Page 58 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

‘ W e have a fine day for it!’ Lord Gerard looked surprisingly cheerful for a man who was about to go on trial for his life.

The cart carrying Gerard, Vowells, Fox and Kit to Westminster lurched, throwing Kit against Gerard. The four of them were manacled hand and foot. Kit raised his head to look at the bright blue cloudless sky. The warm July sun did little except exacerbate the stinking refuse in the street.

Gerard clapped him on the shoulder, with a clank of his chains. ‘Come, Lovell. Don’t lose hope. From what I hear tell you’ve been well looked after. You’re fortunate to have a wife with the means to ameliorate your condition. Has she paid for the services of a good lawyer, too?’

Kit ignored Gerard’s question. ‘What do you intend to do, Gerard?’ he asked.

‘Vowells and I intend to dispute the jurisdiction of the court,’ Lord Gerard answered.

Kit snorted. ‘Really? Somewhat presumptuous of you.’

‘It is a specially constituted court, Lovell. Cromwell knows if we go before a jury we will be acquitted.’

‘And if the trial proceeds?’

Gerard’s bearded chin jutted. ‘I’ll not admit involvement.’

‘Gerard, you’re a fool. The evidence is overwhelming.’

‘You mean you intend to admit guilt?’

Kit shrugged. ‘I am guilty.’ He looked at his fellow conspirators. Vowells and Fox sat in silence, their grim faces failing to reflect Gerard’s optimism. ‘And as all of you have willingly borne testimony to that fact, how can I deny it?’

Gerard regarded him for a moment.

‘You know there were whispers about your loyalty, Lovell. Some said you were Thurloe’s man.’

‘Did they?’

‘I denied it, of course, and then once Fitzjames was unmasked, that silenced the doubters. I do not doubt that it was Henshaw who betrayed us. But come, Lovell, I’ve known you, man and boy, and it is not in your character to admit defeat. Why?’

Kit looked away and didn’t answer. A few interested bystanders lined the streets but it would seem the fate of a small bunch of conspirators attracted little interest in the public. The cart lurched again and he winced as the barely knit bones of his hand jarred.

‘Are you fit enough for trial?’ Gerard asked, catching the pain on Kit’s face.

‘I’ve a few broken bones, not a broken mind,’ Kit replied. ‘Anyway, my trial will be brief. I told you, I will admit complicity.’

Gerard shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Lovell. Those footpads did more than break a few bones. Looks like they knocked the sense right out of you.’

***

Westminster Hall had seen the trial of a king. Now it would bear witness to the trial of those who would seek to kill a king.

Kit looked up at the vaulted roof and shivered.

Despite the warmth of the day, the air in the hall felt chill.

A guard pushed him forward and he shuffled towards the bench where the other three sat.

The great room yawned cavernously behind them.

When the King had been tried, stands had been constructed to hold the gallery of spectators.

For this trial, there would be no witnesses.

He had known Thamsine would be waiting outside and looked for her in the crowd.

Despite telling her to stay away, at the sight of her familiar figure, distinguished from the rest of the crowd by her height, her fine dress of dark blue with a matching mask, and the chestnut hair that curled from beneath her wide-brimmed hat, he felt comforted.

In the six weeks since she had arranged an improvement to his conditions, she had visited him every day.

They had been short, hurried meetings but they had made the days pass and given him something to look forward to, some reason to hope.

The four accused were seated on a backless bench, facing a raised platform where a table had been neatly set with feathered pens, ink and papers, ready for the judges. No spectators and no jury. In that respect Gerard was right. If they were tried before a jury they would undoubtedly be acquitted.

The four judges filed in and took their seats without even looking at the accused men. He didn’t recognise any of them. Not that it mattered. The whole proceeding was a sham.

The charges were read and the men asked to plead. Gerard, as the senior in age and rank, rose to his feet.

‘I refuse to submit to the jurisdiction of this court,’ he declared, his beard jutting imperiously at the bench of judges.

‘And I.’ Vowells rose beside him. ‘We are innocent of the charges laid before you and we demand the right to a fair trial by a jury of our peers.’

The senior judge’s eye moved to Fox and Kit. ‘And you?’

Kit rose slowly to his feet. ‘Sir, you have before you, no doubt, a full confession signed by me, admitting my complicity in a plot against the Lord Protector. I see no point in disputing the jurisdiction of this court when such evidence would secure a conviction before any court.’

There was a general nodding of heads and the eyes moved to Fox.

Fox, less sure of himself, rose to his feet. His hands shook as he nodded. ‘I too have signed a confession,’ he said. ‘What Captain Lovell has said answers my case as well.’

‘Be seated. Lord Gerard, let us hear your argument as to why this court is improperly constituted.’

Gerard argued long, loudly, and to no avail. At the end of the day his arguments were dismissed and the trials commenced.

Through the haze of self-despair, Kit heard his name. He looked up.

‘I call as witness Captain Christopher Lovell,’ the prosecutor said.

Kit rose to his feet. ‘No. I will not give testimony against these men.’

‘It’s not a matter you have a choice about, Captain Lovell.’

‘I refuse to answer any questions,’ Kit said. ‘You have my confession, you need no more.’

‘You will answer the questions,’ the senior judge glared at him, ‘or it will be the worse for you.’

‘How much worse can it be?’

‘The difference between life and death.’

‘I will not bear testimony against these men.’ Kit looked across at Gerard and Vowells. ‘I have done enough.’

He sat down and they called Fox. Unlike Kit, he proved happy to talk, digging deeper graves for his conspirators with every word.

Kit lowered his head and closed his eyes, willing himself away from this place, in Thamsine’s arms, in the world they had planned where they were safe and free of England.

The guilty verdict was delivered without consultation, and any deliberation on the severity of the sentence seemed to be arbitrary.

The senior judge cleared his throat and read from a paper before him.

‘As to the accused Lord John Gerard, this court finds him guilty and sentences him to death by beheading. As to the accused Phillip Vowells, this court finds him guilty and sentences him to death by hanging. As to the accused Somerset Fox, the court finds him guilty, and in view of his admission of guilt and cooperation, sentences him to banishment to the island of Barbados. As to the accused, Christopher Lovell, the court finds him guilty and takes note of his admission of guilt, but given his close complicity in this heinous design, sentences him to death by hanging. These sentences are to be carried out as soon as is practicable.’

Kit hardly heard the words. Just for a moment, after the sentence on Fox was pronounced, he had hoped that some influence external to the court would prevail. He raised his head, scanning the room for John Thurloe, but he was not present.

He fought back the impotent rage that rose in his chest. He had trusted Thurloe, taken his advice, co-operated, and yet he would still die.

***

Thamsine set her mask and hat down on the table and pushed back the stray tendril of hair that clung to her damp forehead.

‘Thurloe won’t see me,’ she said.

‘I didn’t think he would.’ Kit set down his beloved copy of Francis Bacon and rose to his feet.

In the two months of his incarceration, his beautiful Thamsine had changed.

The fear had gone from her eyes and she carried herself with the confidence of her station in life.

He took her in his arms and kissed her chestnut hair, smelling the faint scent of rosemary and chamomile.

Thamsine gave a faint half-smile. ‘You must know every word in that book by heart.’

Kit picked it up again, flicking through the well-read pages. He held out the book to her.

‘Take it, Thamsine.’ His mouth curled in a rueful smile. ‘It’s all I have to give you.’

She took a step back. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

He closed his eyes. ‘Thamsine, Thurloe won’t see you because there is nothing he can or will do. I go to the scaffold in the morning.’

She straightened her shoulders, and he could see the strain in the line of her jaw and her throat as she swallowed. She would not make a scene or make parting any more difficult than it already was. That, in its way, was harder to bear than hysterics.

‘Talk to me of ordinary things, Tham. Tell me some gossip.’ He smiled and walked around the table, folding her in his arms.

She leaned her head against the soft linen of his shirt.

‘May has a suitor,’ she said.

‘That is good news. Who is the man?’

‘A carter. He’s a good man, solid and reliable. Just right for her.’

‘What about Nan?’

‘She is honing her tongue. I swear it grows sharper by the day, but she is pleased for May, I think.’

‘And Jem?’

‘Henpecked by Nan. She all but runs the inn now..’

With closed eyes, he caressed the nape of her neck, curling his fingers in her soft hair and trying to impress on his memory her warm, living scent.

‘And your sister?’

‘She has her good days. Since the children have been with her, she has been better.’

Thamsine gulped and her shoulders stiffened as the tears she had been struggling to contain escaped.

He held her closer and they stood locked in an embrace. There seemed to be so much to say, and yet words were inadequate and unnecessary. All that needed to be said was in the tears that soaked his shirt and in the touch of his lips on her smooth forehead.

‘I’m sorry, Tham. So sorry,’ he whispered. ‘It shouldn’t have ended like this.’

‘No,’ she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

In a sudden, swift movement he released her, his hands cupping her face, flushed with her distress, her tears spilling from her eyes.

With savage ferocity, he kissed her as if he wished to draw the life force from her and hold it within himself.

Thamsine’s tears spilled unchecked down her cheeks and onto his hands.

He pushed her away and strode to the window, looking out but not seeing the busy courtyard, his back to her, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her again. He couldn’t trust himself to remain strong.

‘Go, Thamsine,’ he said in a voice tight with emotion.

‘Kit … ’ Thamsine’s voice wavered.

‘Go … ’ he said softly. ‘Please, for both our sakes.’

He heard the door open and shut. His left hand clenched the barely healed fingers of his right and he welcomed the pain. He needed the pain.

She appeared in the yard below him, moving stiffly as if a puppeteer controlled her limbs.

Halfway across she stopped and turned to look up at his window, her face wet with tears.

He swallowed, fighting back his tears as she turned and walked away with her head bowed as if it were she who walked to the scaffold.