Bartholomew Fair

by Ann Swinfen

‘Anyone may know where the Herbar is,’ he said. ‘It is no secret. The warehouse is not so easily found.’

  ‘I thought of that. We speak of these men all the time as soldiers, but some of them are sailors. They will know men who work on the docks. It would not be too difficult to find one who can tell them the location of Drake’s warehouse.’

  He nodded. ‘You are probably right. I can understand why they would attack the warehouse. They would hope to gain access to the booty stored there. After all, the original threat of the men who marched on the Fair was that they would seize goods to pay themselves.’

  ‘Aye, the intention behind the whole march was to repair their fortunes.’ I paused, for I knew that it annoyed Phelippes when I asserted so warmly that the men had been ill treated. ‘Some of the men must be truly desperate. Desperate enough, or daring enough, even to attack a guarded warehouse. It would not be easy, even if they bribed the guards. And I doubt whether they have the means to bribe them lavishly enough for the guards to risk their future employment by Drake.’

  ‘So the most likely target is the Herbar.’

  ‘I would think so. Though perhaps we should not rule out the warehouse.’

  ‘Even so.’ He took off his spectacles and passed his hand over his face. ‘I cannot understand what they would gain from attacking Drake’s house. They would not be so foolish as to think he keeps his booty there, surely?’

  ‘They may think – and they are probably right – that Drake surrounds himself in his home with fine objects.’ I thought of the house in Wood Street. ‘After all, it is not unusual for self-made men to covet the luxuries of the landed gentry and the aristocracy. Ruy Lopez’s house is stuffed with tapestries and rugs and gold and silver plate. Mostly bought from Drake, or obtained through his own spice trade. I expect there are such objects in the Herbar. Plenty to satisfy this small group of men. This is not the whole makeshift army needing to be paid.’

  ‘Aye,’ he conceded, ‘you may be right. But an attack on a warehouse, probably at night . . . there would be few people about. The Herbar, on the other hand, is in the middle of one of the busier parts of London. There are fine houses tightly packed, all around. Even at night there will be people passing by, lanterns and torches hung at doorways, the Watch patrolling.’

  ‘That is what has been worrying me,’ I said grimly. ‘I know nothing about the uses of gunpowder, except what I have seen when cannon or muskets are fired, but then it is used in very small quantities, is it not? From what I have heard, these men intend to use a large amount to blow up a building from within, but how would they do that?’

  ‘Mining.’ Phelippes said.

  ‘Mining? What do you mean?’

  ‘I do not mean mining for iron or coal,’ he said, an edge of irritation to his voice. I think he was becoming truly worried now. ‘When a besieging army attacks a castle or a town, they dig a mine under the fortifications. Then they place gunpowder there and set it alight. It explodes. As it does in a musket or a cannon, but on a much larger scale.’

  ‘Of course, I have heard of that, but not how it is done. Why are they not blown up themselves?’

  ‘I think they use a long fuse. A piece of string or rope, like the wick in a candle or the slow match on a musket. That way they can set it alight, then retreat to safety before the fire reaches the gunpowder.’

  I shuddered. ‘If that is what they plan in the Dowgate, dozens of people will be killed.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said soberly. ‘They will. So we must prevent it.’

  He put his spectacles back on and looked at me sternly. ‘Now, Kit, you had better tell me how you discovered this plot.’

  I decided to tell him the truth as far as I could, without endangering Adam.

  ‘One of the soldiers found me at the Fair. He knew me already, from the expedition. Knew I am a physician. He had been badly injured when the camp was attacked. I treated his injuries and he told me about the gunpowder and what he knew of the plans to use it.’

  ‘Why did you not bring him here for questioning?’ Phelippes was looking even more annoyed now.

  ‘This man saved my life in Portugal,’ I said steadily, looking him boldly in the eye. ‘It was the least I could do, to physic his wounds. He is one of the moderate soldiers and has nothing to do with this other plot himself. He is well away now. To bring him here would have been to put him in danger, after the attack on the camp. In undeserved danger,’ I added emphatically. ‘We owe him thanks for alerting us to the plot. We should not then risk his own life.’

  He looked suspiciously at me. Perhaps he did not quite trust my assertion that Adam was well away, but he decided to leave the matter, at least for now.

  ‘What I do not understand,’ I said, ‘is how the Italian puppeteers come into this.’

  He shook his head in bafflement. ‘Nor I. Nick Berden has sent in one message by a lad he uses as a runner. They have asked questions at all the inns in the centre of London where entertainments of this sort are sometimes arranged, but none of the innkeepers knew anything of a troupe of foreign puppeteers. Or if they did, they were saying nothing. One cannot be sure of their loyalty.’

  ‘They might be performing at a private house,’ I suggested. ‘They might even have left London.’

  ‘In which case,’ he said, ‘they are not involved with these plotters. Or of course they may be lying low somewhere. There are a few Italians living and trading in London. They may be housed amongst their compatriots. Berden is to report to me at nightfall. Tomorrow I will have him search out the homes of Italians in London.’

  ‘And tomorrow I am still to go to Barn Elms?’ I said.

  ‘Aye. It is all the more important now to tell Sir Francis what we know.’

  For the first time he seemed to notice Rikki.

  ‘What is that dog doing!’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ I said with a laugh. ‘I am afraid he has made somewhat of a mess!’

  Rikki had finally managed to shatter the bone and there were greasy fragments scattered all over the rush matting before the hearth. I knelt down and started to pick them up.

  ‘Leave it, leave it be, Kit,’ Phelippes said irritably. ‘As you go out, send one of the servants to deal with it. Go and eat and get some sleep. I want you here at dawn, remember.’

  I called to Rikki. He wagged his tail cheerfully at Phelippes, who waved him away in dismissal, and we left for the walk back to Wood Street.

  The Thames was a soft pink in the early morning light as the sun began to lift its head somewhere above the Kentish marshes. I was dressed for riding, with stout boots and a cloak over my doublet, for despite the first signs of a bright day there was something of a cold wind also blowing off those Kent marshes.

  I had brought another bone for Rikki, to keep him occupied while he stayed in the stables, and my pockets were full of more of the small plum-red apples, as well as the ones I had never had the chance to give to Hector the previous day. We had an understanding, that whenever I visited him, I always brought apples, which could cause problems in the spring, when the winter store was finished and the new season’s crop not ripe. I had tried dried apple rings, but their leathery texture had not met with his approval.

  After I had left Rikki with Harry, who promised that Hector would soon be saddled and ready for me, I made my way to Phelippes’s office, where I could almost swear he had spent the night. He handed me a thick packet of papers, which I stowed in my satchel.

  ‘When he sees these,’ I said, ‘Sir Francis will be chafing to come back to London.’

  ‘I am hoping that he will see that all is in hand, so that there is no need for him to return until he is well again.’

  ‘Have you written to him about the gunpowder?’ I asked.

  ‘Only briefly. I have said that you will give him all the details.’ He gave me a stern look. ‘All the details, including the source of your information.’

  ‘Has Berden reported anything further?’

  ‘Nothing about the
Italians,’ he said. ‘However, he did find the toy shop of Nicholas Borecroft. It was in Cheapside, as we suspected.’

  ‘Was he there?’

  ‘Nay, the shop was closed and locked. The neighbours had not seen him for a week or more.’

  I shook my head. ‘I cannot see what part he has to play in all this.’

  ‘Perhaps none at all. Perhaps he told you the truth, when he said he had merely been asked to play for the performance.’

  I shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but there is something strange about the man.’ I slung the strap of my satchel over my shoulder. ‘I’ll go my ways, then. You will want me to come back here after I have seen Sir Francis?’

  ‘Of course. Try to persuade him to stay in the country and rest.’

  I smiled. ‘If Dr Nuñez cannot do so, I doubt whether I can.’

  As promised, Harry had Hector ready saddled and was about to put on his bridle.

  ‘Just a moment,’ I said, taking two apples out of my pocket.

  I ran my hand down Hector’s dappled neck and he nuzzled into my shoulder, with his beautiful Arab head. Most people failed to notice its exquisite modelling, seeing only what most considered his ugly colouring – irregular patches of black, white and grey, with no satisfying symmetry to them. Now that I knew him so well, loving his intelligence and speed, I had even become fond of this odd colouring. They say you should never judge a man by his clothes nor a book by its binding. I knew that Hector should not be judged by the colour of his coat.

  ‘Two apples only for now, my lad,’ I said. ‘Perhaps more when we reach Barn Elms and you may take your leisure.’

  When the apples had been crunched up in a few bites, Harry put on Hector’s bridle and led him over to the mounting block for me. The one disadvantage for me was Hector’s size, for I needed help in mounting. My friend Andrew Joplyn, the trooper, had given me a few lessons in leaping on to a horse from the rear, as the troopers will do when need arises. I had not practised it enough to be sure of myself, though I had attempted it a few times in the long trek across Portugal on a docile army horse. I feared Hector would not like it, and I had no wish to be kicked.

  Even at this early hour the Bridge was crowded, which slowed our progress, but once we were across the river we were able to move a little faster along the streets of Southwark. The bear and bull baiting would not begin for hours yet, and the Winchester geese would be fast asleep in their tawdry beds, since most of their clients came a-visiting in the late afternoon or after dark. There was plenty of activity about the brick works, dye works, and tanneries, however, and the usual strong smells filled the air, the reason they were forbidden space inside the city.

  It was an odd place, Southwark, both part and not part of London. The writ of the Common Council did not run here. It was like a separate village, yet people constantly passed back and forth across the Bridge, uniting it with the City. There was something faintly exotic about it, with its entertainments and bawdy houses, its strange foreign faces glimpsed here and there amongst the crowds. If Sir Francis did manage to find me a place at St Thomas’s here in Southwark, would I find that strange too? Still, a hospital is a hospital, wherever it may be. Surely it would not be so very different from St Bartholomew’s.

  At last we were free of the final straggling outposts of Southwark, which were mostly more of those evil smelling industries and the clusters of hovels around them where most of their workers lived. The road opened out, between rich farm land, dotted here and there with small woods and copses. I gave Hector his head and he broke into a canter, then his lovely smooth gallop. The sun was higher now, bright on the ripening fields of wheat and barley, and reflected from the deep green of summer leaves on the trees, like so many small looking glasses. It was wonderful to have this interlude of beauty after the dirt and danger and stress of London. I took off my cap and shoved it into the saddle bag beside my satchel, so that I could feel the wind in my hair. It had been trimmed when first I returned to London, but by now it had grown again.

  I was enjoying the gallop, the fresh country air, the sun, and the wind so much that I nearly missed the turn to Barn Elms. It was an anonymous road – no finger post or milestone here, for Sir Francis liked to maintain his privacy – but I had been here before.

  As we branched off to the right, I glanced over my shoulder. In the opposite direction led the road to Sir Damian Fitzgerald’s house, where I had briefly masqueraded as a tutor to his son and daughter. I wondered whether he had ever discovered that I worked for his neighbour, Sir Francis. If so, it would surely have made him more cautious about sheltering Catholic priests as they passed through from the ports of the south coast on their way to London. I also wondered, with a suppressed laugh, whether his daughter, who had once (mistakenly) made a play for me, had found herself a suitor. I supposed these Catholic families must have a web of suitable marriage partners for their sons and daughters. Neither Her Majesty nor Sir Francis cared to persecute them if they kept their heads down, attended the English church (as the Fitzgeralds did), and did not engage in treasonous activity. The Fitzgeralds had passed secret letters from France in the past, but I believed they no longer did so. Then I frowned at the remembrance of seeing Poley ride up to the house in company with a priest. We had forgotten about Poley, Phelippes and I, when we had been discussing the possible targets of the plot last night.

  I was soon within the purlieus of Sir Francis’s manor of Barn Elms, its surrounding farm lands looking trim and well cared for. The hay had already been cut and sheep were grazing in the stubble. I passed a field of wheat where the plump heads looked ready for cutting. If the good weather lasted, the labourers would probably start on it soon. The manor itself lay bright and inviting in the sun, the old stone house clothed with creeper, the trim stable yard, the outbuildings with brew house, bakery, and dairy. I could hear the clang of hammer on iron, for Sir Francis employed his own blacksmith.

  Hector lifted his head and whickered a greeting as we drew up before the door. He had been foaled in these stables and surely knew that he was coming home. A boy ran out from the stable yard as I dismounted and lifted my satchel from the saddle bag. He was followed by a tall man with greying hair, whom I recognised – Sir Francis’s steward here at Barn Elms, responsible for the running of the entire manor for its owner.

  ‘Master Goodrich,’ I said, bowing, ‘it is good to see you again.’

  He returned my bow. ‘And you, Dr Alvarez. We were not expecting you.’ He eyed my bulging satchel warily as the boy led Hector away to the stables.

  ‘Master Phelippes was anxious for me to come to see Sir Francis myself,’ I said, already beginning to feel guilty at breaking into this peaceful haven. ‘How is he?’

  ‘A little better today. He has been out of bed since yesterday, sitting quietly downstairs.’ A look of sadness passed over his face. ‘I fear that he still has much pain, but he will not let it defeat him.’

  ‘Nay,’ I said. ‘He is one of the bravest men I know. It is all very well to be courageous for a short time in battle. It takes a much greater courage to endure pain day after day and not give way to it. I promise I will try not to tire him.’

  He gave a brief nod. ‘Well said. As a physician, you will be familiar with such things.’

  ‘Never with pain so resolutely defied,’ I said with all my heart.

  ‘He is sitting in my lady’s small parlour,’ Goodrich said. ‘Even in this weather he needs a fire, for he feels cold.’

  ‘Is the Lady Ursula here at Barn Elms?’ I asked.

  ‘She is. And like Dr Nuñez, she tries to persuade Sir Francis to rest, as we all do, but we might save our breath.’ He smiled, again with that touch of sadness. ‘Lady Frances is here as well, and little Elizabeth. The child amuses Sir Francis, but I fear she tires him too.’

  ‘Master Phelippes felt I should come.’ I found I was apologising again. ‘There is fresh news that he thought should not be kept from Sir Francis. As it was I who got wind of it, he thought it bes
t I should come and tell him myself.’

  We walked together to the door and he held it open for me. As we stepped inside and my eyes adjusted to the softer light, I saw a familiar figure bustling toward us.

  ‘Mistress Oldcastle!’ I bowed. ‘I hope I find you well?’

  The housekeeper stopped and her mouth dropped open. ‘Why, it is the lad who came here soaked to the skin! Four years ago, was it?’

  ‘Three,’ I said, amused.

  ‘Dr Alvarez is a physician,’ Goodrich said reprovingly, ‘and a code-breaker for the master.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mistress Oldcastle, not one whit abashed, ‘I remember how he had to borrow my slippers and fell asleep in front of the parlour fire. You have grown into a fine young man. You were little more than a child then.’

  I found myself blushing and wondered how I could put a stop to these reminiscences, but Goodrich came to my rescue.

  ‘Dr Alvarez has business with Sir Francis and does not want to overtire him, so I will show him to the parlour. The master is still in the parlour?’

  ‘Aye, I have just taken him a brandy posset. My lady is with him.’

  ‘This way, Dr Alvarez.’ Goodrich neatly side stepped the housekeeper and steered my toward a door I recognised, for it was where I had been welcomed – and had indeed fallen asleep – on my earlier visit to the house.

  When Goodrich knocked and opened the door, the first person I saw was Lady Ursula, sitting on a low chair with her embroidery. I had encountered her a few times at Seething Lane, but for the most part she kept to the family’s part of the house, well away from the offices from which Walsingham directed his secret service of intelligencers. She rose from her seat and I bowed. She dropped a slight curtsey – I was not of sufficient status to merit a deep one. I saw at once that she looked seriously annoyed.

  ‘Are you here from Master Phelippes, sir?’ she said sharply. ‘We have sent instructions that my lord was not to be disturbed with business. He has been far too unwell.’

  ‘That is enough, dear heart.’ It was Sir Francis’s voice, though weaker than I had ever heard it before. He was hidden from me by the half-open door. ‘Who is it?’