The Traitor’s Mark by D. K. Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

and they were always of the highest quality. Holbein had a knack of divining exactly what the customer wanted and his invention was breathtaking in its originality. He also understood the techniques of metalworking and gem-setting, which meant that he never posed problems impossible for my craftsmen to solve. I remember himtelling me once that he had actually practised as a goldsmith in Basel, where he lived before coming to England. Holbein was more than a good craftsman; he was a pleasant man to deal with – inclined to be solemn, even morose, but always agreeable company. If he was in trouble, I would like to be in a position to help him. The fact that his friends were keeping his whereabouts secret from me could only mean that he was in grave danger.
    My concern was, if anything, heightened by what happened on Monday morning. After breakfasting simply and early, I assembled my little group of riders in the yard, ready for our departure. We were about to mount when a ragged, bootless boy ran in from the street. He came up and touched his cap. ‘You Master Treviot, the goldsmith?’
    â€˜I am.’
    He thrust a small package at me. ‘The man said you’d give me a penny.’
    â€˜What man?’
    â€˜Man what gave it me.’ He smirked at his own cleverness.
    I took the flat parcel and fished a coin out of my purse. ‘Stay here while I see if there’s a reply,’ I said.
    But the boy shook his head. ‘He said I wasn’t to wait.’ Pausing only to scrutinise the penny, he turned and darted out of the yard.
    The offering seemed to be wrapped in several layers of thick paper. Scrawled across the front was my name andthe legend, ‘Haste. Haste.’ I took it into the kitchen and unfastened it on the table. With a gasp I instantly recognised Master Johannes’ impeccable draughtsmanship. On five crisp sheets were the cup and cover designs I had been waiting for. The artist had supplied two complete drawings and some detailed studies of the more intricate elements. The two designs were almost identical but the variations offered the client a choice. I was sure that either would delight the Lord Mayor. The cup was magnificent. A stern of two female figures supported a bowl chased with twined foliage and above it the motto FIDES ET INTEGRITAS (‘Loyalty and Trustworthiness’). The fifth sheet had obviously been included by mistake. Although it was also a design for a cup and cover, it was simply carved with a coat of arms and was nothing like the object ordered by Sir John Cotes. I stuffed it into my purse, folded the others carefully and placed them into Golding’s saddle bag. He was all ready for our departure but that departure would now have to be delayed. I sprang into the saddle, told, the others to await my return and set off briskly for the Lord Mayor’s house on Walbrook.
    Fortunately, Sir John was at home. He was not altogether pleased to see me but he was relieved to discover that his gift to the king would, after all, be the creation of the royal painter. This and his approval of Holbein’s drawings was sufficient for him to forgive the inconvenience he had been caused. We spent some time discussing the finer points ofthe design and it was mid-morning before I was able to return to Goldsmith’s Row and set out for Hemmings.
    At last there was nothing to keep me in London. I had been able to satisfy my customer. I also knew that Master Johannes was safe – or, at least, alive. What was disturbing was that he was still in hiding. If I could not find him I would have no means of helping Bart in his quest for the murderers and his innocence. There was one other source of information I could try. One other person whose contacts among the lower levels of society were extensive and who just might have heard something. As my little group made its way along Cheapside, Lombard Street and so, down Fish Street Hill, to the bridge, I decided to