Page 119 of By the Sword
‘I tell you, he’s the King. I claim the reward.’ The master of the boat jumped up and down in impotent fury.
***
‘You’ve done well, Captain.’
The speaker was a man of early middle age dressed in a dark suit and plain linen collar and cuffs, who had entered the room with Jonathan’s captor. They had manacled him and brought him to one of the buildings in the old palace of Whitehall.
‘The man refuses to tell us who he is. Do you think he could be Charles Stuart?’ the young officer asked.
The newcomer smiled. ‘Oh no. I hate to disappoint you. He most certainly is not Charles Stuart, but he is a most elusive quarry for whom we have been searching for quite some years. You have snared Sir Jonathan Thornton.’
He drew up a chair on the opposite side of the table to Jonathan and leaned forward.
Do you remember me, Thornton? We met a long time ago before the war when your family had some hope of turning you into a lawyer.’ He turned to the officer. ‘We have Sir Jonathan to thank for the London Trained Bands, Captain. He did a fine job with them. Pity he turned for the King.’
Jonathan raised his head to look at the man and recognition hit him. His master had shared chambers with this man. ‘‘John Thurloe. Yes, I remember you. What are you going to do with me?’
‘Probably what you could expect, Thornton.’ He pulled a paper from his jacket and handed it to the young officer. ‘Convey Colonel Thornton with all speed to the Tower, Captain.’
Jonathan ran a tongue over his dry lips. ‘What then, Thurloe?’
A thin smile lifted Thurloe’s moustache. ‘I need to lose you for a little while, Thornton before we make any decisions about your future.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
John Thurloe smiled. ‘Exactly what I said. As far as the world is concerned, the bookseller John Miller will be held indefinitely in the Tower of London for selling seditious pamphlets.’
‘Did we not fight a war to ensure there could be no imprisonment without trial?’ Jonathan demanded.
Thurloe raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, is that what it was about?’ He leaned forward again. ‘No one knows I have you and I will ensure you have no way of alerting any of your friends, if you have any, to your predicament. You’ll not be seeing the light of day for some time.’
Jonathan abandoned all pretence at bravado. ‘Thurloe, I am Colonel Jonathan Thornton of His Majesty’s Lifeguard. I fought at Worcester and I demand my rights as a prisoner of war.’
Thurloe shook his head. ‘I don’t care whether your name is Charles Stuart, John Miller or Jonathan Thornton, you will be conveyed to the Tower of London forthwith. You are to neither receive nor to send any messages and you are to remain manacled hand and foot for the duration of your incarceration.’
With a nod to the officer, Thurloe left the room.
***
It was not until the heavy iron-studded door had slammed shut that the full enormity of his position hit Jonathan. The walls of the dank room somewhere in the heart of the Tower of London closed around him and as despair washed over him, he slid down the wall to the floor. Ignoring the clank of the two feet of chain on his manacles, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and surveyed his accommodation.
The small room contained only a narrow bed with a couple of threadbare blankets, a small table, a stool and the ubiquitous bucket. His few possessions, his sword and what little money he had were all gone. He had no way of ameliorating his condition and even if he had, there seemed to be no chance of any request being heeded.
He bowed his head on his manacled wrists and wondered at the severity of his treatment. In the greater order of things, he represented no great prize. Surely he was only a minor player in the drama? So why this solitary confinement in the Tower?
Whatever position John Thurloe held in the new regime, he was powerful enough to ensure that Jonathan Thornton disappeared from the face of the earth.
He sighed and looked up at the damp, mildewed walls and the small window set high in the wall that admitted neither light nor air to any great effect. This time he was well and truly caught, and escape would require nothing short of a miracle.
Chapter 42
Barton, Yorkshire December, 1651
Is it really only seven months since I left Barton for Seven Ways, Kate wondered. A whole life seemed to have passed her by in those few short months.
In contrast to Kate’s life, nothing in Yorkshire seemed to have changed except Suzanne’s shape with another bairn due any day.
Kate had used the need to return to Yorkshire for Suzanne’s confinement as the solution to getting Giles away from Seven Ways and they had travelled north with Giles disguised as Nell’s maid.
