My friends of the night before had all left me, and I was alone by the warm embers. I stretched, swore at the pain in my back and shoulder, and made my way back towards the city. There were three guards standing blearily at the bridge’s gatehouse, and I nodded to them, continuing up the street to fetch a meat pie, and it was while I was there that I saw Blount leaning against the wall opposite.
I followed him up to Paternoster Lane, and waited there while he walked to the door and knocked loudly. When it opened, Blount beckoned me. I took a moment to think about it, but I had little choice. I went inside after him.
‘Ah, Master Jack. The assassin with so many colourful names. I hope I see you well?’
The man speaking was a tall fellow, with a broad smile on his fat face. He had the appearance of a rich merchant, but his accent was pure Welsh, which was rare enough in London.
He was standing beside a knuckle chair at a large trestle table, a black hat on his head, and a thick coat over his shoulders. As I walked in, he sat down, rubbing his hands. There was good reason. The fire had done nothing as yet to warm the room, and it felt colder in there than outside. Blount stood leaning against the wall near the window. He was a born leaner, I decided.
I bowed stiffly. ‘With whom do I have the honour of speaking?’
His smile broadened. ‘I am Thomas Parry, Master Jack. And I hope you and I will be able to serve each other.’
‘For my part, I have no home, no friends and no occupation. All I possess in the world is the coin that the queen graciously gave me as a reward yesterday. I’m destroyed because David Raleigh took it into his head to bring a message to someone, and Blount here chose to have me risk my life passing it on to another fellow.’
‘Do you mean to complain that your occupation as a felon has been curtailed without any punishment?’ Parry asked. He had a deceptively mild tone of voice, but I quickly snapped my mouth shut. To confess to felonies such as cutting purses free from their owners’ belts was to invite a remonstration that would be painful, if brief. He continued, ‘I see you are reconsidering your complaints. Good. Then you do have your wits still. I have, in my brief life, been forced to make some unpleasant decisions. All too often they have resulted in painful consequences for other people. However, I have always been fortunate to have been served by my good friend here, Master Blount.’
He rose and crossed the floor to me, studying me closely. ‘I see no guile in your face, which is surely a miracle, for one with so black a soul. However, Master Blount assures me that you are most competent. Will you accept my command?’
‘I don’t know what—’
‘Master Blount will make all clear. I find such discussions distasteful. However, needs must, and in politics it is often necessary to accept that unpleasant behaviour is occasionally essential. I am prepared to provide you with a house, with an income commensurate with your position, and a fresh suit of clothing each year. Will such satisfy you?’
‘What sort of house?’ I hazarded.
‘You need not worry. I have several, and all are in good repair. Well?’
What was I going to say? Other than that I had no idea what I was being offered and could scarcely make a rational decision, of course.
‘Yes,’ I said.
Blount and I stood outside the house and set off in step towards a tavern.
‘He is impressed with you, I can tell. It’s always hard to see how a fellow like you can earn a living. At least this way, though, you will be able to live as you have always wanted. You will be a gentleman, Jack. A new name for you, eh? Gentleman Jack!’
‘But what does he want me to do? Spy on people?’
‘Hardly. No. But we have a need of men like you. Men who are prepared to kill. I saw your face after you killed Roscard. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? And we know how fast you are. That was an impressive killing. I could not have done better myself.’
‘That wasn’t me! That was …’ I stopped. I had caught a glimpse of his expression. There was a cynical tilt to his eyebrow, and his grin proved that he was paying no attention to my words. And then, I thought, well, why not? There was money, there was a house, there were new clothes – what more had I always fought for? I wanted a roof, dear God, more than ever now that Bill wouldn’t have me near, and even if he would be prepared to let me in, I wouldn’t dare go to sleep in a room where Moll had access to a knife. That would be far too dangerous. And Blount didn’t believe my protestations of innocence, so what would be the point of denying it?
I stopped and looked back at the house where Parry was installed, then gave Blount a careful look. ‘How much money are we talking about?’
It was a good house, too. I was promised a series of rigorous training sessions with quarter staff, lance, sword, dagger and even my bare hands, and, after a suitable time, I would be given my first orders. I was a professional assassin. Well, that should be easy enough. I would become a professional who would take all the money and possessions with me as I bolted for the coast and fled to France, or maybe took ship to Spain or the New World. One thing I was certain of, and that was that I was most assuredly not an assassin.
This may be a surprise to anyone who knows of London in those riotous, murderous days. It sometimes seemed as though every other man was a gentleman who would be prepared to run you through just to see the colour of your blood. Well, Bill was of that breed, and Blount, too, but not I. I always preferred the comforts of life to the risks of death. And while I was being paid to behave like a gentleman, I was more than content. Besides, rumours of my new occupation began to spread, as these things will, and I discovered that I was looked upon differently by people who had once thought they knew me. Now, several of them looked at me in a new light, as if they saw not me, but some devil in human disguise, who could breathe brimstone over them and suffocate them on a whim.
Not that anyone knew much. I know that, because I didn’t. Who was employing me? Well, I can make a guess as well as the next man. I was being instructed by Parry, and he was no doubt employed by the queen. Who else could have instructed him? So I was to be the queen’s assassin. I mentioned that to Blount once, mind you, and he laughed fit to burst, so I could be wrong, but I doubt it. I worked for the most important woman in the realm, and that for me was fine.
As long as no one asked me to kill anybody.
The hawkers in the streets seemed to step around me more carefully; watchmen tipped their hats to me; even Piers ensured that there were always younger, newer women to see to my needs when I visited him in the stews. All in all, life was good.
It was when I was standing outside the Cardinal’s Hat that it happened.
I was pulling off my gloves preparatory to a thoroughly enjoyable encounter with a lithe young brunette who, Piers assured me, was from Navarre, and who was exotic, wild and desperate to please, when Piers opened the door, looked about me at the street, and then beckoned me urgently. I entered the familiar corridor, with its odours of sweat and perfume to conceal the more odious smells, and followed him. He hushed me when I attempted to speak, and opened a door I had not noticed before. I walked in, and he shut the door behind me.
‘Good day, Master.’
It was Atwood, large as life and twice as ugly as sin. I was all for turning, pulling the door wide and fleeing, when I saw he was smiling at me.
‘I thought you were dead,’ I said.
‘I thought you were a fool.’
‘How did you escape Wyatt’s fate?’
‘Ah. Yes, well, sadly, I didn’t make it to join him. He rode off with the others to Charing Cross, but I chose to remain. I went to the Thames, found a stable, paid an exorbitant sum for my beast to be looked after, and then clad myself in my city yeomanry uniform before returning to the city. There were questions, of course, but I was able to satisfy all my interrogators. And meanwhile, the madness continued.’
‘Yes.’
I knew what he meant. Poor Lady Jane Grey, only seventeen years old. She had been execut
ed a week after the end of Wyatt’s rebellion. Lady Jane had watched her husband taken to the scaffold, so I heard, and then his body and head brought back on a cart, before she had herself been taken to Tower Green, where the poor young woman had herself had her head removed.
‘And now the Princess Elizabeth is held. Wyatt will be tortured until he admits her part in the rebellion,’ Atwood said. ‘Even Blount is anxious for her.’
‘Did she have a part?’ I asked.
‘That is a question many will ask. What do you think?’ he said.
‘Me? It hardly matters to me! Besides, I don’t want to know. I have my position in life,’ I said with satisfaction.
‘A good answer. Such matters are not for the likes of us,’ he chuckled. ‘Even when our lives are in their hands.’
I didn’t know what he meant. I had nothing to do with Princess Elizabeth. ‘What do you want with me?’ I asked sharply.
He looked at me and gave a shamefaced grin. ‘These are uncertain times, my friend. I seek employment.’
EPILOGUE
It was a month later that I heard of Bill’s death. His body was found that morning, tangled up in the weeds and detritus that clung to the old, rotten wharf down at the riverside from Deneburgh Lane, and it took three watchmen to pull his sodden body from the water. They tell me that he’d been in there for a while, from the way the skin had pulled away from his body. I didn’t want to hear more.
That should have been that, really. I had the distinct impression that no one else was particularly bothered about his death. The watchmen had their own unexplained dead bodies to worry about; the poorer folk didn’t care, because who cared about a thief who dies? Everyone who knew how London worked was unbothered, too, because the idea of a famous dealer in stolen goods getting his comeuppance was hardly earth-shattering. Some reckoned that it was because of his offering too little money for some goods, and I could sympathize with them after my own attempt to get a fair price for David’s purse; others thought it was simple bad luck. Even the best thief can occasionally step down the wrong street and be murdered in error. But I don’t think Bill was greedy enough or enough of a fool for either of those.
No, I was always convinced that poor old Bill died from love. He adored Moll, you see. I was always right about that. I could tell it in his eyes. He may not have been overly bothered about me taking Moll from him, but he would, rightly, have been nervous about her growing to see the benefit of another man rather than him, and she knew how to remove obstacles to her happiness.
Bill would never have been able to cope with that. He loved her, as I said. So when he saw her falling in love with another man, he may have tried to fight the fellow, or, more likely, waylay him and kill him. And Moll might find his actions unacceptable. If she did, she would have found her revenge easy to take, because Bill would never have protected himself against her.
What of the others, you say? Well, I am happy living in my new house, and I have a moderately competent bottler in Atwood. Blount has kept away from me, except to see to it that I have a master of defence to teach me the arts of fighting. I have a good alehouse down my road, where I can meet occasionally with Wat and Ham, and Piers, when he is not so over-drunk that he cannot make the crossing of the river.
Widow Raleigh? I did nothing against her. What would it have served, had I denounced her? She could as easily have accused me of theft of her husband’s purse, and even perhaps of killing him. It seemed a better thing to leave her alone.
And Moll? I don’t know what happened to her. Wat reckoned she took a boat to Calais, but if she did, I just hope none of the sailors gave her a reason to take exception to their comments. If they did, I only hope she had learned how to sail a ship before she avenged herself.
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