A Missed Murder

by Michael Jecks

  But the main item that I was searching for – some sort of box, lump of rock or timber, that I could have knocked my head against to make me fall – of things of that kind, there was nothing.

  I spent some while scrabbling about the ground where I fell. The pillar I had walked into was perfectly obvious now, in broad daylight. Indeed, I wondered how on earth I could have missed the thing. It was taller than a man and almost a foot in diameter. I had not banged my head on it, though; that was immediately apparent. The pillar was rounded, and I could not imagine that it would have cut into my brow to produce my injury. Also, it stood a clear two yards from where I had fallen. There was nothing else I could have hit, apart from the ground, and that was too damp and soft to have sent me unconscious, surely, with such speed.

  The conclusion was inescapable: someone had been here, and the fellow had knocked me down.

  Just for a moment, I thought perhaps it had been Humfrie. He had seen an opportunity to remove me. True, I was his paymaster, but he might have considered that an extra assassin in the city was one too many. Or he could have thought that his daughter would benefit from hearing that he had complied with her request to see me destroyed. It would please her, I was sure, hurt though I was at the thought. But somehow I felt it was unlikely. Surely he would have looked surprised to see me today, if he’d tried to kill me. And he would have made sure of me, not just left me unconscious. Besides, Humfrie had been behind me when Jeffry stepped into the river. If Humfrie wanted to kill me, he would have done it then. Without fuss, without my even knowing: I would have been dead in an instant, like the rabbit in the warrener’s hands. There was no reason for him to wait until I was in the alley again. The man in the alley must have been someone concealing himself from me. He was hiding from me, because he knew that else I might recognize him, perhaps. And he was in front of me. It couldn’t have been Humfrie.

  Perhaps it was a felon from the waterside, who hid when a stranger came and then knocked me down to rob me.

  Except … it had not occurred to me before, but the man who gave me my broken head did not rob me. My purse was still on my belt; all the money I held was inside it. So it was not a robbery. Perhaps it was a bungled attempt, from a fool who was scared when I tumbled to the ground, and who … but he would not have gone on to kill Luys. No, the man who did this to me and killed Luys (the two were inextricably linked in my mind) meant to kill us both and rob Luys of his money. What need had he of my purse, when Luys’s held more than enough money to sink a ship?

  So he knocked me down here, in the dark.

  There have been times in my life when I have been threatened, and although I do not like to appear arrogant, I have to confess to a certain courage. I think it is this that makes me so appealing to the other sex. They can see in me a confident bravery that they miss in other men of their acquaintance. However, just now, standing in that alleyway, with my head thumping as if in time to a drum beat I could not hear, I have to confess that even my courage began to fade.

  Someone must have been there in the alley and struck me. Perhaps it was as I kicked the rubbish on the path; perhaps it was afterwards, when I sprang back in alarm at the noise – it didn’t matter to me. The fact is that someone must have known I would pass by, and had struck me. They could have killed me! Perhaps they meant to kill me!

  That was a horrible thought, too. The idea that someone would have waited there in the alley just to knock me down … well, it was enough to send me walking moderately swiftly out of the alley. It would perhaps not be unfair to say that I hurried.

  Who could have wanted to hurt me? I was only an ordinary fellow, not a violent felon like some. Not that it would help me. Here in London, the streets were paved with less gold than those who aspired to come to the city and make their fortunes imagined. Rather, they were drenched in the ruined hopes and dreams of the thousands who arrived every year. London was a city that fed on people. It sucked them in from all over the country, and it set its fangs into them and took the life juices from them like a vampire, until nothing remained but empty husks. Like Jeffry’s daughter, old long before her time, grey and dismal as a plague victim. She was just one example of the sort of effect that London could have on people.

  Not that it affected me in that manner, of course. I was one of the fortunate fellows who had come here with nothing, and now, only a little later, I was one of the wealthier men in the city. I had a new house, servant, clothes, doublet … my doublet! That was gone for ever, I thought mournfully. The idea that I had lost that splendid garment was painful to accept.

  I reached the entrance to the alleyway where I had found Luys. Glancing down at the place where his body had lain, I could not help but shudder to think that here he had breathed his last.

  So: had my assailant come here, found Luys, killed him, and then taken the alleyway in hopes of killing me too; or had he hurried down the alleyway, met me and knocked me down, before returning up here to kill Luys and rob him?

  Whichever was true, the simple fact was that the assailant had been determined to execute me. Of that I was certain.

  And I did not like the thought at all.

  My way home was beset by delays.

  There is no holding back the London mob. If they are displeased, no man can mistake the fact. It is easy to discern the difference between a smiling yokel in his field, waving at passers-by, and an apprentice who has drunk his fill of ale to give him courage, and who now waves a boning knife or cleaver about his head in angry display. The trouble, of course, is recognizing the signs and knowing when to duck and run, because the average student lawyer or apprentice butcher is rarely more than a quart of ale from causing an altercation that could grow into a full-scale battle between the city’s White Coats and the mob.

  The opposite, fortunately, is also true: the London mob is rarely more than a quart or two from unbridled joy. They can suddenly turn from sullen anger to puppy-like happiness for little reason, so to see them in such ecstasies of delight was a relief. As I walked homewards, I had several drinks pressed upon me, and I was forced to dance with a lively little strumpet who told me that her name was Sarra, and who wriggled most deliciously as she danced. I was fain to remain with that group for longer than I should, just for the pleasure of occasionally gripping her wiry little figure.

  But the bonfires were a warning. As they began to die down, I was aware that I had been out too long already and the people all about me were growing maudlin or aggressively drunk. There was one man who wore a dark cowl that hid his face, and I grew more and more aware of him every time I grabbed the appealing little maid, but then he disappeared, rather to my relief. He looked too much like the man described by Luys and Raphe, I thought, but there was something else. At first I thought I recognized him, and that itself was unsettling. Then, a little while after he departed, I noticed another man: slim, young, wiry, with a dangerous look in his eyes. He was glaring at me fixedly.

  ‘Who is he?’ I said, nodding towards him. ‘He looks like he just bit into a sloe.’

  ‘God’s faith! It’s my husband!’ she gasped.

  When I saw him rise to his feet, clearly intending to remonstrate with me, I quickly took my leave, the wench grappling with me quickly and pressing her lips to mine before she allowed me to continue on my way homewards.

  There were people everywhere. On all sides I could hear the Queen’s health being toasted, and that of her husband and her child. It was the first time I had realized that people were fond of the Spanish Prince. Philip had been derided when he first appeared in the country: first because he was a Spaniard, and second because he was a Catholic. After Henry VIII and Edward VI, the people were mostly content with the new order and the new Church. The idea of going through all that arguing to return to the Catholic Church appealed to very few, although the zealots were starting to demand that all should accept the Pope as head of the Church once more. Mary would push for that, I was sure. Everyone knew she was a committed Catholic, whereas
Elizabeth had always appeared to be equally as determined to remain with her father’s new Church.

  Be that as it may, Philip had been hugely unpopular when he first arrived. He brought his own household with him – his own cooks, his own servants, his own guards – and it caused natural annoyance. He seemed to imply that there was something wrong with English stewards and English bottlers, English cooks and English … well, everything English. It was not to be borne.

  But now, now he had sired a future king. That was a glorious result. We could all accept him, or so that appeared to be the general consensus. And the people of London had taken him to their hearts.

  I hurried past the louder, more inebriated groups; it was with them that I thought I must be in most danger. At last – and it seemed an age later – I found myself at the entrance to my own road. I began to head up it, when I heard a hiss from my left.

  ‘Eh?’ I began, but then my powers of speech were cut off.

  I have mentioned that my good, manly looks are instantly appealing to women of all sorts. Don’t get me wrong, it is hardly a burden, but just occasionally it can surprise. Take this as an example: there I was, walking on my way home, somewhat weary, considerably battered, and still wondering how on earth to win some more money, when a woman launched herself at me. I had a single moment to notice her well-filled bodice, her appealing face, lips that could suck a football down a reed, but the surprise, as her lips met mine, did make me try to recoil. Her hand went behind my head, holding me there, and while I felt I was trapped, I confess that I didn’t struggle terribly hard to break away. In truth, I succumbed to the moment.

  ‘It’s pleasant to meet you again, too,’ I managed, when she finally came up for air.

  It was the lady who had brought the message from Blount at the White Bear that evening.

  Her eyes were flashing and glorious, her bosoms heaving, and her lips looked like strawberries just ripe for plucking, juicy and delicious. I grinned broadly as she withdrew into a doorway, and followed her with enthusiasm, although my lust had been somewhat abated when she grabbed hold of my head to press her mouth to mine. She had grabbed it sharply, and it was throbbing unpleasantly again. Still, I knew the perfect cure.

  ‘So, Maid, you couldn’t keep away from me, eh?’ I said, gingerly touching the lump on my brow. ‘No need for an alley, woman; my house is close by, and we can be comfortable there.’

  She paid little heed. ‘Master Blackjack, have you completed the task that Master Blount gave you?’

  ‘Ah, well, there was a slight delay on that, but come to my house, Maid, and we can discuss—’

  ‘No! You do not understand! There was an urgency behind the message. Master Blount did say it was important that you hurry. Did I not mention that?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘So I told you, but you chose to ignore his order?’

  ‘Let’s go to my house – we can have some wine, and perhaps …’ I added, reaching for her left tit. She slapped my hand away. There was a gleam in her eye now, right enough, but it had nothing to do with thoughts of playing at mattress jousting. Rather, this was genuine anger. It left me confused, I have to admit. Probably because of the head wound. Usually, I can be as quick as any.

  ‘He will be furious when he hears this,’ she hissed.

  ‘Let me explain to him,’ I said.

  ‘What then? He will think me a useless drab, no good for anything – not even supplying a message accurately or giving an indication of its importance!’

  ‘No man would think you useless,’ I said, my eyes falling to her undoubted charms.

  ‘You only ever think of one thing! You see? Even you think I’m only good for lying on my back!’

  ‘Oh, I can think of many other …’ I hesitated. The look was in her eye once more. It had the appearance of danger that, say, a glint from a sword’s blade would have in a dark alley. ‘I only meant that I would defend you before him. He would listen to me, Maid. What is your name?’

  She looked at me, and I instantly saw the fear in her eyes. Perhaps I had mistaken the menace. I have known hounds which, when particularly terrified, will growl and snarl and lunge, and I was beginning to see that this woman was the same. She was all fire and fury when she was alarmed, but all she needed was, like a hound, reassurance and comforting, and she would soon come around.

  ‘Maid,’ I said soothingly. ‘It’s not something for you to worry about. I can look after you. Let me speak to Blount for you, and I swear I will help. Your head is too pretty for—’

  Well, a hound, while you calm her, can still bite.

  She rounded on me, and this time my eyes had not time for her breasts, because I was trying to keep track of her fists. ‘You dare to speak to me like that again, and I will have your ballocks on a platter! You think you can talk to me like an infant, you great lummox? Get out of my sight!’

  I recoiled at her anger and was tempted to try again, putting my arms about her, perhaps – but discretion prevented me. Not from fear, of course, but I didn’t want to provoke the poor little thing. ‘Your name?’

  ‘I am known as Agnis. You can call me Mistress Fletcher.’

  ‘Oh, you are married?’

  ‘I was. He died.’

  She was being very short now. I was confused. Her moods appeared to swing from one extreme to the other without hesitating in between. ‘Mistress, I … why did you welcome me with such enthusiasm, if you don’t want to bed me?’

  ‘Is that all you can think of? I was kissing you to stop you being seen by the men watching your door, and the thought in my mind was to prevent you being seen without calling you, which would have attracted their attention as well as yours!’

  I gaped. Delicately, she took a forefinger and pressed it to my chin, shutting my mouth. ‘You look almost endearingly foolish when you do that,’ she said.

  There was no need for such rudeness. I was merely considering her words. ‘Who were they?’

  ‘I have never seen such men before.’ She glanced at my linen chemise. ‘Are you not cold? Where’s your doublet? Surely you wore it when you left your home.’ She looked up at me. ‘No one would leave home without his doublet, would they?’

  ‘I was being chased by an unpleasant fellow with a rapier,’ I said. It was the most important aspect of his dress that I could think of.

  ‘Was he tall, very dark like a Spaniard, with a scar on the side of his face just here?’ she asked, pointing to the right side of her own delicate features.

  ‘Yes, a ragged one,’ I said.

  ‘And his friends were similarly gaudily dressed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They are the men waiting outside your house.’

  I peered up the street, and I could feel my ballocks shrivel as I recognized the flash of scarlet. It was the Spaniard’s colour. They all seemed to like the colour of bright red blood, I thought.

  Whatever else might happen, I was not going to saunter up there and try to get to my house before he could use me as practice for a game of ‘Let’s spit the pig’, using his rapier as the spit. No, there were many places I would prefer to visit than my house.

  My first thought was the White Bear. Willyam, Lawyer Abraham and Bob would be likely to help me. The men at my door seemed to have little idea about concealment. They stood loitering like a gang of dock workers waiting to learn whether they were hired or not, and only rarely cast a glance along the roadway. When one looked towards me, I ducked away again.

  ‘Come along,’ I said, and took her hand.

  ‘Where? What are you doing?’ she protested as I pulled her with me.

  ‘Hush! We’re going back to the White Bear, where you saw me yesterday. I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me more about the man Michol whom Blount wants killed, and in the meantime, the Spaniards can cool their heels outside my door for as long as they like.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to the tavern.’

  ‘Please? If they see me alone, they’ll realize it’s me;
walking with you, they will see only a couple, and I will be safe.’

  ‘Oh, very well!’ she said with a bad grace, and we set off.

  The tavern was full to bursting, with many a new face reddened with wine and ale. I have no doubt that somewhere in London there was a sober man bemoaning the outbreak of indecent insobriety, but all I can say is, I didn’t meet that man today. When I entered, I saw that Willyam and Lawyer Abraham were at the same table we had occupied the previous evening. Willyam looked up and smiled at Agnis as I walked to them, dragging her with me. ‘Where’s Bob?’

  ‘He hasn’t turned up. Have you heard the news?’ Lawyer Abraham said.

  ‘That the Queen is safely delivered of a boy, yes.’

  ‘Oh. It’s good, isn’t it?’ Willyam said. He was as flushed as any number of the people I had seen earlier in the street. ‘I mean, just look at all the folks outside.’ He rattled his purse, grinning at Agnis. ‘I can afford to buy you a good meal. Are you hungry?’

  I knew what the purse meant, of course. While the people had been outside with their joy at the news of the Queen’s son, Willyam and the others, like any gathering of foists, had gone to where the crowds were at their thickest, and deprived as many people as possible of their money. It was always at events of this nature that people discovered they had lost much of their money, and it was all because of the professional pickpockets. That was why I tended to wear my jack well buttoned and my money tightly bound in my purse.

  Except now, as I put my hand to my money, I realized it wasn’t there.