The Queen's Oranges (Red Ned Tudor Mysteries)

by Gregory House

  The Hanse considered the options. Ned could see that it held his attention. It certainly did for him. Albrecht heaved a great sigh and slowly shook his head. “It may be so, but she won’t go willingly.”

  Almost there, his daemon whispered encouragingly. “I know. That’s why I’ve arranged to have her seized this evening. Tonight she’ll be trussed up in Southwark and in the Low Countries by the week’s end. Tis time for godly men to act decisively or we lose our honour and the enterprise falters.”

  The Hanse merchant once more lent back on the stool and stroked his beard as he considered the ‘option’. Ned thought it was a good play at solicitude, though he was particularly proud of his hints that he’d acted as a knowledgeable participant amongst the secret church reform faction. “Hmm, I fear you are right in this difficulty, Ned. Pledge me her safety and you have my blessing.”

  “I give you my oath before God and my hope of salvation that while I live, none shall harm Margaret Black.” To prove his reform credentials Ned forbore signing himself with the cross, instead offering his hand as surety.

  Albrecht gave a slow, satisfied nod and strongly grasped the proffered hand, his eyes now damp and blinking. To an outsider it would seem a solemn pact between two men, one older and weeping, the other much younger and bravely resolute.

  Ned’s daemon, if it had a voice, would’ve instantly asked the witness for a friendly game of dice, if it wasn’t berating him for a foolish pledge. “Now Albrecht, we have one more serious matter, the ownership of the Ruyter.”

  Having moved onto the firmer ground of trade, Albrecht wiped his eyes, and his face returned to its more pleasant opacity.

  “I realise that Margaret arranged for the vessel and trade to be in my name, as we agreed for reasons of law.” Actually his daemon reminded him, he didn’t even know he owned a boat until a few days ago, but he was sure Albrecht did, maybe also providing some useful assistance in skirting the paperwork and arranging seals. It was of long standing in the book of statutes that women, unless widows, could not own property. You’d think that the restriction would put a crimp on their ambitions. Not so. Like Meg Black they used guardians and proxies as fronts for their ventures, though Ned did have to wonder why she’d chosen ‘Master Edward Bedwell’ of St Lawrence Poor Jewry as the mark.

  “Since ownership is no longer a question and the other distraction solved, my master wishes to invest in ‘a solution to this affair.”

  Ned flipped open the lid of a small heavy, iron–strapped chest sitting on the table beside him. Four hundred golden angels refracted the morning into a shattering shimmer of wealth. Albrecht gave a small gasp of surprise. So he should. That was one hundred and fifty pounds in unclipped royal currency! It would be fair to say that he viewed Ned in a new light from that moment on. For Ned the chest was a triumph of effort and heartbreak. He’d made an offer to a close friend of his uncle’s, a Master Rogerson Goldsmith of the city, and lover of fine horseflesh. Ned had arranged a loan of the money in the chest for his beautiful chestnut, Don Juan Sebastian. He hoped and prayed that it was only a temporary remedy, though at the least he could say farewell to any stud fees this year. Anyway, as his daemon frequently muttered, just in case of disaster by Sunday, there was enough coin aside to flee overseas.

  As if the thought summoned the author of all ills into being, Albrecht cleared his throat. “Meister Bed…ah, Ned. What is that…that for?”

  “Why Albrecht, it’s an ‘investment’ in rescuing this venture from peril, with my master’s best wishes. I believe he said something about arranging for the correct licences and that this would help secure the vessel and its load after the customs officer’s seizure.”

  At the news Albrecht positively glowed with anticipation. Every merchant in London knew of Cromwell’s reputation as a trader and his skill at evading customs and the law in favour of his old lord, Cardinal Wolsey, while the debts affair and the grain crisis of autumn had also ensured that Cromwell stayed high in the city’s regard.

  Despite the golden glow on the table, the Hanse’s bland business mask soon slipped back into place. “That, Ned is an honour. Ahh, how can I assist your meister in this?”

  Ned conferred upon Albrecht his most practiced smile. “I have heard that there are many stages of the process that could be open to…to influence. Is that correct?”

  Concern creased Albrecht’s brow just for an instant before he answered cautiously. “Ahh–mm, Ned that could be so in some of the smaller ports like Lyme Regis or Plymouth, but here in the city, well, tis not so simple.”

  What a very interesting evasion. Ned held himself back. Master Albrecht had a few more paces to go yet.

  “At the Inns of Court Albrecht, an apprentice hears of all manner of practices, such as useful gifts to men of influence and standing who, ‘ahem’, may be prevailed upon to assist a ‘friend’ acquire a vessel or cargo that is up to auction for a fraction of its true value.”

  There was the hook laid out and baited with a golden lure, by a lad who apparently had been chosen by the cleverest man in England as his proxy. It had to be so tempting, a joint venture with Councillor Cromwell. Albrecht Hagen, the Hanse merchant of the Steelyard, considered the prospects and they glittered. A patron on the Privy Council was of inestimable value and gave a merchant undreamed of advantages. There was one snag. The price for patronage, as stated before, was the removal of an inconvenient Meg Black, but since the lad had so kindly offered… Ned’s daemon knew well the rest of the reasoning. He’d harped on it for ages.

  “Since Albrecht, you’re obviously a man of some considerable experience and standing in the city, my lord believes that, as a friend, you could be prevailed upon to exercise your knowledge for a prospective partner?”

  The light of cautious greed was definitely sparkling in the merchant’s eyes. Good, very good and another step further on. Ned had been very busy last night, tapping a few friends of his uncle for information about the reality behind impounding. It had proven quite revealing. For instance there was a certain coterie of merchants known to pull cony–catching tricks with innocent new investors, fleecing them of both the vessel and the cargo. Intriguingly Albrecht’s name had on occasion cropped up in association with this. It would be interesting to see how far along that path the conversation progressed.

  “For say, a gift of ten percent of the true value, would you act as agent to secure this vessel and cargo?” That was it, the lure was tumbling in the water before the very curious fish.

  Ned always had thought greed was the greatest temptation. With a great strain he kept the pleasant smile on his face, and like a practiced devil, moved on to the next level of damnation. Albrecht Hagan, the veteran of many fierce trade deals and partnerships paused, heavy brows drawn down and drummed his fingers idly on the table in a slow rhythm. To a witness it may have seemed he was struggling with his conscience. To Ned that battle had been fought and lost—the Hanse’s eyes never left the open box of gold. Then the Hanse gave his broadest smile ever and inclined his head. “I would be honoured to serve Councillor Cromwell in whatever capacity he so requires.”

  Ned slapped the table with an open hand and then gave the merchant a friendly buffet, as if to a boon companion. “Excellent! A man of distinction can go far in Cromwell’s service. As a sign of his trust and as a bond, I’ve been instructed to give you the chest. Master Sadleyer, my lord’s secretary will draw up the contract this afternoon.”

  The payment for treachery was so cheap, only four hundred angels. Albrecht stood up, took Ned’s proffered hand and shook it vigorously all the time grinning like a cat who had stumbled over a gallon of cream. Why shouldn’t he? In a few minutes Albrecht had shed the many problems of Meg Black, gained a new partner and patron, as well as being handsomely paid.

  “I believe the basis of any sound business relationship is trust, wouldn’t you agree Albrecht?” The Hanse merchant put on his most patently honest face and nodded, but his gaze, still locked on the gold, lied.
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  Ned pointed out a select pile of paper left over from Meg Black’s sorting. “I’ve looked through the bills of lading here and found a few omissions. If you would be so kind as to verify them?”

  There was the slightest hesitation, but the coins glinted so invitingly. As the learned said, greed was a perilous trap for a man’s soul. Albrecht gave in and his own daemon took the reins sure in its certainty of untold advantages.

  “The smuggled texts, I’ve been told, are valued at one hundred and fifty pounds?”

  Albrecht gave a short nod of agreement, cautious at revealing anything, though Ned could see a slight glint of speculation.

  “I think for now we’ll write those off the list. They’ll disappear by morning—my master would prefer fewer distractions.”

  Albrecht looked almost satisfied. Good. Ned wanted him to believe that, as the proxy of his master, Ned was ready to turn the blind eye and ignore inconvenient problems.

  “Secondly, for the other contraband that was discovered by my men, I believe it to be say two thousand pounds value. Yes?” Ned turned towards a stack of objects next to the trestle table shrouded by a canvas sheet and pulled the cover spilling it on to the floor. The displayed result was a barrel of powder surrounded by a selection of the weaponry and topped by the pistol case. Ned picked up the case and put it on the table.

  Albrecht’s face sagged and he tugged his beard in agitation, as if some thief had stolen his purse. Well Ned had, but only if he stepped into the second trap. “Meister Bedwell…ahh Ned...if I may be so bold, I must beg exception for this. I vill plead your master’s indulgence. This cargo is my own consignment!” That came out so grudgingly and he almost quivered with concern.

  Ned feigned a look of shock and surprise at the revelation. “By Gods grace, is that so Albrecht? Well I suppose a waiver is possible.”

  Ned paused as if considering a solution then smiled. “Can you can prove ownership?”

  The Hanse gave a rueful smile and reluctantly gave a jerky single nod before dropping to his knees next to the deceased shipmaster’s bed. Albrecht then tapped a panel at its base, and the timber swung out to reveal a small compartment. The Hanse merchant got back up and handed Ned a new set of lading lists. At a quick review it certainly had all the discovered components, though he did notice that the number of barrels of powder on the list differed markedly to those in the hidey hole. Perhaps his surmise regarding the reason for Joachim’s death had been correct.

  Albrecht continued to dissemble like a lawyer. Most people when caught like this would have howled like child with its hand caught in the comfit jar. Though to Ned’s practiced eye it didn’t take much to read the merchant’s thoughts. Profits were about to take a drastic dive. Only the consolation of patronage and gold kept him hopeful.

  “It all seems in order Albrecht. I thank you for your honesty and I believe I can arrange an accommodation over that error.” Ned handed back the list. It was very informative—the value of the contraband far exceeded the honest cargo.

  Albrecht, however, gave a tight wary smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Then Ned bent over and inking the quill visibly, scratched out the list of armaments contraband.

  Albrecht looked puzzled at the action, then Ned signed the bill of lading and passed it across to the merchant. “See all solved. I’ve heard it’s the common fee of five percent on the profit of ‘merchandise’, so to be fair, my master will take it from the next shipment.”

  Albrecht opened the bill, scanning it rapidly, and his eyes widened at Ned’s clever revaluing of the exemption. His daemon snickered at this. Even the most innocent apprentice lawyer at the Inns knew the skim on bribes was ten percent.

  “Albrecht, my honoured master always said sharing a harvest’s bounty gains you friends, stealing the seed grain brings a crop of enemies.” Ned walked over and gave the merchant’s shoulders a friendly squeeze and buffet.

  The Hanse gave out his best ‘well met’ hearty laugh and exchanged a firm clasp, though his glance kept on straying back to the open money box.

  With one hand on the Hanse’s’ shoulder, Ned turned and called out. “Tam Bourke, inside if you please.”

  The retainer must have been just outside the door for all it took was an instant before he was standing beside Ned. “Tam, could you carry this chest for our friend and arrange for an escort back to the Steelyards?”

  The large figure of Gryne’s retainer gave respectful salute before following Ned’s instruction.

  Albrecht’s jaw dropped in amazement. “You’re...you’re still giving me the gold?”

  Ned gave his most winning smile. “Why of course. Its still fair value for the partnership and the vessel. My lord and master expects to make several times that paltry sum from this and our next venture.”

  Albrecht went through a mystical transformation. He didn’t have to act out his amazement as he watched with open rapture, the closed chest being lifted by the retainer. “Edward Bedwell, you’re a true friend and gentleman!” The Hanse grabbed Ned’s hand once more, and pumped it for all he was worth before heading for the door.

  “Ahh one moment Albrecht, I would like to beg a final indulgence of you?” The Hanse paused on the heels of Tam who was just about to open the door and turned around beaming.

  “Anything, Meister Bedwell, I mean Ned, anything at all.” It was an eager reply from a very happy merchant, the fellow had saved his contraband and lost a Meg Black shaped encumbrance as well as gaining a chest of gold and the pledged support of a rising star at court. Life didn’t get any better.

  Ned standing by the table had opened the pistols case and removed one of the pair. “I say Albrecht, these pistols, they’re not consigned to any one are they? It’s very fine work indeed, Augsburg from what I’ve been told.”

  Albrecht’s eyelids flickered slightly at the request but he recovered instantly and gave another short bow. “Ned, it would honour me if you would accept them as a gift—the first fruits of our association.”

  Ned inclined his head in receipt of the ‘gift’. Damn but Albrecht was good, though perhaps not as skilled at the cony–catching game as he thought. Ned made some play with the pistol as if with a new toy. Albrecht paused in his departure assuming the demeanour of an indulgent uncle at Yuletide.

  Tam seemed to be having trouble with both the door and the chest, so he passed across the gold to its grateful new owner. Albrecht took a few steps back into the centre of the room to give Tam more space in which to unjam the door.

  “Many thanks Albrecht. These are amazing devices of war, so light and well balanced. I’ve heard stories that at close range they can punch through armour and put a hole in a man the size of a fist.” Ned pulled the other one out of the box, while Albrecht continued with his best doting smile.

  He kept on smiling right up until Ned swung both pistols towards him. “Oh Ned, have a care lad. Ahh, I believe you on their balance, they are truly elegant and deserving of a gentleman of standing such as yourself. Ahh could you pleaze point them elsewhere?” Albrecht, his hands full, took a step backwards away from the ominous barrels.

  Ned smiled at the question, but it was not the pleasant, happy grin as of a young boy with a present. It was far more reminiscent of the toothy welcome of a shark regarding its dinner. The barrels continued their advance and pressed into Albrecht’s well padded brocade doublet.

  The Hanse’s smile slipped in puzzlement and his English acquired more of the German drawl. “Pleaze zir, it is an amuzing joke no. I must insist, zey may be dangerous!”

  Ned twitched an eyebrow in response and pulled the left hand one away, directing it towards the vacant bunk. “Why Albrecht, don’t be so concerned. It is only a threat if the spring is wound and the pistol loaded.” Ned’s finger squeezed the trigger and set the wheel spinning. The room was convulsed by a load roar and a chunk of timber splintered from the bunk frame.

  Choking smoke filled the room and the Hanse merchant fell back against the wall with a cry of fright, h
ugging the iron box to his chest. “Mein Gott! Meister Bedwell!”

  “Well, what do you know? It is loaded—how convenient!” The last part was a snarl as Ned drove the pistol muzzle into the merchant’s paunch.

  Albrecht would have crawled out of his doublet to get away from the grinning fiend with the menacing weapon but he had nowhere to go. Dropping the money box may have helped, but then maybe not.

  Ned half turned his head while keeping the merchant pinned and called out. “Tam!” The retainer gave up his faked struggle, dropped the wedge in the door and obligingly began to reload.

  The Hanse in the meantime was shivering with shock and fright and licked his lips nervously. “Meister Ned, what iz the meaning of zith outrage?”

  He had tried for masterful authority, but instead it squeaked in trembling falsetto. A suddenly dry throat can do that to a man. Albrecht could have tried appealing to the mercenary now pouring in the powder. However one glance in that direction and he gave this up as entirely futile. All that showed on Tam’s face was amused disdain.

  Ned continued to thrust the barrel of the pistol into the stomach of his guest and resumed a normal tone of conversation. “Y’ know Albrecht, yesterday I asked myself, what lengths would I go to protect the lives of my friends? And as for the answer, well it shocked me! I’d have cut off Somersby’s ears and slit his nose without flinching, probably even gouged out an eyeball or two. I ask you, is that the act of a good Christian?”

  Albrecht tried to stammer out a reply, but the second now–loaded pistol returned to Ned’s hand.

  “It surprised me how easy it was. Once a man started the bloody work and mastered the struggle with temptation, the difficult part was stopping with just a little pain.” The second pistol dropped into place, pointing between the merchant’s eyes at maybe a foot’s distance.

  “Now Somersby was only a minor inconvenience, nothing personal, a matter of business.” Ned took a deep breath and lined up the barrel and pulled the trigger. It set the wheel lock spinning. “However a traitor who sells out his dearest friends and connives at the death of his partner, now Albrecht, that’s personal!”