He set to gloomily hauling his oars. I eyed him with profound disgust. A man who couldn’t order his own wife. Ridiculous.
My expression gave away my thoughts. He glowered.
‘You’ll marry one day. Find a pretty little face with a pair of bubbies like oranges and legs to her chin, you will, and you’ll swear undying love for her to get between her thighs, and one day, you’ll wake up when the wine’s worn off and realize you’ve made a horrible mistake, while she batters you with her rolling pin, telling you to “Get out of bed, you lazy lummox” and “Haven’t you got a boat to work?” and “Piss off out of here if you want anything to eat tonight.” Never any bleeding peace once you’ve married.’
‘Oh,’ I said. It seemed something was expected of me.
It was a relief to get out of the boat and climb up the steps of the wharf. It was some way from our place, and I was early, so I decided to make my way back home and see if Moll was there. I tried to persuade myself I wanted to talk to Bill, but I wasn’t very convincing.
I hadn’t expected to find a body.
‘Christ’s bones, Gil!’
TWELVE
Gil had not died well. He was bound to a post at the side of the house, and his face was swollen and bloody. I felt his throat for a pulse, but I knew it was too late. I mean, all the blood on him and near him was congealed. When my finger touched his neck, it was cold as a stone – and about as soft. He’d just about frozen.
‘Who did this, Gil?’ I wondered aloud. I hunkered down in front of him, staring, as if he might be able to give me a clue. I heard once – in a tavern, I think – that a man’s eye held the image of the last person he saw. If you could peer into his eye, you would see the man who killed him. Well, unless the victim was stabbed in the back, I suppose, in which case you’d get the image of some poor innocent bystander instead of his murderer. But that’s by the by. I wasn’t going to see the fellow here, because Gil had been given a real beating before he died. His eyes were swollen so badly that I doubt he could have opened them, and his nose was broken. When I looked at the ground, I saw two teeth in what looked like a frozen blood clot. It looked as if someone had hit him in the mouth so hard that his teeth had been broken free, and he had spat them out.
It made me feel sick.
Then I noticed something else. The purse was gone.
I left him there and made my way up the stairs to our house.
The inside had been trashed. Not that it was spotless before, of course, but now the decoration was modified by the addition of the straw from inside my palliasse, and the odds and ends of our belongings had been spread all over the place. My costrel had been slashed and torn open as though someone was looking inside it for a valuable …
I gaped. Someone had been in here and had torn the place apart looking for something, and since I had nothing of any value, the only thing that could have been the focus of the search must have been either the money, which Bill kept, or something else. In a flash, I saw again the face of Ann’s friend, the black-hatted man, and the expression on Mark’s face as he read my cipher. It must have been that damned note, I thought, and in an instant I bethought myself that a swift and lengthy vacation from London would be a good idea. The notion I had rejected a couple of days before when Bill suggested it now took on a more appealing aspect. I would have to flee.
It would be little effort to go to the river, take a boat over the Thames and then set off for Whitstable. How long would it take? No matter. Who cared, when the alternative was to end up looking like Gil? That was a thought that resonated. I didn’t want to end up looking like him – a carcass left bound to a pole for the rats to feast on.
The door opened behind me and I yelped in fright.
‘What in the devil’s name are you doing back here?’ Bill demanded, shutting the door quietly.
‘I wanted to see how—’
‘I told you to stay here, didn’t I? And what do I find? I get back and you’ve pissed off!’ he spat. ‘I ought to stick you now!’
He had put his hand on his ballock knife, and I squeaked in alarm. ‘What? Why? What have I done?’
‘You saw what they did to Gil? We’ve had to bolt from here and find a new home because of you.’
‘It wasn’t me! Look at him! You think I could do that to Gil? He’s twice my strength!’
‘If not you directly, you brought this to him.’
‘No, I didn’t! You heard him talk about the man in the tavern who bought him drinks. Gil told you, and I said that was the same man who’d been in the tavern when the stranger was killed. But the day after, Gil brought that same man and his friend back here. I saw them. He was showing them the house and then they chased me. I had to run or they’d have done that to me! Anyway, they got what they wanted: they took the purse.’
‘That purse? But there was no money in it,’ Bill said.’
‘You know that, and I know that, but maybe they didn’t.’
‘They killed him for an empty purse?’ Bill said.
‘Unless there was something in it that you and Gil didn’t find,’ I said evasively.
He didn’t appear to notice my words. Walking to his own pallette, he kicked the straw aside and glowered down at it moodily. ‘Nothing left here, is there?’
‘What of the others?’
‘They’re all up the road. I found us a new billet at the back of Deneburgh Lane. Moll and the others are all there now.’ He looked about him. ‘There’s nothing to rescue from this, is there?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, then. I’ll take you there.’
I followed him down the stairs, and I couldn’t help but glance towards Gil’s body slumped by the post. He looked shrivelled, a smaller person than he had been in life. God knows, I’d no reason to like him, but seeing him there made him look so forlorn, like a discarded toy, that I wanted to go and report his murder.
‘Report him? Who to? The beadle? You go. Do that. But don’t forget they already have you marked as a murderer. It’ll help the constable to know that you’re responsible for a second dead man. They won’t have to bother looking for another murderer, will they?’
I had to admit, he had a point. It made for a difficult series of thoughts. And then I had an idea.
The man who died: he had been arguing with his wife that day. Perhaps she could help. She was convinced he was spending money – there could be a clue there. Perhaps he was being threatened, perhaps blackmailed. If he didn’t pay up, he might get himself killed.
I had to find his wife. But how?
Deneburgh Lane was a horrible, squalid little alleyway the width of a cart, with offal and waste making the cobbles slippery and dangerous. It was fairly steep in parts, and I slid three times until I was convinced I was going to end up in the Thames. The house Bill had found was a narrow building overlooking the river, with a shop beneath run by a wizened little man with a face like a short-nosed terrier, all wrinkles, eyes and skin as dark as a coalman’s. There was a great thundering of hammers from the house next door, where a cooper kept up a brisk trade, but as the sun set and the cooper stopped work, it would grow moderately quiet, so Bill promised me.
I took in the room, which contained little more than a series of large palliasses stacked against a wall, a small table, a bench, and two stools that looked so old they could have been used by Cain and Abel.
Moll stood in the corner. She had a more fretful look about her than I had seen in a while. Her eyes seemed to have grown to double their usual size with her alarm. She looked at Bill, then at me, and I could see she was nervous. It was hardly surprising. I had disappeared for a couple of days, and suddenly murder had visited the house. None of us was fond of Gil, but it’s one thing not to like a man and another to see him slaughtered in that manner.
It felt as though Death was following me.
I began to walk to her, but she withdrew with an expression of real fear in her eyes.
That was when I realized: she actually thou
ght I had done it, that I had murdered Gil.
She went to the fire, where a pot boiled, and knelt to stir it.
I was hurt. The idea that I would murder one of our fellows was really insulting to me. It offended my sense of justice. And then I realized that it meant she would never trust me. All visions of my sitting with her on my lap evaporated instantly. I’d never have her; that was certain. It wasn’t fair!
Bill hadn’t noticed. ‘The men who did that to Gil, Jack. How many were there?’
‘Three, but the other day here, when he brought them back, there were only the two that I saw. The man with the broad-brimmed hat and his sidekick, a huge man built like a bear. He scared the hell out of me, I don’t mind telling you.’
‘So you think Gil brought them here, eh?’
‘Who else would have?’
Moll gave me a glance then, and I realized how her mind was working: I was so angry with Gil for bringing these men that I caught him and killed him later. The thought of pulling my knife and stabbing him was repugnant enough; the idea that I could have beaten him to a pulp like that was still worse. I turned my back on her. And then I realized that time was getting on. It was almost noon already. I should be at Mark’s house.
I walked out, explaining I needed to keep my hand in. After all, we all needed some coin for food now. With Gil gone, we must all work that little bit harder.
And I would soon be working hardest of all. Mostly just to keep alive.
THIRTEEN
Mark’s house was a small-fronted building. It was set back from the lane, and a small stream flowed down a gutter that was bridged by a large stone slab. I stood on the rock to knock at the door. A clatter from within told me that Mark was home. There was the sound of movement, and then the door opened a little, his wizened face appearing at the gap. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s me. Piers’ friend.’
‘Oh, oh yes. Come in, please. Let me just move some of this … I usually tidy up in the afternoon, but I’ve been working … well, you know how it is. Come inside.’
All this was launched at me over his shoulder, while he proceeded further and further into the building.
I have seen sheds and workshops of all types in my life. I have seen smiths’ forges that appeared to be formed from accretions of filth; I’ve seen brewers’ shops where the floor could scarcely be seen for the mess of hops and grain; I’ve seen dressmakers’ shops where the cloth lay all about like carpets; I’ve seen butchers’ shops that had offal and bones lying all about – and yet I have never seen a sight to compare with Mark Thomasson’s home.
There were, I think, tables. I assume that because there were apparently surfaces beneath all the scrolls, books and parchments. There was a great telescope on a tripod, and brass machines of various sizes to gauge the position of the sun or stars, and in one wall there was a pair of arrows protruding from a beam. A helm with a gross dint in it sat on a candlestick, and beside it a breastplate with two holes punched through it. I didn’t like to think what had happened to the man wearing it. I saw a horse harness, bows, guns of great length and some with barrels of only six inches. There was a thick, weighty tome with rough page-edges, a pot of what looked like ink, with three quills sitting in it and a mass of fresh, untrimmed feathers beside it. And then I heard a rumble that appeared to pass towards me from the floor, and I shuddered at the horrible sound. A shape disconnected itself from the shadows near a fire, where a chair and a stool sat, and slowly paced towards me. It was an immense hound.
‘Don’t mind Peterkin,’ Mark said as he walked to the chair. He sat in it and beckoned me.
‘Peterkin?’ I repeated dully. The brute licked his lips, clearly enjoying the sight of a human in terror.
‘My little fellow? Yes. He is a handsome little thing, isn’t he? I got him as a puppy, and I’ve been delighted to keep him by my side at all times, save when I seek some … er … more physical refreshment. Here, after all,’ he said, waving a hand at the chaos that had engulfed his room, ‘here I have more than enough stimuli for my brain. It is the needs of my heart that I seek from those ladies of Southwark.’
He navigated past a couple of tottering piles of paper, patting one as though it was a faithful and ancient pet, before seating himself. ‘Come along, take your seat.’
I licked dry lips as he pointed across to the stool, and slowly and very cautiously moved past the hound. It’s not that I’m nervous of all dogs. I’m only petrified of the ones that look as though they could take on a bull single-handed. This one had just that kind of look in his eye. As I passed by, I could feel the breath from his nostrils, like the breath from a demon’s steed. A low rumble made the room vibrate once more.
‘Calm down, Peterkin,’ Mark said. He had pulled my strip of parchment from his scrip, and now sat studying it while I walked to the stool and sat. A growl made me leap to my feet, but Mark insisted that I be seated, and I sat. The hound sat painfully close to me. He stared at me fixedly. I was not comfortable.
‘Now, you said you found this in the street. That was clearly untrue. It would not have been lost. In fact, I know of several men who are urgently seeking this already. One, I am sure, would kill for it, because it will mean the death warrant of a high-born noblewoman whom he detests; a second would kill because by finding it, and either preserving it safely or destroying it, he will save his mistress. The third is the intended recipient, and he would also kill to get it to protect his mistress.’
This was not good news. ‘So, what should I do with it? Throw it on the fire?’
‘You could do that. But, of course, if one of these fellows were to find you, how could you convince them that you had indeed burned it? They might believe that you were holding out for a better offer, and that might make them – ah – impatient, if you take my meaning.’
A picture of Gil’s battered face rose in my mind. ‘I see.’
‘Your better route would be to keep it safe,’ he said.
Safe! Where could I put something where it would be safe? The house with all the others? That hadn’t been safe when the three thugs killed Gil and broke into the place, had it? Or when I had been there and had to run to Southwark to escape the Bear? That was hardly safe. I could find a merchant, but even if I persuaded one to put my parchment in his strongbox, how safe would it be?
‘What is the message about?’ I asked.
He leaned down and picked up the parchment from where it lay on a pile of papers.
Picking up a pen, he took a scrap of paper and wrote on it.
‘This is what it says.’
I took the piece of paper and read aloud: ‘Do not hesitate. Strike at once and deliver a blow that must topple the whole edifice. England must not have an Imperial consort.’
‘You see?’ he said.
I smiled and nodded. ‘Of course.’
He eyed me. ‘No, you don’t, do you? Jack, this is a note from someone in authority who is giving a vassal the command to topple the regime; to remove the queen. Our Queen Mary. There is little doubt that the line about not permitting an Imperial consort refers to the queen’s infatuation with the son of the Emperor of Spain, is there?’
I began to understand. ‘So this is a letter to someone to foment trouble in London?’
He looked at me as though I was not the village idiot but the city’s. ‘Not to “someone”. It must have been intended for Wyatt. The man who is raising rebellion in Kent?’ he added, seeing my expression.
‘Oh!’ That was not good news. Wyatt, the man who was marching on London. ‘So who could this be from?’
‘By the grace of God!’ he sighed, resting his brow on his hand. I think he had a headache or something. Then he looked up. ‘There are how many people who are in line to the throne of England?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Let me tell you, then,’ he said heavily. ‘There is Lady Jane Grey, who was, um, to be forced to the crown on the death of King Edward, but for the fact that Mary, our queen, and, after her
, her half-sister Elizabeth, were already named in the will of Edward’s father. Henry wanted Mary to rule if his son was to die. And so it came to pass. On the day that the, um, young King Edward succumbed to his disease, men were sent to capture Mary while others put Lady Jane Grey on the throne, but they set off too late and the princess was warned. She left her manor with a party of household knights, and rode far and wide until she had gathered about her a small army. When she came to London, the natural sense of English fair play and justice meant that all acknowledged her as queen. Lady Jane was arrested and thrown into the Tower, along with her husband and her father. She had enjoyed a nine-day reign, but England rejected her for Mary based on the ancient rights of inheritance. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘But now, with the queen’s bold determination to marry a man of the Catholic faith, the support for her has faded. Yes?’
‘Of course. We all know that.’
‘So if Lady Jane Grey were to send a note to men who were rebelling against Queen Mary’s rule, that would, um, perhaps make the queen angry, do you not think? Perhaps, if the messenger carrying this note to Wyatt, or to his supporters in London, were to be murdered in such a manner that the note he bore on his person could be discovered, Queen Mary would be pleased to have Lady Jane executed right speedily for treason, do you not think? The men who wanted to guard Queen Mary would naturally be glad to receive this note, and to see the messenger and any who gave him succour hanged and quartered, while those who sought to support the rebels in Kent might easily be persuaded to kill any man who held so dangerous a message?’
‘So any could have killed the messenger?’
He sighed and looked at me with a kind of sad disappointment.
It suddenly came clear to me. I gaped, staring from him to the parchment. ‘You mean, Queen Mary’s friends and her enemies would both see me dead for this damned thing?’
Mark sighed with a contented smile. ‘Ah! He appreciates at last!’
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