill, you will be summoned when there is news.’
Outside the Deanery, Thomas asked, ‘A word of thanks would not have been out of place, Simon, don’t you think?’
Simon shrugged. ‘His majesty takes the loyalty and suffering of his subjects for granted. He expects no less.’
‘Royal vanity. Doubtless an altogether finer quality than the common variety. For his sake, I do hope so. Now, Simon, as the door to my room has been kicked in by an intruder, I would rather lay my head elsewhere. Have you any suggestions?’
‘Merton always welcomes you, Thomas. My bed is your bed. I must attend the queen.’
Having told Simon everything Rush had said, Thomas returned that evening to his room at Christ Church, to find that royal vanity had allowed a gesture of royal kindness and the lock on his door had been repaired. The only thing I know is that I know nothing, he thought. Socrates, or possibly Plato. They’re easily confused. Very few men survived more than a taste of the type of examination conducted at the castle, and he guessed that the royal summons would come within a day or two.
A day or two with little to do but read, think of home and wait impatiently for news. That made for a long day or two, and Thomas’s temper was not improved by the steady autumn rain that discouraged walking in the meadows or the Physic Garden. On the first afternoon he paid another visit to John Porter, and on the second he called on Simon.
Simon too had heard nothing. ‘The queen’s temper is as short as yours, Thomas. She is desperate to reach France in time for the birth, and she does not like ships that are blown about by autumn gales.’
‘Let us hope Rush speaks soon. I may die of frustration if he doesn’t.’
‘Be patient, Thomas. I promise you will soon see your family again. It’s simply that the king will not hear of the queen leaving the safety of the town until Rush has disclosed everything he knows about the plot to capture her.’
‘He might die before doing so.’
‘He might. The king thinks not. He has faith in his interrogator.’
Despite himself, Thomas shuddered. ‘How much longer can he survive before talking?’
‘A day or two. Then the queen will leave, and we shall accom pany her. The king will double the strength of her guard and we will take a different route to Exeter.’
‘Why not just let her go?’
‘The king would much prefer to have broken Rush before she leaves, and to know exactly what his enemies have planned.’
‘Rush claimed that Oxford is brimming with spies. If so, the king’s enemies will know by now of his arrest, and have changed or abandoned their plans.’
‘Nevertheless, the king’s mind is made up.’
Simon was right. No man could survive more than two or three days if that was what the king had ordered. He would speak or die. The summons came that evening. Thomas was escorted to the Deanery and shown straight into the king’s receiving room.
‘Master Hill,’ said the king without preamble, ‘an hour ago I received word that Tobias Rush had died from his wounds under examination, having told us nothing. I went at once to the castle to see the body for myself. I am not sorry to say that he had suffered as a traitor should suffer. His limbs were broken and his face a bloody mess of flesh and bone. Had I not been informed, I would not have known him. I have ordered his remains burned. I shall pray for his soul, evil and treacherous though it was.’
‘I too cannot say that I’m sorry. He was a traitor, a torturer and a murderer.’