Divided Loyalties: An Elizabethan Spy Thriller by Steven Veerapen

Author:Steven Veerapen [Veerapen, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2019-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

6

Jack allowed Robin to embrace him. The boy had tears in his eyes and his travelling cloak was tightly knotted about his shoulders. He might have been off to his first day at university. ‘Father Thomas said not to tell you where I’m going,’ he said, blinking away tears. ‘But if not for you I wouldn’t know to go there. Newcastle,’ he winked.

‘You’ll be safe in Newcastle. Good Catholic men there. They’ll be glad to protect you.’ Robin beamed, and then strode off in the weak, wintry sunshine. Of the three Jesuits, only Adam remained in York. Thomas had gone the previous day, refusing to say goodbye to Jack or to tell him in which county he had received assurances of protection. He preferred it that way. It meant that even if Polmear turned on him, sent him somewhere to be starved and tortured, he could not betray his conscience and reveal knowledge of where the men of his religion were going. He had not the heart to say that to Robin.

As the red-haired priest disappeared from view, he felt a tug at his elbow. It was Adam, smiling. ‘Do you go soon too?’

‘Perhaps. In time. Though I will be sad to leave the true faithful in this city without comfort.’

‘More will come, though, won’t they?’

‘Oh yes, with God’s grace. No matter what becomes of us, the seminary will always have men willing to risk their lives and come here.’

‘What brought you to the church?’ asked Jack. He realised that he had not pried into the lives of the three Jesuits at all. Knowledge, again, was something to be avoided – but he was interested. ‘Are you from England? You sound it.’

‘Yes, I was raised in an English town. It’s still Catholic in its devotions.’

‘Most are. Outside the rich ones in the south.’ Adam nodded.

‘Yet even the northern ones will turn their heads against us if these … these desecrations continue. Fewer folk each day come to the Friary to hear Mass.’

A chill ran through Jack. It was true. In the taverns and alehouses, even the men he had once heard speak openly about their hatred of southern Protestants were now decrying the savage acts of foreign Jesuits. The murder of the old woman had turned them fickle. Talk was now of rotten foreign men coming over with rotten instructions from rotten foreign masters, murdering decent English folk. The violence seemed to have sparked something in northern hearts – hatred of foreigners and their black acts was replacing hatred of southerners and their made-up religion. It reminded him of the kind of angry, hateful talk that he had heard daily in Paris. Blood for blood. A religious war to end them all. ‘Will you be coming to Mass tonight, my friend?’ asked Adam.

‘Tomorrow morning, if that’s good?’ Jack felt a blush creep into his cheek. Earlier, Doll had passed him a hastily scribbled note dropped by an unknown messenger indicating Polmear’s return that evening. How he would explain the departure of two of his quarry for destinations unknown he had not yet figured out.

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