‘She will give you time to drink one cup of wine,’ he said gloomily, as though predicting the apocalypse, before leading me along a screens passage and into a hall.
I was not prepared for the size of the hall. It was small and not at all what I expected. The house was little more than a handful of small rooms. Not wide, the house stretched back from the lane one room deep. A fire flared fitfully in the hearth, and occasionally smoke billowed into the room. A pair of candles on iron pricks at either side of the fire dripped wax on the rushes.
Mistress Agnes Raleigh sat in a tall-backed, throne-like seat that had been pulled across the floor and installed a little before the fire. She was only average height, but from her deportment she could have been much taller. She had the appearance of a woman who had a pike staff for a back bone. Utterly unbending and upright in her seat, she had her chin raised and looked down her nose at me. Her hair was decorously hidden beneath her simple linen coif, and a black cap on top was the only concession to her mourning now that she had removed her black cloak. Mind you, her wine-red gown, richly decorated with coloured threads, made a nice contrast, I thought.
‘Well?’ she said. She had a goblet in her hand and now she pointedly sipped. Her eyes were a little too close together. It made her look shrewish and demanding. Thin lips, high cheekbones, a narrow face with piercing blue eyes. All in all, she wasn’t my sort, but I was determined to make myself appealing to her.
I was about to bow, but then I knelt at her feet instead. ‘Madam, I was so sad to hear of your husband’s death.’
‘Were you? Did you know him? You don’t look like the sort of man with whom David would consort,’ she said.
‘He and I met only briefly, madam.’
‘When?’ she asked, sipping again. You will notice that she didn’t offer me any wine.
‘I knew your husband …’
‘You think that will endear you to me? I knew my husband, too. A harsh man, prey to swift infatuations, and a spendthrift.’
‘He was assuredly …’ Her words suddenly battered at my brain. ‘Eh?’
‘He had worked his way through my dowry. Look at this house! It’s falling apart. He was supposed to be my protector and support in this hard world, and instead he went off wenching and drinking, and now that he is dead, I am all but destitute. Look around you! I have not managed to have the hall whitewashed in years. Even my father’s coat of arms is all but lost from the front. He was always so proud of that coat of arms, too.’
‘Your father used to own this house?’ I said, trying desperately to bring the galloping steed that was my brain back to the race course.
‘Yes. Father was a goldsmith of renown. It was my marriage to this fool and wastrel that broke my father’s heart, and now mine. All my dowry and inheritance, frittered away on foolishness.’
He hadn’t looked like a man who would do that. ‘When I saw him, his coat and hosen were not those of a man who spent unwisely,’ I said tentatively.
‘Do you say so?’ she said with a pointed stare at my own clothing. It was not, apparently, up to her standard either.
She sipped more wine and I could see that the tide was going down swiftly. Nothing ventured, I thought to myself. I couldn’t see how to introduce this subject easily, so I decided I must leap in with both feet. I must learn all she could tell me, especially if she could help with the message in his purse. ‘Madam, I was there. I saw him murdered.’
‘You what?’ she said, and suddenly the steel left her spine and she rocked backwards.
‘Madam, I am sorry, but I don’t see how else to say it. I saw him in the tavern, and then I saw him slain outside. It was a big man with a large black hat, but I didn’t see the fellow’s face.’
‘I thought his killer was recognized. He was a man named Jack. A man just like you.’
TWENTY-TWO
Yes. She knew my name. That was enough to make me rock back on my heels, too. ‘How did you know my name?’
She didn’t answer immediately, but sipped again, peering at me over the rim of the goblet like a frog staring over a lily at a juicy fly while she savoured the flavour. ‘I would think everyone in London knows your name now. You are famous. Murderers are.’
‘I’m no murderer!’ I said hotly. It was becoming a refrain.
‘You say you saw him on the day he was killed. Did you go to the beadle?’
‘I couldn’t! The murderer was there, and I had to escape as quickly as I could before he killed me!’
‘Really?’
‘Madam, why was your husband there?’
‘You think he would tell me?’ she said, and now the bitterness that was poisoning her came out in a flurry. ‘He told me nothing about his business, such as it was. All he wanted was to have me sit here like a caged bird, while he went out and about and enjoyed himself on my father’s money. He thought himself so important and high in the esteem of the queen that he was safe to go and do anything! You know where he was on his last night? I do: at the home of his whore, all night. He was so keen to see her that he ignored me. You think I should speak kindly of the dead? He deliberately humiliated me all my married life. You think I should mourn him? I don’t! I am pleased to be free of him!’
‘I am sorry,’ I mumbled. I was more than a little surprised at her outburst, as well I might be. A woman who has just been widowed would usually be a little more circumspect in her words.
‘Don’t be. I am not,’ she said, and lifted the goblet once more. ‘Look! My cup is empty. And I believe you were told that you had one cupful in which to entertain me. I thank you, Master Jack.’
I rose to my feet. There was little else. However, it was worth one more cast of the dice. ‘Madam, do you know anything about a cipher he might have used?’
‘A secret code? Him? If he had one, it would have been simple enough,’ she said with disdain. ‘He was strong, but not terribly clever.’
‘I see.’ Not that it mattered. If he was a messenger, as Mark Thomasson guessed, the code was not his own; it belonged to the couple who were using him to communicate. Could I ask her whether she knew anything of the parchment I had found? Surely that was pointless. She knew nothing, so she said, about his business. Raising the fact of his robbing another would hardly endear me to her. ‘Are you sure of his whore?’
‘Of course I am. She is Julia Hopwell, who lives on Fleet Street near St Bride’s church. I’ll bet her name was well earned, the amount of money my husband paid her!’
I was so taken with this news that I hardly heard the noises. It was only when the door slammed wide that I realized my error.
There was a crash at first, then shouting, and as I peered at the screens, I heard orders and saw a beadle appear.
It was enough for me. I was off, out through the back of the hall like a scalded cat, followed by the cackling laugh of Agnes Raleigh. There was a staircase up to the second floor, but, miracle of miracles, a low door through to a rear yard. I was off and through it almost before my thoughts had caught up with my legs. The yard was enclosed, but there was a gate at the far side. I ran to it, hurled myself at it and jumped for dear life, scrambling up the gate, then throwing myself over it.
Or I would have. You remember I said not to look behind while running? I didn’t, but even as I was about to tumble over the other side, I felt the man’s hand grab at my ankle. Only a judicious kick with my other boot freed me. Then I was over and running again. I had no idea where I was. Now, I think it was probably Honey Lane beside St Augustine’s, and I was able to rush along it, out into Athelyng Street, and from there I took off through the crowds, hurtling past shocked dames and terrified urchins as I made my way to All Hallows’. There, I took a turn into the cemetery, almost running into a couple of horses that had been left to feed, past a pair of merchants haggling over the price of bales of cloth (I think), and back into Friday Street, from whence I made my way to the river.
There, I stopped and had to catch my breath.
I had seen
the look of sheer cruel joy on Agnes Raleigh’s face when the men arrived. She had not merely expected them, but she had kept me penned in her hall until they could arrive. I daresay one of the scruffy little rein-holders had been sent for the beadle by her steward as soon as I was enclosed with her. News of my supposed involvement with the death of her husband must have reached other ears. What a life! I was still no better off. I had learned that a wench who would haggle her virtue lived over near the Temple, and that she was a friend of the dead man. That was a lot of help. There were hundreds of women like that.
I was grimly slouching along the street when I heard a friendly voice.
‘Hoi! Is that you, Jack?’
‘Captain Atwood!’
It was a relief. His sober but amiable face was a pleasure to view just then, after my recent encounters.
‘Come. Let’s get some beer and food,’ Atwood said. ‘We’re here to fight and defend the city; the least the city can do is ensure that we have full bellies for the task!’
I followed him along the streets.
There was rubble and mess everywhere, with citizens who had decided to flee the city dumping whatever they didn’t need in the middle of the road. Atwood swore about their untidiness all the way, kicking discarded jugs and bottles from his path as we went.
I was glad of Atwood’s company. He was stolid and reliable, and always seemed to pay attention when I talked to him. Now, as we reached the city itself and made our way towards the cathedral, I was struck by how little the city seemed aware of the approaching danger. The shops were still open, and those selling weaponry of all sorts were doing a roaring trade, but women paraded and children still played, dancing about in the streets as if nothing more alarming than a feast day was anticipated. Perhaps they were right. I mean, men like Atwood would fight and probably die in the attempt to defend the city, but men like me, who could fling off any uncomplimentary apparel that carried the wrong badges, and women, who could make an invading army feel welcome, would have less to fear. This wasn’t Europe, after all. No English army would want to harm London. It was the source of the nation’s wealth, and any venal, thieving, avaricious soldier or commander would have to contend with the still more fiendish and acquisitive people who populated this city. I wasn’t sure that the army behind Wyatt would survive that contest.
‘You look glum, Jack. Don’t. Wyatt’s men have to cross that river before they can get to us, and they won’t find that easy with the only bridge taken from them.’
‘There are a lot of them,’ I said.
‘There are plenty of us inside the city to defend it, too.’
‘Yes,’ I said. I didn’t sound convincing to my own ears.
He looked at me with a frown. We were outside the Boar’s Head in Candlewright Street, and he caught a serving wench who glared a moment and then seemed to take a fancy to the tall soldier. She grinned, and quickly went inside when he asked for beer. Soon she was back with a large leather jug and two mugs. He paid her and gave her a grave smile that seemed to set a fire in her heart. For the rest of the time we sat on the bench outside the tavern, she kept returning to serve us.
‘You are worried about the citizens in the city? Do you not think they will rouse themselves to stop Wyatt?’
‘I think there are some who try to manipulate the people,’ I said. ‘There are some who would willingly see the queen toppled and another put in her place.’
‘Such as who?’
‘I am not a politician – how should I know? All I know is, whoever they would place there would be unlikely to last very long. The kingdom is as safe as a building bonfire. While it’s unlit and people are throwing boxes and trash on to it, making it grow, it is solid and sound. But once it is lighted, it is likely to topple. Our kingdom is the same. Right now, it is solid and safe, but the flames of rebellion are licking, and once they catch hold, the bonfire will fall.’
Atwood nodded as though I was a philosopher.
‘Or something,’ I added, and drank some more.
TWENTY-THREE
He sat without moving as he absorbed my words. ‘Rebellion, you think?’
A man passed by, holding out his hand for alms, and Atwood impatiently waved the fellow on. Then, ‘There are many who would have considered others as more suitable for the throne, but they are mistaken, I am sure. The country doesn’t need more fighting. We need stability after King Edward’s death.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘But you fear that malcontents in the city could try to manipulate things to their own advantage?’
‘You must have seen them yourself,’ I said.
He shook his head. I drank my third tankard. I had been abstemious for the past few days, sticking to mild beers, but this was good, strong beer and it did go to my head a little.
Not that it affected me. I am used to good beers. The main thing was, Atwood was a good fellow. He had proved himself to be reasonable, avoiding a fight when he could, and showing himself keen to take me on when I was at a loss. I knew full well that, were a man to try to attack me, my captain would do all in his power to protect me. That was a reassuring thought as I downed my tankard. We spoke of the bridge and the defences, and we spoke of the enemy, and we talked about our past lives, our families, our lovers (that took me very little time, him quite a while), and the blackjack was emptied and we were forced to ask the maid for another, and I felt more and more that Atwood was reliable.
‘We do have to be careful, though,’ he said at one point. I don’t entirely recall what we had been saying, but at this I nodded sagely and belched quietly. ‘We should not talk of such things in front of the other men. They might get the wrong idea. They aren’t all bright like you.’
I nodded again. ‘They aren’t men of the world like you and me.’
‘No. I think you have faced many dangers compared with even our soldiers. Today, for example, you look very weary.’
‘I am! I have faced dangers! I could have been executed, and a man tried to kill me – I have just been talking to his widow, but she thought I had killed her husband. Me! I ask you, sir, would anyone think me a murderer? I have been set up for a man’s death, and even his widow thinks me guilty. She called the beadle to capture me.’
‘Really? Were you arrested?’
‘Not I! I managed to escape,’ I said.
‘Who was this man?’
‘Well,’ I said, staring down into my mug. ‘He was called David Raleigh. I met him only briefly. And then I was knocked down when my back was turned, and a fellow killed him.’
‘And this murderer – did you see him? Do you know what he looks like? We could find him, bring him to justice and renew your good name.’
‘Nay. He was dressed in black, with a broad-brimmed hat. When I saw him, he was walking with two other men, one a smiling fair-haired man, the other a vast great man, huge in all proportion. He tried to kill me again, later, but I managed to escape. It was lucky, too, for they murdered my companion, Gil. That was why we moved out and took up the rooms where you found us.’
‘Three of them?’ Atwood said. He seemed struck by something I had said. I don’t know why; I wasn’t. ‘Why would these three have been after you?’
‘I don’t know! I never harmed anyone,’ I said, adding defensively, ‘not with sword nor stick.’
‘And you know no more?’
Even in my cups, I wasn’t going to speak about the message. ‘Not about why they should try to hurt me, no. It was a mystery to me. But they wanted to kill me, just like the other.’
‘Which other?’
‘Henry. The man who killed Ann.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ann?’
‘She was his companion on the day David was killed,’ I said somewhat tersely. ‘I saw the fellow in the alley, you see. He cut her throat. Right across, here to here,’ I added, indicating with my forefinger. ‘It was horrible, and I chased after him and saw him go up, and when I went to speak to him in his house, his servant
told me he wasn’t there, but I don’t believe him. I’ll bet he is involved in the bishop’s plans.’
‘Up? Up where? What bishop?’ Atwood said, and when I looked at him, I saw that his face was a picture of confusion. He must have drunk more than I thought. He didn’t seem able to follow even a simple story like this.
I sighed, and as the blackjack was refilled, I told him all about the events of the past week. It took me a while.
‘So the bishop has interrogated you and wants the message, you say, and this fellow in dark clothing killed your friend Gil as well as this messenger?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Bishop Gardiner is the Lord High Chancellor under the queen, and this other man, Henry Roscard, what does he want? Why should he want to kill the woman Ann?’
‘The servant told me that he was a friend of Peter Carew’s,’ I said.
‘And he is the friend and ally of the Earl of Devon,’ Atwood said. ‘Edward Courtenay, the earl, is very powerful and viewed highly by Her Majesty, I’m told. You pick your enemies well, but that doesn’t answer my question.’
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