The Traitor’s Mark by D. K. Wilson Page B

offer protection to Holbein’s children. They are safe in one of my cottages at Hemmings.’
    â€˜I’ll certainly make enquiries. Be sure to let me know if you hear any more. We must rid the realm ...’
    â€˜Good even, Sir Thomas. I’m taking my leave now.’ The speaker, emerging from the shadows beside the door, was Edward Thwaites. ‘Will you ride with us?’ He smiled at me. ‘I think your friend and neighbour, James Dewey, is already fetching your horses from the stable yard.’
    Within minutes we had collected our party together and were on our way northwards. The sky was growing steadily darker and, before we had travelled more than five miles, the storm crashed violently all around us. Lightning jagged the sky. The rain was more like a waterfall.
    Thwaites pointed to a cluster of buildings close to the roadside and we spurred our horses towards the only visible shelter. Our refuge was three cottages and a tiled barn. Thwaites took instant command. He sent the servants into the barn for shelter with the horses, then ran towards the nearest cottage, with James and I following, our cloaks held tight around us. Thwaites kicked the door open and we tumbled into the dim interior. A young woman sat spinning by the light of a small lamp. Two small children sat close to her on the rushes and looked up frightened as we burst in.
    Thwaites removed his cloak and shook it vigorously, showering water all over the floor. ‘Good day, Mistress. Seats for me and my friends and set our clothes by the fire to dry.’
    Wordlessly, the woman vacated her stool and indicated a bench close to the wall. She took our sodden garments andbusied herself arranging them on hooks by the hearth. The infants retreated to a corner where they sat huddled together, staring at us with wide eyes.
    â€˜When you’ve done that, fetch us some ale.’ Thwaites lowered himself on to the stool and stretched his legs before him.‘Dear God, what weather!’
    We gazed out through the still open doorway into what appeared to be an opaque wall of water. I turned to watch the woman impassively obeying her instructions. It brought back memories. One was very recent: my arrival, well-soaked, at Lizzie’s house and the cheerful willingness with which she made me comfortable. The other – a painful childhood recollection but just as salutary – was of a sound thrashing I had received from my father when he caught me insolently giving orders to one of our servants.
    â€˜What do you think, Thomas?’ I was aware that James was speaking.
    â€˜Sorry, I was daydreaming.’
    â€˜Edward is offering us his hospitality.’
    â€˜We’re not far from my house. You must spend the night there,’ Thwaites said.
    â€˜That’s good of you, Edward,’ I replied, ‘but I must get home today.’
    â€˜What! Through this? You must do no such thing. I won’t hear of it. If you try to travel on, you won’t reach home by nightfall and like as not you’ll be stopped by another savage tempest and lucky to find even a hovel like this for shelter.No, when this rain eases you’ll come to Chilham. We’ll see you well supped and rested and set you back on the road tomorrow as soon as the weather is fit for Christians.’
    â€˜I’m concerned for my people at Hemmings,’ I protested. ‘I ought—’
    â€˜If they’ve any wits, your people at Hemmings will be well bolted in,’ Thwaites persisted. ‘They won’t need you to show them how to keep the weather out.’
    James said, ‘He’s right, Thomas. We’d be churls to reject Edward’s offer. I’ve certainly no stomach for riding on through this.’
    I could see the sense of what they were saying and, despite my anxieties, I accepted Thwaites’s hospitality. An hour or so later we made the short journey to his house at Chilham, where he was as good as his