A Crowning Mercy (54 page)

'I know. Served?'

'That's right.' Vavasour Devorax took off his helmet again, hanging it by its strap on a pistol butt that was holstered to his saddle. He moved slowly, not giving alarm, and undid his saddlebag. He took out a stone bottle, uncorked it, and drank. 'You want some, Mr Slythe? It's Rumbullion from the Indies.'

Slythe shook his head, forcing himself to think clearly. He forgot the cold, the damp, and in his precise, flat voice he questioned Devorax about his long service to Mordecai Lopez. Devorax answered willingly, describing even how he had taken Campion from the Tower. He hid nothing, giving Ebenezer the address of Lopez's house. 'You can go there, Mr Slythe. He's not supposed to own a house in London so you might as well take what's there. You can share the proceeds with me.' He grinned.

Ebenezer was still not satisfied. 'Why are you betraying Lopez?'

'Betray?' Devorax laughed. 'You can't betray a Jew, Mr Slythe. They killed our Saviour, remember? You can cheat the bastards through eternity and it isn't a sin.'

That made sense to Ebenezer, but he was still not satisfied. 'Why did you serve him so long?'

'Wages, Mr Slythe, wages. He paid me.' Devorax put the bottle to his lips and Ebenezer saw a dribble of dark liquid stain the short, grey beard. Devorax rested the bottle on his saddle and stared at the gallows where the two bodies turned slowly in the wind. 'I'm getting old, Mr Slythe, and I don't want wages any more. I want a farm, and I want to die in my own bed, and I want enough money to be drunk every night and have a wife wake me for breakfast.' He seemed to become morose. 'I'm tired of the damned Jew, Mr Slythe. He pats me on the head as if I'm his lapdog. He throws me a bone now and then, but I won't be a damned dog to anyone! You understand, Mr Slythe? I'm no one's damned dog!'

The sudden, savage anger surprised Ebenezer. 'I understand.'

'I hope you do, Mr Slythe, I hope you do. I've done that Jew's dirty work throughout Europe. He's given money to armies in England, the Low Countries, Sweden, Italy, France and Spain, and I've had to be there for him. Do this, do that, and then a bloody pat on the head. God's bowels! I thought he'd give me something one day; a farm, a house, a business, but no, nothing. Then along comes Aretine's bastard daughter and what does she get? Enough money to buy out a dozen stinking Jews. She doesn't need the damned money, Mr Slythe! She's married her man, let him provide for her.'

Ebenezer kept his voice mild. 'You say the Jew saved your life?'

'Christ on the cross!' Devorax spat into the mud. 'He took me from the galleys, that's all. I wasn't nailed to a damned tree, puking out my lungs. So he saved me from a slow death in a galley. So? Do you know how many men's lives I've saved, Mr Slythe? I'm a real soldier, not one of these pretty boys prancing around in a meadow squeaking "King Charles! King Charles!" Christ! I've seen battlefields so thick with blood that it made puddles! I've had this sword crusted to my hand with blood at the end of a day, and then slept in the open so my hair froze to the blood puddles! Jesus! I've saved men's lives, but I don't expect a lifetime of gratitude from them. A drink or two, maybe, but not eternal worship.' He tipped the bottle again, his saddle creaking as he moved. When he spoke again his voice was grudging. 'I'm not saying he hasn't treated me fair, Mr Slythe, but I can't go on for ever. Do you know what the Jew paid me for getting the girl out of the Tower?' Ebenezer shook his head. Devorax laughed. 'Fifteen gold pieces between all of us! Do you know how hard it is to get someone out of the Tower?' He shook his savage head broodily. 'I expected more, I deserved more.'

Ebenezer smiled. Something in him responded to Vavasour Devorax. Perhaps, he thought, it was the sheer, animal strength of the soldier, a strength that Ebenezer knew could never be his. Or perhaps it was the stories of a sword crusted to a man's hand, of fields of blood, stories that stirred Ebenezer. 'So what are you offering, Devorax?'

Devorax smiled. The rain had plastered his short hair to his skull, giving him a malevolent, even more brutal look. 'I'll give you the Seal of St Luke, plus the girl. I assume you don't want her to live to twenty-five?' He lifted the rum to his lips, then paused. 'You can have her damned husband, too, if you want him.'

Ebenezer nodded. 'You'll bring the seal from Amsterdam?'

'No! It's in Oxford.' Devorax laughed. 'I stole the impressions from her. The Jew insisted she have it, as a memory of her father.' He laughed at the thought.

Ebenezer stirred with excitement. If the Seal of St Luke was in Oxford, then everything could be much simpler. He kept his voice precise and expressionless. 'And what do you want?'

Vavasour Devorax looked down at the bottle, then challenged Ebenezer with a sly, arrogant gaze. 'I've got twelve men. I can't just abandon them. One hundred pounds apiece. And for me?' He seemed to think. 'Two thousand.' He held up a hand as if to ward off a protest. 'I know it's a lot, but I also know how much the Covenant's worth.'

Ebenezer kept his face straight. The demand did sound extortionate, but it was nothing compared to the yield of the Covenant. 'Why did you approach me, Devorax, and not Sir Grenville Cony?'

Devorax gave a short, bitter laugh. 'You'd trust a lawyer, Mr Slythe? God's breeches! He'll twist everything and cheat us blind! I've learned a thing or two in fifty years, Mr Slythe. I can empty saddles faster than most men, I can tear out a windpipe with my bare fingers, and I've learned; never, never trust a damned lawyer. Do you trust him?'

Ebenezer shrugged. 'Perhaps.'

'You're getting the money from the Covenant, yes?' Devorax waited for Ebenezer's small nod. The soldier watched the younger man very carefully. 'How much does he give you? Five thousand a year? Six? Seven?' Devorax smiled. 'That's it. Seven.'

'So?'

The rum bottle tipped, Devorax drank, then grinned at Ebenezer. 'Mordecai Lopez reckons the Covenant ought to be worth nearer twenty thousand a year. That's how much that fat, bastard lawyer is cheating you. Do you think we can trust him? What do you think he'll do if he gets all three seals? Give us our share?' Devorax shook his head. 'No, Mr Slythe, it'll be a quick knifing in the night and two shallow graves. I won't deal with Sir Grenville Cony.'

Ebenezer stretched his left, lame leg. 'And how do I know that I can trust you?'

'Sweet Jesus! Do I look as if I need twenty thousand a year? Christ! I don't want to be pursued by damned parasites for ever. No. You give me enough to buy my favourite whorehouse, Mr Slythe, and I assure you of my undying devotion. And free service for you, of course.'

'I thought it was a farm you wanted.' Ebenezer smiled.

'A bastard farm.' Devorax laughed.

Ebenezer felt flattered to be humoured by this man, yet his defences were not down. 'How do you know you can trust me?'

Devorax grinned. He corked the rum bottle, pushed it into his saddlebag, and then pulled the helmet on to his head. 'Watch me, Mr Slythe.'

Devorax's horse turned, seemingly from pressure of the rider's knee, and then it went into a trot. There was a scraping hiss, Devorax's long, straight sword was free, and he shouted at his horse that went into a spirited canter. Mud flew up from the hooves.

The crows flapped off in alarm. Devorax stood in the saddle, approaching one of the hanged men, and then his sword arm blurred into vicious speed. A downstroke sliced through the shoulder of the corpse, severing a dead arm, and, in the same motion, the sword looped up and chopped through the second shoulder. Before the first arm slopped into the mud, the second was falling.

'Hup! Hup!' Devorax shouted.

Ebenezer had heard of trained cavalry horses, but had never seen one in action. The horse wheeled, rearing as it turned, hooves lashing against enemies, and then Devorax was riding again towards the swinging corpse. 'Go! Go! Go!'

The sword was brought forward in a savage, huge stroke, driven by all the strength of the helmeted man. It cut clean through the rotting body, spine and belly, spilling liquids and decomposing entrails out of the abdomen, and again the sword kept moving in a fast, brilliant backstroke as the horse reared, the blade neatly chopping through the distended neck. The head thumped from the empty noose, falling beside the dismembered corpse.

It had been a remarkable display of horsemanship and weaponry. Devorax tipped his helmet off again, looped it on his saddle and grinned at Ebenezer. His voice was as cold as the wind. 'Think what I can do to a living body, Mr Slythe.'

Devorax cleaned the stinking filth off his blade by running it between finger and thumb, wiped his hand in his horse's mane, and then slammed the sword home. His two men grinned. Ebenezer's guards, like their master, stared at the grotesque horror that had so suddenly been chopped into the mud. The stench was appalling. Devorax trotted back to Ebenezer's side. He was not in the least breathless, as calm and composed as before his hideous display. He took the bottle from his saddlebag. 'Can I trust you, Mr Slythe?'

Ebenezer Slythe did a remarkable thing, he laughed. He looked from the carrion on the ground to the big, ugly soldier. 'You can trust me, Devorax.' He looked back to the corpse. Already the crows were tearing at the easy pickings offered by Devorax's sword. 'How do you propose giving me the girl and the Seal of St Luke?'

Devorax closed his eyes as he drank, then tossed the empty stone bottle away. 'There's no problem. If the girl doesn't come then I have other impressions of the seal. We can fix them to paper. But she'll come.' He grinned. 'She doesn't like me, but she trusts me. She thinks I'm collecting the seals for her. The difficult thing, Mr Slythe, is not your sister, but Sir Grenville. I assume he has both seals?'

'And he guards them well.' Ebenezer was leaning forward eagerly, but the thought of parting Sir Grenville from the two seals seemed to deflate him. He shrugged. 'Even I can't get close to them.'

'You will.' Devorax seemed unworried by Ebenezer's gloom. He took a new bottle from his saddlebag and pulled out the stopper. 'I have the use of a ship, Mr Slythe. I propose that you and I meet Sir Grenville and the girl at a remote place on the coast where we will part them from their seals and sail on to Amsterdam. Simple.' He grinned.

Ebenezer shook his head. 'Sir Grenville won't travel with the seals. I told you, he guards them too well.'

Devorax said nothing. The rain pattered on his leather jacket, dripped from his boots, soaked his hair. He smiled. 'What's he afraid of?'

Ebenezer looked up at the grey clouds. 'Of someone else assembling the seals.'

Devorax's voice was patient, like a teacher with a pupil. 'Dorcas already has the Seal of St Luke?'

'So you tell me.'

'And she held the Seal of St Matthew for several months. Suppose Sir Grenville was told that during those months she had taken some wax impressions of St Matthew? That would give her two seals, yes?'

Ebenezer nodded.

'And remember, Mr Slythe, there is a fourth seal. Suppose Sir Grenville thought that Aretine was alive, that Aretine was meeting her in Amsterdam?' Devorax held up his left hand and raised, one by one, three fingers. 'Matthew, Luke, and John.' He grinned. 'Don't you think Sir Grenville would do anything to stop her? And he'd have to go himself, Mr Slythe. He wouldn't risk anyone else getting the seals from her.'

Ebenezer smiled. He saw the elegance of the suggestion, yet he also saw the difficulties. 'Did the girl take impressions of Matthew?'

The grey eyes were on him. 'No, Mr Slythe, but she tells me you possessed the seal after her.' Devorax grinned. 'Were you so honest with it?'

Ebenezer laughed again and nodded. 'I have impressions.'

'Good! So tell Sir Grenville about me. Give him the half seal of Luke and a whole impression of Matthew. Tell him you've bought me, that I'm betraying Lopez, tell him the truth except for one thing.'

'That you'll kill him?'

'That we'll kill him.' Devorax laughed. 'Give him the seals, Mr Slythe, and tell him about Lopez's house. He'll believe you.'

Rain dripped from Ebenezer's hat brim. The cloak was wet through and heavy. 'How do I persuade him that Aretine's alive?'

'You don't. I will.' Devorax smiled. 'Two days ago, Mr Slythe, the last ship of the season docked from Maryland. Two days from now I'll give Sir Grenville proof that Aretine's in town.'

Ebenezer smiled. 'He'll panic'

'Good! He'll hear about it on Thursday morning. So be ready to move, Mr Slythe, be ready to go with him.'

'Where?'

If there was a trap here, Ebenezer reasoned. Vavasour Devorax would be unwilling to disclose the rendezvous on the eastern coast where the seals were, at last, to be brought together. If Ebenezer knew the rendezvous he could send men ahead, men to scour the place against a possible ambush, but Vavasour Devorax gladly named the building and the village where he planned to strip Sir Grenville of his seals, where he planned to take the Seal of St Luke.

Ebenezer memorised the instructions. 'I can take guards there?'

'You'd be a fool not to. Sir Grenville undoubtedly will.'

'When do we meet there?'

Devorax shrugged. 'Soon, Mr Slythe, very soon.' He nodded towards his men who waited motionless on their horses. 'I'll send Mason to you. Don't be surprised if he comes in the middle of the night. Where will Mason look for you?'

Ebenezer told him. 'How soon is soon, Devorax?'

The ugly face grinned as the soldier gathered his reins. 'Within a week, Mr Slythe, within a week.' Devorax turned his horse.

Ebenezer was unwilling to let him go. He liked being close to the strength of this man and was already wondering how he could entice Devorax into his own plans once the Covenant was his. 'Devorax! One last question.'

Devorax grinned. 'Only one?'

'How do you convince Sir Grenville that Aretine lives?'

Devorax's grin became broader. He pushed the rum bottle into his saddlebag and pulled the helmet over his head. 'That's my secret! Wait and see. You'll enjoy it!' His horse went into a walk.

'Devorax?'

The soldier turned. 'Mr Slythe?'

'I have your two hundred pounds!'