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

Cheerfully accepting Raffy’s leadership, they were always off on some new adventure. It was something of a revelation to watch my son at play with other children. As an only childhe was accustomed to entertaining himself – and to having his own way. He was spoiled by the servants and, as I realised if I was honest, also by me. Now, in play with Carl and Henry, he expected to be deferred to. I must be firmer with him, I told myself – a decision confirmed by an event that occurred one Saturday morning. On the first Friday of our stay several of us went to the fair in Ightham. Raffy had been boasting to the Holbein brothers of his prowess as an archer and when they saw a bowyer’s stall with several weapons suitable for various ages they clamoured for their own bows. The next morning the boys dragged me – not unwillingly – to Long Meadow, where I and others of the household practised archery. Our visitors had not drawn a bow before and I spent some time showing them how to handle their new weapons. I was somewhat rusty myself and glad of the practice. We chose a row of tree stumps as targets and I gave a brief demonstration. Fortunately, I managed to quit myself reasonably well. Then we moved forward to shorten the range. Raffy was determined to show his prowess. With five arrows he managed to hit two of the stumps. Carl was the next to try. I had noticed that he was not only tall but broad of shoulder. It was not a surprise that he quitted himself very well. His first shaft overshot but he intelligently adjusted his aim and three of his remaining four arrows struck home. Raffy was not pleased. ‘You’ve got a better bow,’ he shouted, and made a grab for it. Carl put out a hand to fend him off and, quite unintentionally, struckRaffy on the nose. That was the end of our practice. Instantly the two boys were rolling on the ground, pummelling each other. With some difficulty, I separated them and was on the point of delivering a couple of blows of my own when I heard my name called. I turned and saw two men in helmets, breastplates and blue livery striding across the meadow.
    â€˜Master Treviot, we’re here to deliver a warrant from his grace of Canterbury,’ one of them said, holding out a sealed letter.
    I read the message. It was very brief. The archbishop required my presence in his palace at Ford.
    I was stunned. I sat on a tree stump and read the secretary’s neat lines two or three times. What could Cranmer possibly want with me? All I could think of immediately was to try to gain time to give the summons further thought.
    â€˜Thank you,’ I said. ‘Please present my respects to his grace and tell him I will be delighted to call upon him tomorrow.’
    The retainer shook his head. ‘We are instructed to take you with us now.’
    â€˜Now?’ I protested. ‘What is the urgency? Is this an arrest? I’ve done nothing to displease his grace.’
    The man was impassive. ‘He doesn’t explain his actions to us. He just gives us orders and our orders are to return with you immediately.’
    I was about to argue but then I looked at the boys. Theywere standing in a line, eyes wide with fear. Raffy broke ranks and ran across to put his arms round me. He glared at the soldiers. ‘Go away,’ he shouted. ‘My father’s a good man.’
    I hugged him briefly. ‘It’s all right, Raffy,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘Just some goldsmith’s matters I have to discuss with the archbishop. I won’t be gone long. Take your friends indoors and tell Will that I’ve been called away on urgent business.’
    Within half an hour I was mounted and on the road to the archbishop’s summer residence, flanked by two of his guard. Our fifty-mile journey was fast and uncomfortable. My escort rode their horses hard, spattering through puddles, scattering other travellers who were in our way, drawing shouts of