The Queen's Oranges

by House, Gregory

  That eventually forced a short nod from Meg who then copied his gulps of air, before they both moved carefully back to the incriminating bunk. Ned had his hand on her arm, just in case she fainted. He’d already lost the contents of his guts so it was his duty to pull back the pile of covers.

  The older man was about five and a half feet tall and of a heavy, portly build. He lay naked on top of the body of a boy who looked close enough to fourteen. They both had the fair blondish hair that was common with the Germans, along with the leaner features of the northern coast. At the distance of a few feet, it was very evident they were related—the same short nose graced both faces. Now it was a matter of trying to figure out what had happened.

  Ned had done some philosophy at Cambridge. It had been strangely interesting, certainly when the professor dealt with Socratic argument and the ideas of St Thomas Aquinas. It held a few interest ideas such as the simplest solution to any problem tended to be the right one. However, as he continued to view this scene, that philosophical concept was turned on its head.

  He could see why the officials had leapt to their conclusion. From the position of the bodies, he’d thought the same. The ahh, conjoined–ness, didn’t leave much to the imagination, even his daemon agreed. And a quick view was all you really wanted before the sight and smell made you splatter your last meal on the deck.

  Ned forced himself to take more time over the inspection and the closer he looked, the odder the scene appeared. “Meg, how much blood would you say a body has in it?”

  It was a good distraction. She was looking distinctly pale and kept on making short swallowing gulps with a cloth pressed to her face. “Dr Caerleon could tell you for sure, but mayhap four or more pints.”

  At her mention of Caerleon, the physician and astrologer at the Gryne Dragone, Ned winced. He neither liked nor trusted the old man and the raising of his shadow at this case of suspicious deaths, sent a shiver up his spine. Instead of letting that apprehension seize hold Ned once more pushed into the safe realm of the mundane. “That sounds about right. When we killed pigs about the same size, the blood would fill a small tub. So…where is it?”

  With this question, Mistress Black leant much closer to inspect the sheets and padding under the bodies. Ned very carefully tilted them away. It wasn’t easy—Joachim had been a hefty fellow when alive. A close look at the bedding only showed some leakage from the area around both wounds. Considering the gaping slit across Pieter’s neck, that part of the bunk should be full of congealed blood. According to Ned’s previous experience in violently bloody affray, all the covers and the timber walls should have been sprayed in the residue. Ned took a few steadying breathes as his mind made up the scene. At this moment he felt lucky to have already thrown up.

  Meg Black, frowning in concentration, cautiously probed the sites of the wounds with a hair pin, then directed Ned’s attention to the injuries. Damn but she had a steady stomach. “From what I recall, Pieter was left handed, so why is the knife sticking in Joachim’s left side, and I can’t make out how Pieter could have stabbed up at this angle if he was underneath. And then there’s this blade in Joachim’s right hand—it looks too small to have made the wound in his nephew.”

  Ned swallowed. He really didn’t want so personal a perusal, but where Meg stepped forward he had to follow. It certainly was curious. While a left handed man could stab with his other arm, Master Sylver had shown him a good display of that, he’d also claimed that it lacked natural strength and agility. So how then had the young lad managed to ram a large blade deep into Joachim with his unnatural hand? When it came to it, Meg was correct about Joachim’s supposed weapon. The time with the defence master had been very instructive, especially when he’d demonstrated what sort of injuries could be inflicted by weapons. He had used an old mutton carcass but still Ned gained a very fine appreciation of the cutting and hacking qualities of blade and axe. Poor Pieter’s head was almost severed and Ned had a more than sufficient view of the interior of his throat and the cleanly cut tendons and tubes. Dispassionately he considered, you’d need a heavy backsword or cleaver for that sort of work. Then hand clamped over mouth he made a rush for the window. It was the slight of a fly crawling out of the open neck that did it.

  “Ned, there’s another problem.”

  Wiping his mouth, Ned thought that was an understatement. There was a phalanx of problems marching towards them but better deal with hers first. “What this time?”

  Meg Black pointed to the bodies and then spread her hands wide encompassing the entire cabin. “Well, either both went to bed with knives or they miraculously appeared, but where did they come from? For that matter, where are their clothes?”

  Ned cautiously stepped around the small room opening chests and searching vainly for their apparel. He did find one chest packed with clothes but from the size, they would have been the shipmasters. This really was getting stranger. If the offence was passion or force then he’d have thought the room would be littered with clothes and perhaps shoes and anyway, where were the sheaths for the blades? It was just too bizarre to consider that they’d both take off their clothes somewhere else or carefully packed them away. And after that bout of uncharacteristic neatness, both climb into the bunk, each armed with a naked blade and then simultaneously stab and slash each other to death. He knew foreigners had some pretty odd habits. However this was stretching credulity too far.

  Meg Black, cloth still held up to her face, waved a free hand towards the door. “I don’t think that this is where they died. They were murdered elsewhere and placed here!” Then she turned to face him blue grey eyes ablaze with anger and indignation. “Ned, we need to search the ship!”

  Before he could reply, Meg Black strode briskly out of the door. Well of course they were slain elsewhere! That was obvious and he was about to state the same conclusion. And for a moment Ned was briefly tempted to make his claim for leadership, then the breeze from the Thames wafted the corpsey aroma towards him. Arghh! Precedence could come later. He needed fresher air first, though his daemon did point out one problem—how did you search a boat, and for what?

  ***

  Chapter 3. Murder or Heresy? The carrack Ruyter of Bremen Afternoon, 5th June

  Ned’s initial difficulty of organising a search was soon solved. The crew of the vessel had been gathered at the dock for the past few hours, under the supervision of the remaining ship’s officer, the steersman. As soon as the gruesome discovery had been made, the customs men had ordered the crew secured, in the certain knowledge they’d be ‘required for questioning’.

  Once on the open deck Mistress Black took a moment to send a message to her agent at the Steelyard requesting the presence of a couple of witnesses. Ned nodded in approval and suggested she include a few friends of his at the Inns of Court and some of the city’s under sheriffs that knew his uncle. If they were going to do this, he wanted as many as possible to vouch for anything they might find. For a start there were too many suspects. Who knew if it was one or more of the crew involved. To Ned, this crime was unlike the usual murders and robberies common in the city or the docks. The lack of pillaging or robbery was one hint. His better angel had supplied another. Guilt would have prompted flight and all the sailors were still present. Anyway right now the most important precaution was a show of open honesty. If Sir Thomas More was to be involved, which was as certain as fish on Fridays, then they needed to have men of standing in the city bear witness before the inevitable inquest.

  The sun was hovering above the western horizon before all was ready and Meg had organised extra lanterns so that the coming dark wouldn’t hinder the exploration. After some discussion, it had been decided she was to stay on the deck to delay any of More’s pursuivants who were soon expected to march into view. Master Jefferys and his fellow customs officer hadn’t made any more efforts to board, but there was little doubt they were watching and furiously making notes. Ned had another more pressing reason for keeping her out of the search, sinc
e with the kingdom’s foremost heresy hunter now to be involved, Margaret Black would definitely head the suspect list. Her known connection with the Boleyn faction was enough to ensure it.

  Ned had divided up the crew into groups of several men and a pair of witnesses. For such a small boat it seemed to have a large crew, well over twenty, though with his limited nautical knowledge he couldn’t say how many were usually needed.

  Perhaps it was his efficient organisation or perhaps just luck. The first evidence was found within a quarter hour. Ned hurried after the sailor who led him to part of the vessel the fellow called the forward hold. Once there it was apparent something violent had occurred. The low timber beams were splattered with the gooey residue of the affray. This had to be the place, unless the ship master was in the habit of butchering livestock. From what Ned could tell, both men died on this spot and someone had made only a superficial effort to clean it up. The sticky slurry underfoot had been casually washed with a bucket of water. They needn’t have bothered. The splashes of blood covered every surface; barrels, sacks and the deck. And he’d thought the Shipmaster’s room had stunk! One of the sailors stepped forward and offered a wadded pile of clothes. The man’s English was thickened with a German accent. However he signalled that they’d been found tucked behind the barrels to the left side of the hold. Ned carefully took the proffered bundle. He desperately wished he’d had the forethought, to carry a set of gloves as was the current fashion. The matted fabric oozed reeking fluids all over his hands.

  Ned got a couple of lanterns held closer and waved in his witnesses. One was Albrecht Hagan from the Steelyard, Meg Black’s business factor, while the other a friend from the Inns, Mathew Hampton, an up and coming lawyer. Carefully Ned unrolled the wadded cloth on top of a pile of sacks. If he had any doubts about the bunk scene, this reinforced them. A heavy serge doublet that had to be Joachim’s was spread out and the most apparent problem for that unnatural set up in the bunk was the bloody gash that matched the dead man’s wound. The smaller set of clothes was also sodden with Pieter’s blood and clinched the case of murder rather than the other darker implications. The witnesses gravely noted the details he pointed out, as well as the lack of any purse on either belt. Though Ned didn’t mention that if it was a case of murder and robbery, why did they leave the ship untouched?

  Ned had grown up in London and knew its people and quirks as well as any lad. While it was not quite the sink of depravity and whoredom that some market place preachers like the earlier friar had claimed, nor was it an abode of saints. So he had before him a difficult question. There must be hundreds of pounds worth of goods here so having slain the only guards and having most of the night to pilfer the cargo why hadn’t they? Or, had they? Ned frowned at this suspicious consideration. As far as he could tell nothing had been moved. The hold appeared to him packed solid with sacks and barrels. From his experience last year, only a thorough perusal of the bills of lading could prove what, if anything, was missing, that was if those documents could be believed, and considering Meg Black’s hidden trade, forgery was all but guaranteed. Ned considered that it was well past time for a long talk with Meg Black over the ‘common practices’ of trade.

  This thought got pushed to the side as the echoing sound of an argument above drew everyone’s attention. Ned frowned at the distraction, and wiping his hands on a nearby pile of sacks, made his way up to the deck, closely followed by the search party bearing the grisly trophies. His arrival was opportune since the deck was now crowded with a new contingent of visitors. Lord Chancellor More’s men had arrived, led by short squat fellow with all the finer aspects of a toad topped by a helmet replete with scarlet plumes while the two nervous customs men stood behind him, whether as support for Master Scarlet Plumes, or shielded by the same, it was difficult to say. Their most recent guest, Master Scarlet Plumes was puffed up to a dominating magnificence of about five feet, maybe a tad more if the towering helm was included and was currently arguing with Mistress Black. Ned smiled and shook his head. It was a fine performance in the best traditions of London street theatre, full of spark and fury, fine stuff and damned entertaining.

  Finally with a certain amount of regret, Ned stepped in. “Sir, if I may have the honour?” He deliberately pushed in front of Meg Black. From her glower it was an unappreciated rescue.

  Master Scarlet Plumes spluttered a bit at the interruption and switched targets. “Who the hell are you boy?”

  Ned doffed his cap and gave a very respectful bow, as if to an equal. “Edward Bedwell, sir. I have the privileged of serving Thomas Cromwell of the Privy Council in this matter.”

  That introduction had Scarlet Plumes turning as red as his feathers. His eyes seemed to bulge at the insinuation of any prior claim. “By the devil’s black arse you are! This vessel is impounded by the order of the Lord Chancellor and Bishop Stokesley! There has been a report of foul vice and unnatural murder and the suggestion of heresy!” For such a short, round body, the voice squeaked like an outraged mouse. It could have been amusing if not for the hovering menace of the highest royal official.

  Ned gave another slight bow and smiled. “I fear sir, that the Lord Chancellor and the Bishop of London may have to wait. I’ve already made claim to this investigation for the Privy Council, since my good lord, Councillor Cromwell, believes it impinges on high matters of state.”

  Now this was a very risky course to take. Ned wasn’t sure if anything in this concerned the King or Cromwell. However he felt that the statement of intent would serve to delay the interference of More’s pursuivants until they found some firmer ground. And if it didn’t, Ned was certain Mistress Black had enough contacts to quietly and speedily get them to France. Considering her prior slight of hand with that damned satchel, it was always possible that Meg had another boat hidden somewhere, hopefully larger and less encumbered with bodies.

  More’s minion, however, took this claim as a personal slur and loudly called upon all the rights and provisions of his master’s position. Ned was secretly very amused since this declaration obviously held more bluster than substance. The fool made a hash of his claim, confusedly mixing common and canon law. Ned’s as yet unhoned legal instinct hinted that someone higher up felt unsure of their ground. Otherwise a writ with the Lord Chancellor’s royal seal would have seen them bundled off to cool their heels at the Fleete until a more leisurely appraisal was possible.

  Patiently he waited until Master Scarlet Plumes gave him the opening he needed, then indicated behind him at the audience. “Sirrah! These gentlemen are here to stand witness, in accordance with the laws of the kingdom and this city, and see that justice is done!”

  Master Scarlet Plumes glared at the gathering behind Ned, and his face lost some of that choleric colour. No doubt it was the abundant glint of gold and silver braid that caught Master Scarlet Plumes’ eye. Well dressed witnesses meant the Guilds and Inns were watching.

  Now Ned had the advantage, he pushed on with his next ploy. “Sirrah, do you claim to know the King’s mind in this affair?” This was decried with sufficient volume to attract the attention of all, and Master Scarlet Plumes turned pale and gulped like a landed fish. Ned flashed him a very edgy smile any courtier would have been proud of and pushed on into the spluttering silence. “Sirrah! Need I remind you what happened to the last Royal official who made such an error?”

  That created a distinct murmur in the crowd and Master Scarlet Plumes swallowed nervously. Everyone recalled what happened to Wolsey. As a symbol the cardinal’s fall was proving useful. The Wheel of Fortuna had turned shedding his long built up power, and all those who hung on to his train scattered, bereft of protection and patronage. Master Scarlet Plumes may have served the Lord Chancellor. However the ink was still wet on his writ and it took only a slight nudge to make him feel his orders required further ‘consultation’.

  Master Scarlet Plumes thumped one hand into the other and made another short round of blustering threats, then after promising an immi
nent return, stomped off the ship leading his disappointed band into the darkening streets of the city. Despite this abrupt retreat in the face of Ned’s bluff and bluster, Master Scarlet Plumes wasn’t a total fool. He left a pair of men at the end of the dock, along with the forlornly abandoned customs men. It was getting quite crowded down at the end of the wharf, what with the usual London audience keen for any show.

  Ned pursed his lips and shook his head. This was just the first round. Time for some more answers. He turned to face the still angry features of Meg Black. “Who was More’s odious minion?” In all that bluster and phlegm, the Scarlet feathered buffoon had singularly failed in manners and Ned still didn’t know his name.

  His newly discovered business partner, Margaret Black, finally left off her glowering towards the lit windows of the Customs House and gave a reluctant shrug. “Jefferys introduced him as Sir Roderick Belsom. He didn’t impress me, but the two customs men fawned all over him as if he was the Second Coming.”

  Ned considered her reply. That name was familiar. It was possible that he’d heard it mentioned before at the Inns. If memory served him it was in connection to an illegally seized inheritance somewhere past Chelsea. Details were elusive and he doubted if it had any connection to their current problem. “Well Meg, I’ve delayed the scarlet plumed toad for the next day or so. No doubt he’ll return soon enough with a warrant so we’d better have a more solid defence. What about guarding the ship and the crew?”

  Meg Black gave the first real smile he’d seen since he entered this sorry affair. “That’s easy Ned. I’ve hired Gryne’s Men for the week. They’ll be here soon.”

  He gave a slow nod of appreciation. She really was a clever girl. That definitely settled security. It’d take more than a waved warrant and a couple of brawny, livery men to shift any of the fearsome denizens of the Gryne Dragone in Southwark.