by Ann Swinfen
‘I can imagine the Spanish plotting to harm Drake, or El Draque, as they call him,’ I said. ‘Nothing would please them better than to put him out of action. His great fortune is built on what he has seized from their ships and towns. But, the Italians?’
‘The Italians come from the very hornets’ nest of popery,’ he said sharply. ‘As you have said, part of their performance was intended to encourage the papists. Perhaps there is a double purpose here. Harming Drake would also harm a well known enemy of all Catholics.’
‘But does it make sense for the soldiers to harm Drake? They want him to hand over their share of the booty, not to kill or injure him.’
‘That is the purpose of the more moderate soldiers, but these others – who knows? Men may be driven by anger and despair to act even against their own best interests.’
‘Very well,’ I said, ‘if something is intended against Drake, or at any rate against his house, the Herbar, what are we to do?’
I was growing so tired I could barely speak. All I wanted to do was to go to sleep. ‘And what of Poley?’
‘Damn Poley!’ he said. ‘I don’t know where he fits in. I’ll need to put a watch on these puppeteers first thing tomorrow. And I’ll send to the Common Council to discover what is happening about the soldiers.’ He suddenly looked as tired as I. ‘You had better go home, Kit.’
‘I don’t think I care to cross London alone as late as this,’ I said. ‘If you do not mind, I’ll stay here until dawn.’
‘Aye, that’s probably wise,’ he said.
He went to the door and shouted for a servant. A boy came, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
‘Fetch a mattress for Master Alvarez,’ Phelippes said, ‘and put it in Master Gregory’s room.’
When the boy had run off, he poured us each a cup of wine.
‘Something to help you sleep,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘I do not think I will need any help.’
‘You’ll be quiet in Arthur’s room. I still have work to do.’
I drank the wine gratefully, for it had been many hours since our meal at Chawtry’s inn, but I forbore to say that he looked as though he needed sleep as well. With Sir Francis ill, there was a heavy burden on his shoulders.
The boy soon returned dragging a thin flock mattress, which he just managed to fit into the small amount of floor space in Arthur’s tiny room, then he returned with a couple of blankets and a lumpy pillow. I lit the candle from my table at one of Phelippes’s and bade him good night. Once shut into the cubbyhole I just managed to shed my shoes and sword and blow out my candle before falling on to the mattress and rolling myself in the blankets. I think I must have fallen asleep before my head touched that lumpy pillow.
When I woke next morning it was already light. I was stiff and uncomfortable, still in my doublet and hose, but I slipped on my shoes and picked up my sword before opening the door to Phelippes’s office. He was not there, but Francis Mylles, Walsingham’s senior secretary, was just coming in with a bundle of papers.
‘Ah, Kit,’ he said, ‘I hope you slept well? I hear you were at the Fair till all hours last night.’
‘Not for enjoyment,’ I said. ‘My head feels like an old bird’s nest this morning.’
‘I’ll send for some food,’ he said. ‘Master Phelippes has gone to see the Common Council, but he has left word that you are to return to Smithfield when you have eaten, and continue your search.’
He looked at me enquiringly. Phelippes had clearly not mentioned that I was searching for Poley.
‘I’ll be glad of the food,’ I said. ‘Has Arthur Gregory come in yet?’
‘Nay, he sent word that his wife is not well and asked that he be excused, unless there is urgent need of him.’
The food soon arrived. I pushed aside the papers on my table and tucked into the bread and cheese and cold meat hungrily. Afterwards I looked at myself in the small steel mirror Phelippes kept on the wall. I looked haggard and my hair was a tangled mess, so I ran my fingers through it, lacking a comb. I seemed to have lost my cap, but when I looked in Arthur’s room I saw it, crushed in a ball beside the pillow. I pulled it into shape and straightened my hose, but there was little else I could do to improve my shop-soiled appearance. I would have liked to return to Wood Street to wash and change my hose, but I had better not. Phelippes had added more coin to the purse he had given me, so I walked down to Old Swan Stairs and took a wherry upriver to Smithfield.
As I followed the road back up to the Fair, I was glad that the rain had stopped, for I did not have even the protection of a light cloak, though my damp doublet had partially dried on me while I slept. The road was full of puddles, but they were beginning to shrink in the sun, and all around maids were shaking bedding out of windows and sweeping the steps of houses. The day was already turning warm again.
The way through to the centre of the Fair was familiar now. The gingerbread stall was open, the younger woman laying out the goods on the counter, while behind her the mother was lighting the fire in the portable oven. They both turned and smiled at me. I must already be recognised as a good customer. It would be better, I thought, if I were not too familiar a sight. I had no doubt Nicholas Borecroft would recognise me, but I did not want the puppet troupe to do so.
As I rounded the corner past the gingerbread stall, I saw that the platform was deserted. No group of performers was setting up as early as this, for they would not be able to attract enough of an audience to make it worthwhile. I wondered whether the toy man had opened yet. Children are often the first to arrive.
According to the original statutes which set up Bartholomew Fair centuries ago, it was licensed to last three days, and this was the third. However, over the years, and long before ever my father and I had come to England, the Fair had begun to extend quietly, to last more and more days. The city officials did nothing to stop it, for it brought business to London from the surrounding countryside, it attracted foreign dealers and their wares, and it stimulated brisk trade for all the local merchants and shopmen. So, although this was officially the last day, the Fair would probably continue for at least another week, which meant there should be time to find Poley, if he was lurking about in its shadow, and to fathom the intentions of the Italians.
I walked along to Nicholas Borecroft’s stall, for I saw that the counter had been lowered. To my astonishment, I saw that the door was ajar and the stall empty of everything but a few wisps of straw blowing about, probably packing material for some of the more fragile items.
I simply stood and gaped, unable to believe my eyes. The third day of the Fair, with the weather sunny, would be excellent for business, and importunate children would be dragging their parents to all the toy stalls. Why was the stall here, but neither the toy man or his goods?
‘Looking for Borecroft, are you, young master?’
The button maker, opening the adjacent stall, paused in laying out his goods and turned to me.
‘Has he gone already?’ I said, hastily thinking of some excuse. ‘I was looking for a rattle for a new babe.’
‘Gone already before I was awake. Must have packed up in the dark.’
‘But he hasn’t dismantled his stall.’
The man shrugged. ‘Either he’s coming back for it, or he’s rented it and a’nt bothering to return it.’
‘It would make a lot of noise, taking it down,’ I suggested.
‘Aye, perhaps he was thinking kindly of us sleepers,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Nay, he’s done a flit. Probably hasn’t paid his full rent for his pitch.’
‘You don’t like him.’
‘Don’t really know him. He a’nt done me no harm. Live and let be, that’s the way at the Fair.’ He gave me a curious look. ‘Why are you asking? Does he owe you something?’
‘Nay, I was just surprised to see him gone so soon.’
‘He a’nt the only one to leave early.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Those foreigners have gone as well.’
I spu
n round on my heel. There, where the large puppeteers’ tent had stood, was an empty space. My heart began to pound. Phelippes would need to know this. Perhaps whatever they were plotting was already in train.
‘They must have made a noise, taking all of that down,’ I said. ‘You cannot have slept through that.’
‘Well, to tell truth, I was a little stained last night, drinking with the lads at the pig roast.’ He grinned, showing blackened teeth, what was left of them. ‘We was sprinkled with a cup or two before bed, and I slept sound. When I woke this morning, the strangers was loading the last of their clutter on to a mule cart.’
There was a wide dry patch, like an island in the damp ground.
‘After the rain, then,’ I said, pointing to it.
He shrugged. ‘It was still raining when I got back, that I do recall. But I don’t know when it stopped. I was away with Queen Mab by then.’
Once again he gave me a sharp look. He might be a drinker, but he was no fool. ‘You’re mighty curious. What are you after? Not working for the Fair officers, are you?’
I knew it would be clear from my clothes that I was not some menial, so I laughed. ‘Just nosy,’ I said. ‘Wondering why everyone is closing down.’
‘Not everyone. Those are the only two I’ve seen. ’Tis a pity, though, for the crowds at the puppet show brought me some custom.’
I took the hint, and bought half a dozen buttons I did not need. They were attractive enough, polished bone inlaid with a dome of black enamel. If I were ever to gain a hospital position once more, they would do for a new physician’s gown.
Bidding the button maker goodbye, I began walking about the Fair at random, keeping my eyes open for Poley, but in a stew of thoughts, wondering what I should do. Phelippes had left clear instructions for me to continue the search, but the disappearance of both the toy man and the Italians changed the situation. The fact that both had departed at the same time made it all the more likely that Nicholas Borecroft was working with the puppeteers, though somehow I could not fit them together. He was not one of the soldiers and he did not seem like a covert papist, although I knew very well that it was often impossible to tell. Yet if his only connection with them had been as a casual musician, why had they both gone now? And where?
Either I must give up the search for Poley, which seemed more and more pointless, or I must send a message to Phelippes. It could well be that Poley had gone wherever the others had gone. Even to send a message from the Fair would be difficult. Perhaps I could draw on long-standing good will at the hospital, and persuade someone there to send a boy with a note.
I had reached the top of the fair ground, where Master Chawtry’s servants were just setting up the tables and stools. I turned to head back along a parallel lane of stalls when there was a sudden movement as someone darted out from behind a stall and seized me by the arm. I made to grab my sword, but a desperate gasp stopped me.
‘Don’t. It’s me, Dr Alvarez.’ The words came out half choked.
It was Adam Batecorte. One whole side of his head was bloodied, his shirt was ripped off his shoulders, there was a slash across his back, and he was limping.
‘Adam! What has happened?’
It could not be thieves, I thought. Threadbare as he had been when I had seen him before, no thief would have bothered to attack him.
‘We are betrayed!’
‘What do you mean? Wait! We must see to your hurts. The hospital is close by. Here, take my arm.’
He was limping, but he could still move fast and he kept looking over his shoulder as we hurried back in the direction of St Bartholomew’s. Someone there would care for him. He wiped a ragged strip dangling from the sleeve of his shirt along the gash in the side of his head. I felt for my handkerchief, folded it into a pad and handed it to him.
‘Press that against the wound,’ I said, ‘hard as you can bear. We’re nearly there.’
I urged him under the gatehouse and nodded to the gatehouse keeper.
‘An injured man, Rafe. I’m taking him in.’
‘The physicians won’t be here yet, Dr Alvarez. They work shorter hours now.’
‘Then I’ll see to him myself.’ It might get me into trouble, but I did not care. It was more urgent to get treatment for Adam.
By good fortune I met Peter carrying a tray of bottles as we entered the hospital.
‘This man needs help,’ I said, ‘and Rafe says the physicians are not here. Is there somewhere I can treat him?’
As usual, Peter could be relied upon. ‘This way’, he said. ‘The small room where we sometimes put the sick mothers with new babies. There’s no one there at the moment.’
When we reached to room, I sat Adam down on a stool and sent Peter for Coventry water, salves, needle and thread, and bandages.
‘We was attacked,’ Adam said, his voice still very weak. ‘I thought I might find you at the Fair, then I was going to Wood Street, if I could get that far.’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘Let’s deal with this first.’
The slash across his back was fortunately not deep. It required no more than salving and bandaging. The gash in his head was worse and had to be stitched, then bandaged. Peter stayed with us, passing me what I needed. We had often worked together in the past and I had only to hold out my hand to him.
‘You were limping,’ I said to Adam at last. ‘Is there damage to your foot or your leg?’
‘Nay, I twisted my ankle, running from them, but it’s nothing.’
I rinsed my bloodied hands in the basin Peter had brought and he handed me a towel, then I pulled up another stool.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘what happened?’ Seeing his dubious look, I added, ‘Peter can be trusted.’
‘It was before dawn,’ Adam said. His voice was stronger now, for Peter had brought some spiced wine, which he gulped down thirstily.
‘We was still camped out in the open, up on Finsbury Fields, and miserable it was, too, after the rain started last night. Some of the lads had rigged up a rough shelter with some canvas they nicked out of a farm, out beyond Finsbury, but it was crowded under there. We was scattered around. I found a bush of broom and crawled in under that, but it didn’t give much shelter. I fell asleep finally and woke up to the most b’yer lady row. Horns blowing and yelling and muskets going off. I was that confused, I thought for a moment I was back that time we was attacked in Portugal.’
He took another swig of the wine.
‘There was just a little light in the sky, before the sun comes up, you know. And it had stopped raining, so the sky was clear. I realised then that our whole camp was surrounded.’
‘But who–’ I said.
‘The London Trained Bands. The militia. They wouldn’t have stood a chance against us in the normal way, but we was taken by surprise, we was scattered all over the place, and there was officers on horseback.’
He ran his hand over his face.
‘I crawled out from under my bush on the side away from the action. There was nobody nearby and I made a run for it. Nearly got away, but one of the officers spotted me and came galloping over. Slashed my head and then I fell and he got me across the back. He must have thought he’d done for me. He rode away and I crawled to the edge of the field and then I ran. I wanted to put as much distance between me and them as I could, so I kept running. I was already this side of the fields, so I ended up here.’
Peter and I looked at each other.
‘But,’ I said, ‘your leaders were conferring with the Common Council.’
‘Damn the Common Council! Those men who attacked, they were yelling that our men are thrown in Newgate and will be tried for treason, and so will we. All the more reason to get out of there.’
‘Bastards!’ said Peter.
‘You’d better not stay here,’ I said. ‘It’s the obvious place to look for the injured. I know where I can take you.’
I looked at Peter. ‘William Baker?’
‘Good idea.’
‘I won
’t take you to Wood Street,’ I said to Adam. ‘Ruy Lopez is in serious trouble himself and – just possibly – he might want to ingratiate himself with the Privy Council by handing you over, for if it is to be a charge of treason, it will be a matter for the Privy Council. William Baker is a friend of both Peter’s and mine, a soldier wounded at Sluys. I’m sure he’ll take you in and hide you until it is safe.’
Peter frowned. ‘He can’t walk all the way to Eastcheap.’
‘I’ve chinks enough for a wherry,’ I said. ‘I thank you for your help, Peter. Better not mention it to the hospital authorities. I’m not licensed to practice here any more.’
‘More fool them,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll clear this up and keep my mouth shut.’
‘Perhaps a word to Rafe?’
‘Aye, I’ll speak to him.’
It was clearly painful for Adam even to walk as far as the river, and he settled in the wherry with a sigh of relief.
‘Been in the wars, mate?’ the wherryman said.
Adam gave him a weak grin. ‘You could say that.’
‘It’s a disgrace,’ the man said. ‘Can’t even walk the streets of London these days and be safe.’
He continued in this vein all the way down river, but we were both glad to sit and listen. After we landed, the walk to the shoe maker’s shop was painfully slow, and I saw that Adam was sweating, his mouth grimly shut. It was William’s new young wife who came out of the back room when we entered the shop. She went pale at the sight of us and her hand flew to her mouth.
‘What has happened?’
‘My friend has been attacked, Mistress Liza,’ I said. ‘I fear he may still be in some danger. Could you and William take him in until he is fit again?’
‘Of course!’ She lifted the curtain which covered the doorway to the inner room. ‘William, Dr Alvarez is here.’
I heard the tapping of William’s crutch and he appeared in the doorway, the upper part of a shoe in the hand not holding the crutch.
‘A fellow soldier, William,’ I said. I saw that Adam’s eyes had widened as he realised William had lost a leg, then, embarrassed, he looked away. William was well accustomed to this by now and merely smiled.