Chaos

by A D Swanston

  ‘Now, the testons. In 1551, only two years after the uprisings that brought such bloodshed to the country, a coin now known as the “Dudley” or “bear and staff” teston began to appear in the markets. Remember that the Earl of Leicester and his brother Ambrose had been at Norwich with their father the Earl of Warwick, sent there by Protector Somerset to quash the Norfolk rebels, and the terrors of that battle would have been only too fresh in their minds. The earl spoke only yesterday of the horrors he witnessed.’ Martin paused to take another sip of hippocras. ‘Do you recall that time, doctor, or were you too young?’

  ‘I was only nine years old at the time of the uprisings but I remember the fear and confusion they brought. One day news would come that the rebels in Dorset had won a great victory, the next that every camp in the west had been destroyed by the Protector’s troops. It was hard to know what to believe. There was a camp outside Cambridge and another at Wisbech to which men from the villages flocked. As a schoolteacher, my father was neither landowner nor serf and so avoided being the object of either side’s rage, but his sympathies were with the rebels. I remember him talking about their plight and about their leaders in Norwich, the Kett brothers, but I do not remember the Dudley testons.’

  ‘Nor did I, until I joined the Goldsmiths’ Company and heard them spoken of. It was by all accounts a strange episode – short-lived and never explained. The testons bearing the bear and ragged staff emblem appeared and disappeared within a few months. Their source was never found.’

  ‘What could have been their purpose? They must have been easy enough to identify.’

  Martin shrugged. ‘Who knows? Warwick, remember, had used his defeat of the rebels at Norwich to muster sufficient support to gain the Protectorship from Somerset, although he was not a popular man and had enemies.’

  ‘Who does not?’

  Martin laughed. ‘Indeed. But here was a man who had made himself unpopular with his peers and hated by his inferiors.’ He paused. ‘I should not be speaking of the earl’s father in such manner, but better, I think, that you know the whole story. I may, I am sure, rely upon your discretion.’

  ‘You may, sir, and I daresay the earl would not disapprove if your candour leads us to discover these new coiners. In any case, his father is long dead, his title taken by the earl’s brother.’

  ‘Quite so. The “Good” Earl of Warwick. But back to 1551. More than one man was arrested and imprisoned on charges of seditiously bruiting abroad rumours about the strange coins but, nevertheless, they persisted. People were ready to believe almost anything they heard in the markets and on street corners that discredited the powerful landowners they despised.’

  ‘Little has changed in twenty years. Spend a morning at Cheapside market and you will hear the same sentiments. Prices, naughty money, secret mints – public discourse might be illegal but that does not prevent it happening.’

  ‘Indeed not.’ Martin scratched his beard. ‘And I recall now that there was some argument about whether the coins actually depicted a bear or a lion, so poorly were they made. Unlike the one you saw yesterday.’

  ‘Did you ever see one, Mr Martin?’

  ‘I did not. The rumours quickly died down but the Dudley name had been dragged through the mud and when the Protector was arrested for his support for Lady Jane Grey, fuelled by those anxious to be rid of him, they resurfaced.’

  ‘And what is your opinion?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘I doubt the Earl of Warwick was a coiner, but there will be those who still think he was. Not that that accounts for these new coins. I am at a loss to explain those unless they are further intended to blacken the Dudley name.’

  ‘A man with a grudge against the Dudleys might find a better way to take his revenge, do you not think? And he is taking a great risk in producing these coins. If found, he will die a traitor’s death.’

  ‘As did the earl himself, and at the time of his execution a prophecy surfaced that the treachery which had brought him to his death would do the same to any man who held a bear and staff teston in his hand. The council had to act with uncommon speed to suppress it.’

  ‘As I held one only yesterday, I must hope that the prophecy is false. Is there more you can tell me, Mr Martin? A name or a place? Anything, however trivial, might help me in my search for the coiners.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘I can think of nothing more, but feel free to call on me at any time. Now, doctor, I advise against returning the way you came. The bridge might not be so kind a second time. I could find you an adequate mount in the Tower stables, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, no, Mr Martin. I must stretch my legs and clear my head. I will walk.’ A drenching and an uncomfortable ride in one day would be too much.

  ‘Then good day, sir, and good fortune in your search.’

  He was better informed about the minting process and the history of the strange coins but how was he to discover the coiners? The bear and staff testons were another matter entirely from the usual counterfeits and their true purpose was not obvious.

  It was no wonder that Isaac had been alarmed and that Leicester wanted the coiners found and safely in Newgate without delay. For him, for any member of the Dudley family, the coins must be at the least a grave embarrassment, speaking of pride and ambition, and at the most an act of treason, punishable by drawing and quartering.

  The earl had spoken of his father’s error of judgement in promoting the claim to the throne of Lady Jane Grey at the time of the young King Edward’s death, of the fearful time he and his brothers had spent in the Tower after their father’s arrest and of the misery of his father’s execution no more than a stone’s throw from their prison. They did not see the Duke of Northumberland, father of five living sons and two daughters, Earl of Warwick and once Lord President of the Council, die on the scaffold but they heard it well enough. Public executions were seldom quiet affairs. Leicester had spoken of all this but he had never spoken of the strange coins that had appeared at the time of his father’s regency.

  In Eastcheap a small crowd, well wrapped up in coats and caps against the east wind, had gathered outside an inn on the corner of Pudding Lane. Christopher peered over their heads and was able to make out words painted on the inn wall. The red paint had run and the letters were poorly formed, as if written in haste, but they were legible enough.

  When Hempe is spun, England’s done had once been a familiar couplet. It had been seen in the reigns of Mary and Edward and in the early years of the present queen’s reign and had been much discussed by bibulous tavern-goers. Most agreed that Hempe signified King Henry VIII, his three children, Edward, Mary and Elizabeth, and Mary’s husband, the scheming Philip of Spain. Whether doomed owing to a Spanish invasion, by Elizabeth dying childless and the Privy Council being forced to seek a successor elsewhere, or from a papist plot, was not made clear. It was a prophecy, like so many, that was vague enough not to be easily gainsaid, yet specific enough to cause alarm. Strangely, this one was marked with a cross – not in the form of a crucifix but in that of the letter X.

  The crowd chattered among themselves but it was an old slogan and it probably signified nothing. Such things appeared from time to time without apparent reason. He continued along Eastcheap, passed a chestnut-seller forlornly huddled over his brazier, threw a farthing to a persistent urchin and bought half a dozen marchpane biscuits from a street vendor, not bothering to haggle over the price. Katherine had the sweetest of teeth. She would berate him for the cost but still eat the biscuits.

  The cold had cleared the street of beggars and pickpockets, although unless an unusually charitable priest had given them shelter in his church, he could only guess at where they had gone. Not for the first time he pictured them scurrying like rats to their underground nests, there to wait for spring and easier pickings from the market stalls. It was an uncharitable thought and he forced it from his mind.

  Briefly he considered continuing down Cheapside just for the pleasure of seeing Ell again,
but guessed she would be sleeping. He had never inquired too deeply about her sources, taking them to be women like herself and their customers, and content that she had proved as reliable as any in carrying out his requests and in passing on whatever she happened to learn that might interest him. A word here, a whisper there, and before long what might be thought of as scribbles on a page could take on a shape that he understood and could act upon.

  The booksellers and stationers had also stayed at home and the churchyard of St Paul’s was deserted. Not a single stall had been put out. He strode across the cobbled yard and hurried on to Ludgate Hill.

  He let himself into the house, locked the door behind him, took off his coat and threw a log on the fire in his study. The room had been built as a parlour but served well enough for his work. Satisfied that the log would catch, he put the marchpane biscuits in the kitchen and returned with bread and ale to sit by the fire. He took a bite and a sip and grimaced. The ale was thin and the bread hard. Perhaps Katherine was right and he should find himself a replacement for Rose. There was joy to be had from solitude but none from poor victuals.

  He dipped the bread in the ale to soften it and bit off a lump. Was there not a certain irony in the noble earl giving him, of all people, the task of investigating a matter of coining? A man who knew the price of nothing and cared less. A man who before yesterday could barely have told a false teston from a farthing.

  In the years following the split from Rome, slogans and prophecies like the Hempe daubed on walls, commonly the walls of churches, had proliferated. Some had been enough to send a man to the assizes and possibly the gallows. But, strangely, the perpetrators were seldom caught in flagrante or informed upon and that in itself had fanned the flames of fear and superstition. Satan’s handmaidens, it was pointed out, could disguise themselves as cats, kill with spells and fly at night. Christopher remembered no crosses, but the one he had seen was unlikely to signify more than did the name of the artist on a painting.

  Nor had it been only men in their cups who had concerned themselves with the prophecies. Among the most credulous had been some of his colleagues in Cambridge, where words had appeared on college walls and churches. In public affecting to dismiss them as empty scaremongering, privately they had discussed and argued and searched for meaning. The theologians had pointed to the Book of Revelation and the prophets of the Old Testament, the philosophers to Chaucer and King Arthur and the mystical Merlin. Christopher had kept his own counsel, believing them to be no more than the work of the idle nobles who came up to Cambridge to study, did little or no work, seldom took a degree and spent their time in dice houses and at cock fights.

  It was mid-afternoon when Katherine arrived. ‘I have decided,’ she began, biting into a biscuit, ‘and there will be no more discussion. Tomorrow I shall start looking for your new housekeeper.’

  Christopher shook his head in mock surprise. ‘Have I no say in this?’

  ‘None. A replacement for Rose or I shall not be inclined to visit. I am neither cook nor laundress, yet I perform both tasks for you. There will be no more of it.’ She took another bite. ‘A fine sweet biscuit. How much did you pay for them?’

  ‘I forget.’ It was an argument he did not want and another about a new housekeeper would be futile. ‘As you wish, Katherine, but I must approve your choice.’

  ‘That you may, although be assured that she is unlikely to be comely. She will be chosen for her skills, not her looks.’

  ‘Might she not possess both?’

  ‘No.’

  Christopher grunted and stretched the bent fingers of his right hand. Playing the lute had made them no worse but neither had it improved them. ‘I saw the old Hempe prophecy today in Eastcheap.’

  ‘I remember the Hempe. Why would it appear now?’

  ‘I could not say.’ Christopher stood up. ‘Let us hope that Isaac Cardoza discovers something about the testons. I will call on him again in a few days. What I can say is that I am hungry. Did you bring food?’

  ‘I did. Did you learn anything at the mint?’

  Christopher recounted his conversation with Richard Martin. ‘I have heard it said that the Dudley family are doomed to suffer,’ said Katherine. ‘But someone somewhere knows who the false coiners are. We must find that person.’

  ‘And so we shall. Did you buy mutton or beef?’

  ‘Neither. Codfish.’

  Christopher swore. As a child he had almost choked on a herring bone. He hated fish and never ate it, even on Wednesdays and Fridays or during Lent, if he could avoid it. ‘Your efforts to improve my humour are unlikely to prove successful. I trust my new housekeeper will be less contrary.’

  CHAPTER 5

  From his dress and manner a man might be forgiven for taking Roland Wetherby for a cosseted courtier with tastes more suited to ease and luxury than the hard edges of political life. Christopher knew otherwise.

  Wetherby had shown his courage in helping to capture the traitor Berwick and his loyalty to the Crown by putting aside his own wrongful arrest and imprisonment. Urged by Christopher, the earl had persuaded him to leave Thomas Heneage’s employment and to join his own. The Treasurer of the Queen’s Chamber had given way to her Master of the Horse. Christopher had no qualms about confiding in his friend and when Wetherby called the next morning he related his meetings with Leicester and Martin. ‘Were you aware of the story of the strange testons?’ he asked.

  ‘I was,’ replied Wetherby. ‘Heneage wasted no time in making me aware of it when I first came to London. Although he professes in public to be Leicester’s friend, in private anything discrediting the Dudley family puts a smile on his face. Although it happened five years later, he claimed that the proclamation ordering all naughty money to be cut up as if it were being drawn and quartered was a direct result of the Dudley testons.’

  ‘I recall that proclamation. A warning both symbolic and gruesome but not wholly effective.’

  ‘As we have seen.’

  ‘I have asked for Isaac Cardoza’s help. If anyone can find the source of these testons, he can. Not that many coins have appeared yet.’

  ‘Many or few, the testons are dangerous – to the earl, to the country. And until the coiners are found, their true purpose will remain obscure. If you wish it, I too will make inquiries.’

  It was tempting. Away from Whitehall, the circles in which Wetherby moved were inaccessible to Christopher or even to Ell and there was always the chance of his hearing a lover’s whisper. But he was a friend, not an intelligencer, and he was Leicester’s man, not Christopher’s. ‘No, Roland, the risk is too great. For now let us hope that Isaac learns something. Keep me informed of Leicester’s mood and pass on any rumours you hear. That will be help enough.’

  Wetherby chuckled. ‘You make me out to be no more than a tittle-tattle.’

  ‘Never. An excellent informant and a wise counsellor.’ He paused. ‘Roland, I saw the old Hempe prophecy yesterday. It was marked with a cross in the manner of a writer’s signature. Can you think of any significance in a cross?’

  Wetherby shook his head. ‘Beyond marking his work as a dog fox marks its territory, I cannot. What other purpose could it have?’

  ‘No doubt you are right. Now, I shall walk around Holborn Fields. Would you care to accompany me?’

  A faint blush coloured Wetherby’s cheeks. ‘I would, of course, but I am on my way to Eastcheap. An appointment with a friend.’ There were houses in Eastcheap that catered for men of Roland’s tastes. Christopher inquired no further.

  ‘Then never mind. Call again soon and bring me news from the whispering passages of Whitehall.’

  ‘That I shall.’

  Christopher disliked horses as much as he disliked fish and rode only when he had to; he was pleased to find that even the parsimonious members of the Inns of Court had not left their horses tethered or hobbled in Holborn Fields in such weather and had been forced to pay for their stabling. It was too cold even for the trained bands to be drilli
ng. Frost lay on tufts of winter grass and his breath steamed in the icy air. It was a lawyer’s job to find answers to questions and solutions to problems and for Christopher solutions were often most easily found while walking by the river or in the Fields.

  If the ‘Dudley’ testons revealed their purpose, he would find their source. If not, it would be difficult. Illegal mints producing false coins there may have been but this was different and about more than illegal gain. The earl had been rightly insistent. The coiners must be discovered without delay.

  By the time he returned to Ludgate Hill, his face was numb and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. He let himself in, cursing as he stamped his feet and pulled off his gloves. ‘By the devil’s ball sack, it’s cold out there.’ From the kitchen came a warning cough. He turned in surprise. Katherine stood at the kitchen door, beside her a young woman he did not recognize.

  Katherine grinned at him. ‘Good morning, Christopher. You are dishevelled. Do you wish to rearrange yourself before I present your new housekeeper?’ She did not wait for a reply but continued, ‘Joan, this is Dr Radcliff. Christopher, Joan Willys is a cousin of Aunt Isabel’s housekeeper and comes highly recommended for her skills in cooking and cleaning and as a laundress. I have engaged her on your behalf.’

  Christopher tried not to stare at the girl. Joan Willys was a short, plump woman of about twenty, with a sallow complexion, lank hair that hung in loose strands outside her coif and an unsightly cast in her right eye. In choosing her, Katherine had been as good as her word. She curtsied to Christopher. ‘Joan Willys, doctor. Mistress Allington has told me of your requirements.’ The unfortunate woman spoke as if she carried a pebble in her mouth.

  He shot a glance at Katherine. ‘My requirements are few, as I trust Mistress Allington has explained.’

  ‘Do not be churlish, Christopher. Joan will make your life a great deal easier by cooking and cleaning for you and by saving you money at the market.’