Lucy's Blade

by John Lambshead

  Simon led Lucy to where a road pierced the dense mass. Here the houses were far enough apart for sunlight to penetrate through various items of cloth and animal hides strung across the street to dry and cure in the sun.

  "What think you, milady?" asked Simon.

  "I did not think that there could be so many people in the world, Master Tunstall."

  Simon looked back to check Gwilym. The bodyguard had dropped back four or five paces so he could keep an eye on his charge and have an awareness of his surroundings. Gwilym strolled along like a country rube at the local market but his eyes constantly swept the street, and Simon knew that he missed nothing.

  "What is this place?" asked Lucy.

  "This is Tower Street

  , Lady Dennys.

  "What else would it be called?" asked Lucy, happily.

  Tower Street ended where a leather shop ran right across the road. Alleys led off on each side. The leather seller's family lived on the top floor. A large shutter opened on the ground floor to display the goods. Lucy stopped and leafed through them. The leathermaker came out. "I have some fine belts for gentlemen or ladies," he said, pulling out a hanger of wares.

  "Indeed, indeed," said Lucy. She selected one. "Look, Master Tunstall, this would be perfect as a present for Uncle. Would you buy it for me, please?"

  Simon watched the leathermaker assess Lucy's material wealth and enthusiasm for the item. He sighed and started a long bargaining process to get the cost down to merely overpriced, as opposed to extortionate. Once the deal was closed at six silver shillings, Simon led Lucy around the shop into Little East Cheap, or East Market, Street. The East Cheap market was the poor relation of West Cheap, the later better known as just Cheapside.

  "Where would you like to go to choose a new dress, Lady Dennys?" asked Simon.

  "Wherever you suggest, Master Tunstall. I shall follow your guidance."

  "Then we shall go up to the new Royal Exchange. There are a hundred permanent shops in the arcade and a number are dressmakers. If you cannot obtain satisfaction there, then I suggest we move on to Cheapside. Mayhap you would also like to visit the booksellers in Paternoster Row by St. Paul's."

  "That sounds excellent," said Lucy. Her eyes shone and she gripped Simon's arm somewhat tighter than would normally be considered appropriate.

  Eastcheap Street

  consisted primarily of private houses, with the odd shop intermittently scattered along its length. The houses were mostly three stories high. Each storey projected further out than the one below and window boxes projected further still, so there was very little gap between the houses, even across such a wide thoroughfare. Washing hung out to air on clotheslines strung across the top stories of the houses. The houses were made primarily of a wooden skeleton with plaster in between the beams. Here and there, a prosperous merchant had rebuilt in brick. The street was a main road so it was clogged with people. Simon kept his spare hand on his purse. London boasted the finest pickpockets in the world.

  Simon decided to turn up Rood Lane

  to get to Fen Church Street

  . This led into Lombard Street

  , which went up to Stocks Market where five roads met. The Royal Exchange was between Corn Hill and Three Needle Street

  .

  Little East Cheap ran all the way to Fish Street

  , which then went north up to Lombard Street

  . However, if they went further west before turning north they would get caught up in the cart traffic flowing across London Bridge. Carts could be dangerous to pedestrians as it was all too easy to get crushed between a cart and a wall. The lanes in London could have dangerous inhabitants but Simon had great confidence in Gwilym's ability to deal with dangerous people. Carts were another matter.

  Fewer people moved along Rood Lane

  and those that did hurried with their heads down. Gwilym moved in closer behind Simon and Lucy. They passed a water bearer taking two gallons from a fountain to a private house. Dark little alleyways led off the lane to either side. Some were so choked with waste as to be impassable. A shrill cry erupted from an alley as they moved past. Simon moved to hurry Lucy away.

  "Look at that," Lucy said, outraged. Slipping off Simon's arm, she darted into the alley. "Stop that, you beast!" A small girl in rags knelt cowering in the mud. She looked ten or eleven but may have been older as she was clearly half starved. A bully boy stood over her with a horsewhip.

  The whip came down and Lucy hurtled forwards to intercept it. She effortlessly caught the whip in one hand and wrenched it from the man's hand. With the other, she pushed the man back against a wall. He grunted as the breath was knocked from him. Then she dropped down to check the child.

  Gwilym and Simon were hot on her heels.

  "She's mine. What right have you got to stick your noses into my business?" asked the bully, drunkenly.

  "Who is this man?" Lucy asked the girl.

  "He's my uncle," the girl sobbed.

  "Where are your parents, girl?" asked Simon.

  "Please, sir, they are dead of plague," said the girl.

  "Just like mine," said Lucy softly. "I could be in your rags, were I not of different rank. Why was this man whipping you?"

  "He says I have to warm his bed and do things," said the girl.

  "Does he now?" said Lucy, looking at the bully with contempt.

  "Shut your mouth, slut," said the bully, apparently to the little girl since he surely could not be stupid enough to talk to Lucy in that manner. "She's mine so I can belt her if I want." He was clearly convinced, actually with some justification, that the law was on his side. Then the bully demonstrated that he really was as stupid as he looked. "Stay out of my affairs, trollop," he said to Lucy, and raised his fist to strike her.

  Gwilym was on him like a tiger, grabbing the bully's arm and throwing him back against a wall.

  "You need to learn some manners when talking to your betters, knave," said Gwilym, who was not overly concerned with legal niceties but who knew someone who needed a good kicking when he met them. Insulting Walsingham's niece was the same as insulting Walsingham's honour, and Gwilym's own personal honour was bound up in his master's. Besides, he liked Lucy.

  The bully came off the wall and aimed a blow at the bodyguard. Gwilym deflected it with his left hand. He punched a short vicious hook into the bully's kidney with his right. The bully's whole body jerked under the impact.

  "You're lucky, filth. 'Ad you hit 'er 'ighness then I would 'ave 'ad to really hurt you."

  Gwilym hit him again, another short jab into the same kidney. The bully gasped and moaned, the fight driven out of him.

  "Before handing you over to the 'angman," said Gwilym. He held the bully up by the throat.

  "You will never," Gwilym slapped him hard across the face, "raise your 'and to a lady" he backhanded the bully's face from the opposite direction, "ever again. Especially, this lady." The final slap knocked the bully to his knees.

  "And to make sure you remember." Gwilym pulled the man's arm up and kicked him in the elbow. There was an audible crack. The bully screamed and fainted.

  "Master Tunstall, we can't leave her here in the hands of that animal," said Lucy. "There are whip marks all over her back."

  "Yon bully can't look after 'er in any case," said Gwilym, with a friendly countryman's smile. "Fellow seems to have broken 'is arm."

  Simon thought it might have been kinder to kill the man outright. The bully would likely be crippled for life, if he survived the next month. But Simon had seen too much misery inflicted on the innocent to waste sympathy on an animal who beat little girls for his sexual gratification.

  "Are there not charitable orphanages in London?" asked Lucy.

  "I do know of a reputable one," said Simon. "But they may need money to accept another charge."

  "Is that all?" asked Lucy. "Lead on, Master Tunstall."

  The little girl held Gwilym's hand and the two couples made their way up to Lombard Street

 
. The wide street parted to go round Fenn Church, which occupied the centre of what had once been a market. Simon took them to a building around the back of the church and introduced the little girl to a curate.

  "I regret that the Fen orphanage is full, milady," said the curate.

  "I will endow two new positions at the orphanage on condition that this girl gets one of the places," said Lucy.

  "But highness, that would require eighteen sovereigns," said the clergyman.

  "Indeed," said Lucy. "Have the papers drawn up, Master Tunstall, and give him twenty."

  "Your highness is generous," said the curate.

  Simon opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when Lucy dropped on one knee to explain to the little girl that she was to have a new home.

  "I doubt the girl has been baptised. I want you to carry out the ceremony now and I intend to stand as godmother. You two shall be godfathers," said Lucy to her companions.

  "Yes, milady," came a chorus of male voices. When Lucy was in this mood, there was no holding her.

  Simon understood completely. The vicar of Fen Church was a righteous man but things change and it never hurt to have connections. The orphanage would take special care of the child's welfare with Lady Dennys as her godmother. This precious charge was a two-edged sword. On one hand the orphanage would enjoy the benefits of patronage at a level they dared not have dreamed. On the other, one never knew when Lady Dennys would be back to check on her goddaughter's welfare. And heaven help them if she gave a poor report to Sir Francis Walsingham.

  The girl was a little concerned about being dipped, as it was well known that exposure of the skin to water caused fevers. Eventually, Lucy persuaded the girl to submit to the ordeal of baptism and the Church of England acquired a new addition to its congregation.

  "When the orphans are at their devotions, curate, would you ask them so say a small prayer for Lucy Dennys and Lilith?"

  "I doubt you have much on your conscience, milady," said the curate.

  "We all have something to weigh against our souls," said Lucy.

  "Very well, Lucy Dennys and Lilith . . ." The curate trailed off.

  "Just Lilith," said Lucy.

  "It shall be as you say," said the curate.

  'The orphans will say prayers for me, Lucy?' thought Lilith.

  'That's right, Lilith,' thought the girl.

  'What will the prayers do? Will they change something?' thought Lilith.

  'Not exactly, Lilith, the orphans will say prayer to preserve your soul.'

  Lilith considered. 'Lucy, I don't think I have a soul.'

  'Of course you have a soul. I know you as well as I know my uncle. He has a soul and so do you,' Lucy said, confidently.

  'Oh!' thought Lilith. This was a new idea.

  And who is Lilith?, wondered Simon. The trio walked away leaving the girl to her new life.

  "Um, Lady Dennys," said Simon. "How are we to buy you a new dress?"

  "The dress is cancelled," said Lucy, happily. "Doubtless the London fashion season will survive without me."

  "But won't Sir Francis notice that you are still in last year's fashion?" asked Simon.

  Lucy threw her head back and laughed out loud. "Master Tunstall, close your eyes."

  He did as he was bid.

  "Now, Master, you have been with me all day. Describe my dress."

  Simon thought of Lucy. In his imagination, he could picture her shining auburn hair, her dark brown eyes, her smile, and the curve of her breast. No, suppress that last thought, but her dress. It was green, maybe, or possibly blue. Simon opened his eyes; the dress was brown. He smiled. "Your point is made, Lady Dennys."

  Outside two carts had come nose to nose between Fen Church and the terrace of houses opposite. There was no room to pass so the cart drivers yelled insults and threatened each other.

  Lucy pointed to the confrontation, "Observe, Master Tunstall."

  Simon could not quite see what she meant. "London is too crowded," he said. "London Bridge is impassable at times. The Mayor has passed a rule requiring all carts to be driven on the left when crossing the bridge into town. There is talk of extending the rule to the whole city."

  The carters had progressed to hitting each other with their whips. Their animals took fright and tried to escape. The carts jerked forward and became linked. A wheel cracked and collapsed, creating an immovable obstacle.

  "If just one of the carters had given way to the other then the situation would have been resolved in minutes and both would have been on their way," she said. "I have oft thought that, from the highest in the land to those of the lowest station in life, all men are brothers under the skin."

  In Lucy's head, Lilith laughed and laughed.

  Act 10

  The Bloody Tower

  The Swallow slid slowly into Plymouth Sound under reefed sails. The water was alive with fishing boats and small traders, and William wished to avoid a collision. Drowning some local men would be an inauspicious homecoming. There was another reason for caution. A fishing boat came right in under the lee of the ship.

  "You there!" William called to the fishermen. "How fares the Queen?"

  "Her Majesty is fine," said the man in a strong Devon accent. "Leastways, she was this morning."

  William was very, very pleased to hear it. The Hawkins family had a letter of reprisal against Spanish shipping signed by Elizabeth. Technically, England and Spain were at peace even though it was well known that there was no peace "beyond the line." William's legal document made him a privateer rather than a pirate. The Spanish would not have recognised any such distinction and would hang him anyway, if they caught him, but it did give him legal immunity here at home. Of course, even that protection hinged on Elizabeth being recognised as the lawful Queen. William could easily find himself hanged as a pirate if a papist replaced her in a coup. So the network of Protestant families who ruled the port of Plymouth had reason to be amongst Elizabeth's most loyal supporters.

  William anchored offshore outside Plymouth's inner harbour and kept the men aboard. There was no point in testing the men's honesty to destruction by mooring a ship containing treasure right against the dockside. He went ashore in a boat to report to John Hawkins. He found his cousin in a tavern right by the dock.

  "Sit down, gentle cousin, before you fall down. You still sway as if you were at sea," said Hawkins.

  "It was a long voyage, John," said William.

  "Lucrative, I hope." Hawkins raised an eyebrow.

  "Not bad. I have a cargo of hides for you."

  "Hides?" Hawkins took a pull on his mug. "And?"

  "And Venezuelan pearls and gold bars."

  Hawkins laughed and clapped William on the back. "That's more like it, my boy." Hawkins raised his voice, "Innkeeper, some of your best malmsey wine."

  "How many men did you lose?" Hawkins asked.

  "About one in five."

  "Those damn tropical fevers?"

  "Not this time," replied William. "We ran into some trouble in the Azores. Three Spanish frigates caught us anchored at Ponta Delgada."

  "How did you escape? Three galleys, even light ones, could have shot you to pieces."

  "I used Drake's trick. I swivelled the ship using boats and cannonaded them with the culverins. We sank two."

  Hawkins whistled. "Daintily done. You were still lucky."

  "Aye," said William. "We lost young Packenham."

  "Killed or taken?" asked Hawkins.

  "I don't know," William replied. "He just disappeared during the battle, vanished with a Spanish hostage, too. I can't be sure, but I think he ran off with her."

  "Her?" asked Hawkins. "She must have had rare charms."

  At this point a barmaid appeared with two mugs of wine and plonked them down before the men. She was a plump girl and she had arranged her blouse to best advantage as she bent over the table. The barmaid favoured William with a bold look. Plymouth people were wise about ships and the sea. The Swallow returns after a lon
g voyage and John Hawkins orders the finest wine for her captain on hearing his news. To the shrewd Plymothian that meant Spanish treasure.

  "Where do you want to unload the ship, cousin?" asked William.

  "Ah. There's a thing. I didn't mention it before you left but one of the backers for your trip was Sir Francis Walsingham," said Hawkins.

  "Walsingham, the Queen's bloodhound?"

  "The same. He wants the ship unloaded in London. So you are to take her up to Town."

  "The men won't like it. They were looking forward to sampling the delights of the Barbican," William said. The Barbican was the area of Plymouth that specialised in relieving sailors of their "shares" in exchange for various pleasures of the flesh. No respectable woman went there although many respectable women had started their careers there.

  "William, when Walsingham says run, you ask how far." Hawkins finished his wine. He toyed with his mug for a moment, clearly embarrassed. "There is another matter. Walsingham has hired the Swallow and her crew."

  "What!" William exclaimed. "Think you I am some mule driver to be hired out to all and sundry?"

  "I know, lad, I know, but we can refuse him nothing. Walsingham is all that stands between the Queen and Heaven and if she falls, then we in Plymouth will surely follow." Hawkins stood. "Stay and finish your malmsey. I have an appointment with the Mayor but you stay and enjoy yourself for a while. Put your choice on my bill, a few minutes won't matter so much to Sir Francis."