The Heresy of Dr Dee

where all could see.

‘So men came to Prys Gethin’s dungeon at New Radnor, with a proposition.’

‘He’d be suspicious, of course, at first,’ Thomas Jones said, ‘if the men who came to him were English.’

‘And if they were not? If he was addressed in Welsh?’

‘Duw, you’re right. Who thinks of all this?’

I’m sure we both saw the dimensions of it now, the plan laid out with all its Euclidian precision.

The alarming thought came to me that there would have been no one better to put the proposal to Prys Gethin than Thomas Jones – Twm Sion Cati himself.

No such thing as a free pardon.

But, no, his pardon had come from the Queen, and this plan was the most savage thrust into Elizabeth’s heart. He wouldn’t do it and they wouldn’t demand it of him for fear that he’d go along with it and then, with typical cunning, damage it at the eleventh hour.

Or was that what he was doing now? Dear Christ, I was out of my head, dizzy with imaginings.

‘Just say it, John,’ Thomas Jones said wearily.

I nodded, closing my eyes.

‘A bargain is cut. Against all reason, Prys Gethin walks free. While Robert Dudley – Master Roberts – never comes back across the border.’

I felt myself sinking inexorably into the most treacherous political marsh in the world, full of rapids and sucking pools, dark water, hanging weed.

* * *

‘Fortunate that you were out of town, when they took him,’ Thomas Jones said, ‘otherwise, they’d’ve had you as well, and we wouldn’t be sitting here working it all out. And you, I’m guessing, would have been long dead. Your value being – beg mercy, John – negligible by comparison.’

I could not argue with this.

‘They took him, how?’ I said. ‘Where?’

No sooner was the question out than I knew.

My name is Mistress Branwen Laetitia Swift. Ask anyone in this town.

Maybe a sleeping draught in a cup of wine he’d not refuse. Perhaps poison.

I stiffened.

‘I should also have told you,’ Thomas Jones said, ‘that while discreetly following the Roberts brothers around town before their departure for Brynglas, I was led to a warehouse on the outskirts. Gwyn let himself in and then came out quite quickly. I think he was just making sure it was still there. Would still be there when it was needed.’

‘What?’

‘A cart. Wooden frame and a cover. As much of it as I could see.’

‘How would they know what was required of them?’

‘I imagine a message was conveyed to them from Prys. By mouth – I’d doubt either of them can read. Likely whoever went to Gethin at New Radnor would then have conveyed instructions to the brothers.’

‘Gethin would have revealed their names to him?’

‘If his life depended on it, he’d certainly take the chance with their lives. I don’t know how it was done – likely the man would go alone, unarmed, as a sign of trust. I don’t know. All we can be sure of is that none of them will know who authorised the bargain. How high it goes. And the beauty of it, when you think about it, is that they know that Prys, as a devout Welshman, will never – not even under the most imaginative of tortures – reveal a deal struck with the English.’

Perfection. I stood up.

‘So they have Dudley. Alive or…’

‘I think we must assume they have him,’ Thomas Jones said.

Apart from the scratting of rats or badgers in the wood, there was silence.

So here it was: for the sake of England, or someone’s idea of what was best for her, it had been agreed to spare a killer. A many times murderer who relished the slick of blood upon his skin and believed himself justified… driven by the ghosts of Glyndwr and Rhys Gethin. This man released to rob and kill and rape again at will.

‘Though Gethin might end up quietly dead,’ I said. ‘Knowing what he knows.’

‘If they ever find him. And I doubt they would.’ Plump, Welsh Thomas Jones was leaned back, looking at me, his eyes slitted. ‘There we are. I’ve told you all I know. What happens next is for you to say.’

‘How sure are you that they’ve taken Dudley to Brynglas?’

‘It’s no more than an astute guess, John. Though what I might add is that, before he disappears forever, it strikes me as likely that Prys will want to come to Brynglas. I do think he believes that Rhys Gethin is within him. Is part of him. And this is Rhys’s place… the citadel of his highest triumph. So… a final pilgrimage. A meeting with Rhys.’

‘Or whatever demon he’s invested with the spirit of Rhys. You said that. What did you mean by it?’

‘Ah, well… I think we may have read some of the same books.’

‘But you more than—

‘Hush.’

Thomas Jones was on his feet. The sound of a distant horse, moving at speed, was no longer so distant.

XLVI Portal

HE’D BEEN AFRAID to sleep lest they came for him, the local men who sought Gethin.

Roger Vaughan: also a local man. The only local man within the judge’s company. Therefore, the local man who had let it happen, the young pettifogger raised beyond his abilities in return for selling his county town down its mean river. The cry of traitor resounding from an open window as he returned to his inn after taking my mare to the ostler. A big, sharp stone glancing from a wall by his head.

‘I was watching by my window, see,’ he said, ‘for those fools to come back from the hills. Trying to stay awake. Which is how I saw the arrival of Dr Jones at the Bull, and then the two of you leaving along the Knighton road, and I… felt less secure.’

He truly thought he’d feel safer with us, a conjurer and a pardoned felon, than left alone in Presteigne?

‘We’re all gone from there now,’ the boy said. ‘Every one of us who journeyed with the judge.’

A sheepish shrug as he stood there, holding his horse’s bridle. I explained our situation, telling Thomas Jones he could say what he wanted in front of Vaughan. Didn’t know how wise this was, but it was too late for secrecy. I suppose I was glad to have Roger Vaughan with us, a lawyer, with a lawyer’s sharp mind, but also a local man alert to the snares of the Hidden.

‘There might be a hundred armed men in Presteigne by morning,’ I said, ‘if Forest gets to Ludlow unharmed. But it would be foolish for us to wait for them.’

‘I know my way around Brynglas,’ Vaughan said.

‘We don’t know Dudley was taken there,’ I told him. ‘Or if he was, where exactly he might have been taken… But if these brothers have him, they’re likely to want proof that Gethin has been freed, before… they fulfil their side of the bargain.’

It was my only hope for Dudley, but I saw Thomas Jones shaking his head.

‘It’s Gethin who’ll want the proof of his freedom. The knowledge than no one is on his trail. And also, from what I know of him, he’ll want to… well, an Englishman of Dudley’s status, he’ll want to finish it himself. In some…’

He tightened his lips, half turned away.

‘Ritual fashion?’ I said.

‘He has a legend to support,’ Thomas Jones said. ‘And that’s another reason why he’d want it to be done here.’