it.’
‘They did get away with it,’ Mun said, aware of his own heartbeat, hoping that his eyes gave away nothing. For with the help of the mercenary Osmyn Hooker, Mun and Emmanuelhad broken the five rebel prisoners out of their gaol that night. They had made traitors of themselves and risked everything. Because one of those rebels had been Tom, and Nehemiah Boone, Mun’s captain – another bastard in Mun’s book – would have seen Tom hanged the next day and taken altogether too much pleasure in it.
‘Indeed,’ Rupert’s man said. ‘I have been considering hiring Mr Hooker to find out who was responsible. He is a very resourceful fellow. When one can find him.’ He knows, Mun thought. Or at least he suspects. ‘Can you imagine what would happen to the men if they were found? Especially if, as is suspected, they are King’s men.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You recall what we did to the traitor Blake, the Prince’s personal secretary?’
‘I watched him hang,’ Mun said. ‘He deserved it.’
Hook Nose’s eyes flicked from left to right, taking in every aspect of Mun’s face, like maggots trying to wriggle deeper inside flesh. ‘Enough of rebels and traitors,’ he said. ‘Let us get back to the issue of
your
duty. Furthermore, if duty is not in itself enough to lure you away from this desolate, freezing land, if that fruit is yet too tart, let me sprinkle some sugar in the pie. If you perform the service that we require of you, your reward will be not ungenerous. I am sure Mr Hooker’s services cost you dear, even though I had agreed with him to settle that account.’ He tilted his head then, gauging Mun’s reaction to that.
That bastard Hooker
, Mun thought, for with the rebels beaten the mercenary had indeed duped him into draining his family’s silver reserves, just as Mun had suspected at the time. ‘
You
paid Hooker?’ Mun asked.
The agent nodded. ‘You only got Hooker and his men because of me. It was my doing.’ He wafted long white fingers through the numbing air. ‘But that is not important now.’
Mun’s head was spinning. He felt nauseated by the thought that this man had been manipulating events all along. PerhapsHook Nose had had it from Osmyn Hooker’s own lips that it had been Mun who had broken the rebel prisoners out at Meriden, but here was someone who would only use that leverage when he needed it.
Could he even have fashioned the rope that had hanged George Green? Surely not, Mun thought. And yet somehow this man, whose name he did not even know, had manoeuvred him into a position of weakness, something the rebels had been unable to do since Mun had broken the siege of Shear House and begun to hunt them across the moors, forests and valleys of Lancashire.
Mun looked at his men now as they came out of their shelters to add fuel to, and gather by, O’Brien’s fire, the rain having all but stopped. They were good men. Mun knew that they would follow him.
Then he looked back at the man before him, who looked nothing much but was as dangerous as a blade in the dark.
‘What is it that you need me to do?’ he said.
Bess did not like Alexander Dane. The man was arrogant. Or else plain rude. He had arrived at her grandfather the earl’s house just after midday and with a pallor that only accentuated the dark circles burrowed beneath his eyes. His breeches, shirt, doublet and cloak had about them all the neatness of having been slept in and his whole appearance slurred of a night drenched in ale.
‘By God, man, you’re still at your altitudes!’ Lord Heylyn had remarked as Dane dismounted from a sorry-looking Welsh cob, snagging his foot in the stirrup and all but falling on his face. He muttered a curse at his horse, which lifted its head and snorted as if to say it had heard it all before, then he bent, placing his hands on his knee, and Bess thought he would vomit. Instead, he spat into the mud, dragged a gloved hand across his mouth and stood up nearly
‘They did get away with it,’ Mun said, aware of his own heartbeat, hoping that his eyes gave away nothing. For with the help of the mercenary Osmyn Hooker, Mun and Emmanuelhad broken the five rebel prisoners out of their gaol that night. They had made traitors of themselves and risked everything. Because one of those rebels had been Tom, and Nehemiah Boone, Mun’s captain – another bastard in Mun’s book – would have seen Tom hanged the next day and taken altogether too much pleasure in it.
‘Indeed,’ Rupert’s man said. ‘I have been considering hiring Mr Hooker to find out who was responsible. He is a very resourceful fellow. When one can find him.’ He knows, Mun thought. Or at least he suspects. ‘Can you imagine what would happen to the men if they were found? Especially if, as is suspected, they are King’s men.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You recall what we did to the traitor Blake, the Prince’s personal secretary?’
‘I watched him hang,’ Mun said. ‘He deserved it.’
Hook Nose’s eyes flicked from left to right, taking in every aspect of Mun’s face, like maggots trying to wriggle deeper inside flesh. ‘Enough of rebels and traitors,’ he said. ‘Let us get back to the issue of
your
duty. Furthermore, if duty is not in itself enough to lure you away from this desolate, freezing land, if that fruit is yet too tart, let me sprinkle some sugar in the pie. If you perform the service that we require of you, your reward will be not ungenerous. I am sure Mr Hooker’s services cost you dear, even though I had agreed with him to settle that account.’ He tilted his head then, gauging Mun’s reaction to that.
That bastard Hooker
, Mun thought, for with the rebels beaten the mercenary had indeed duped him into draining his family’s silver reserves, just as Mun had suspected at the time. ‘
You
paid Hooker?’ Mun asked.
The agent nodded. ‘You only got Hooker and his men because of me. It was my doing.’ He wafted long white fingers through the numbing air. ‘But that is not important now.’
Mun’s head was spinning. He felt nauseated by the thought that this man had been manipulating events all along. PerhapsHook Nose had had it from Osmyn Hooker’s own lips that it had been Mun who had broken the rebel prisoners out at Meriden, but here was someone who would only use that leverage when he needed it.
Could he even have fashioned the rope that had hanged George Green? Surely not, Mun thought. And yet somehow this man, whose name he did not even know, had manoeuvred him into a position of weakness, something the rebels had been unable to do since Mun had broken the siege of Shear House and begun to hunt them across the moors, forests and valleys of Lancashire.
Mun looked at his men now as they came out of their shelters to add fuel to, and gather by, O’Brien’s fire, the rain having all but stopped. They were good men. Mun knew that they would follow him.
Then he looked back at the man before him, who looked nothing much but was as dangerous as a blade in the dark.
‘What is it that you need me to do?’ he said.
Bess did not like Alexander Dane. The man was arrogant. Or else plain rude. He had arrived at her grandfather the earl’s house just after midday and with a pallor that only accentuated the dark circles burrowed beneath his eyes. His breeches, shirt, doublet and cloak had about them all the neatness of having been slept in and his whole appearance slurred of a night drenched in ale.
‘By God, man, you’re still at your altitudes!’ Lord Heylyn had remarked as Dane dismounted from a sorry-looking Welsh cob, snagging his foot in the stirrup and all but falling on his face. He muttered a curse at his horse, which lifted its head and snorted as if to say it had heard it all before, then he bent, placing his hands on his knee, and Bess thought he would vomit. Instead, he spat into the mud, dragged a gloved hand across his mouth and stood up nearly
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