By all the saints, his conscience had writhed over that deception. His better angel had damned him for a treacherous coward, while his daemon had praised his cunning and false demeanour. Afterwards Ned had been stiffly polite and distant. He wasn’t sure what Mistress Black made of this changed attitude. That was tomorrow’s problem. Still he’d managed to put Ouze in charge of the Hanse guard, with strict instructions to keep Albrecht very safe and very secure for a return to the vessel before the Terce chimes on the morrow.
Ned was determined that after the series of debacles yesterday, he wouldn’t succumb to rash impulses. Albrecht could wait until Ned had gained his last piece of proof. In the meantime, since he owned this vessel, Ned felt it behoved him to act more like a responsible leader, somewhat unlike his ‘good lord’. The ship’s company had been assembled in the waist of the vessel and he’d praised their recent efforts in both the riot and fire, promising them that justice would be done for the slaying of their companions. The speech had gained a rousing cheer. That’d been very satisfying, giving him a needed boost to his dented pride, though he probably correctly attributed it to his reward of a night of carousing for them at the Red Bear, the tavern across from the wharf. Practicality had won out over his slimming purse. He wanted the ship empty for the night and Gryne’s men would find it easier to watch over the sailors if they were less than fifty paces away.
So here he was sitting the dark watch. It was very appropriate considering his black thoughts of murder, smuggling and mayhem. A large fearsome monster was moving through the undercurrents of the city, some manner of beast that left a trail of bodies in its passage, while rumours of its deeds had even reached the lords on the Privy Council causing fear, or anticipation. The question was, at whose direction other than Satan’s did this terror stalk its prey, and more so, apart from chaos and death, what was its purpose?
Ned was very much a man of his time. He was imbued with the best education that was available to a youth of his status and family position. That any effort and expense for his training has been expended was still a mystery to him, considering his dubious ranking and social prospects as a bastard. Whenever that question arose, his uncle would slide off on another tangent, so Ned was none the wiser. However it was some of the more useful facets of that education that he now drew upon. It had taught, for instance, that everything in God’s universe was connected both above in the heavenly celestial spheres, and below on this sordid earth, and nothing happened but for the reason of God’s Providence. So what could he make of this?
It was a conundrum. There were several disparate factors that his deep intuition hinted must have some form of connection—especially since for some unknown reason Ned Bedwell had been signalled out to deal with them, and each he perceived as a direct threat to himself and his friends.
Ned took another gulp of the fine ale and pushed back the clawing tendrils of a headache. He almost wished that Dr Caerleon was here to advise him. This really was in the learned doctor’s sphere. That desire brought up three difficulties. The first was Caerleon had bonded him for three tasks like in the old stories, for giving assistance last year. Thus Ned wasn’t keen on bringing himself to the old astrologer’s notice. Secondly, he didn’t trust Caerleon, not even a finger’s breadth. While Ned freely admitted last year’s help had contributed greatly to their survival, as for the motives, hmm, compassion or Christian kindness wasn’t amongst them. His instinct warned him that Dr Caerleon sat at the Gryne Dragon like a spider and twitched the threads of his minions for some darkly obscure purpose, as yet unseen to the rest of the players. In that respect both his daemon and better angel were for once in complete accord. Lastly, since this afternoon, the journey to the southern bank of the Thames had become that much more perilous. Damn Canting Michael!
A gentle tap on the door interrupted Ned’s dark musings. “Enter.”
The shadowed bulk of Robert Black framed the entrance for a moment, before he stepped into the cabin, and once more the gathering night was closed out. “Good evening Ned. I find you well?”
Master Bedwell gave an acknowledging nod and a welcoming smile and waved his friend to a stool. The unflagging courtesy of Mistress Black’s brother had to be experienced to be believed. It was a bright light of hope in these dark days of backstabbing and suspicion. For, as Ned had found when Rob gave his hand in friendship, unlike most professed Christian men, he actually meant it, and that was a gift to be treasured beyond gold itself.
His friend took a draught of the proffered ale and sighed with pleasure. “You’re a strange fellow, Red Ned Bedwell.”
That caught him by surprise. “What?”
“You know, when my sister arrived at Milford Lane, she was full of praise at your brave and noble actions this afternoon, going on about how you stood between her and Canting Michael, at the risk of your life.”
Well Ned wouldn’t have quite put it like that. If it came to a fight, he needed room to draw his blades and in front of Meg was the best spot. Still it was gratifying to hear. “Then we settle down for no more than an hour and she’s ready to string you up on London Bridge for a base born deceiver and trickster, no better than a lying rogue.”
That warm feeling inside Ned shrank to a cold lump. So she must have been talking to Emma, and of course had been updated on the orange saga. Well it had to happen sometime. It was just damned unfair his good stocks had lasted so briefly. “If I led my life for the inconsistent approval of your sister, I’d be madder than a Bedlamite.”
He shrugged as if it mattered little, and moved onto a less fraught topic. “Any news about the Stafford ladies and their tame friars?”
Rob frowned in possible disapproval and pursued his lips as if considering how to frame a criticism, but it passed with a shake of his head. “No, they haven’t stirred. A few of the servants went for groceries and the like, but not even the rind of a single orange has left. Emma has spread the word, as you suggested and she reckons not a single basket will make it past Temple Bar or St Clement Danes.”
Well that was a start. He just hoped it was enough. Ned put his feet down and lent forward towards his friend, speaking quietly. “You know how to test the quality and strength of powder?”
Rob scratched his head in puzzlement. “Yes, I told you all about it at the Bee Skep.”
“Can you do some sort of small firing test that is, well, very quiet and private?”
Rob frowned and tugged at his light beard contemplatively. “Ahh well, the best one is to get a proofed cannon and do a few ranging shots.”
Ned waved his hand quickly before his friend went to fetch the Falconet. “No! No cannons. A very quiet trial in the hold perhaps?” He really didn’t want to go through the sort of extensive testing he knew his friend would be used to. It was all too noisy and prominent. Certain people may get the wrong, or even worse, the right idea.
“Well Ned, there’s one possibility. It’s not as accurate, more of ‘at the battlefield’ effort really.”
“Perfect. Let’s go!”
Ned could tell that Rob was still mystified over his secretive preparations. He’d arranged for Gryne’s men to set up a trestle bench between a couple barrels of stock fish and had acquired a selection of black powders for his friend to go through, along with double paned lanterns for safety. As expected, Rob rubbed each of the samples with his fingers and then performed the taste test. Finally Rob poured out a small sample pile of each and applied the glowing end of a slow match to each one in turn. As Ned might have predicted they performed differently. The first erupted in a flash of flame and smoke, while the final pile smoked and sputtered fitfully, leaving a mound of soot.
“Alright Ned Bedwell. I’ve done my trial as best I can. What’s it in aid of?”
“It proves who killed Joachim and why.”
“How can it do that?” His companion most very perplexed and not a little exasperated.
“Well, the first sample I got from the ship’s powder store, the barrel we broac
hed the night of the riot. It flashed well, correct?”
Rob gave a nod of assent.
“The second sample was from the top of Somersby’s barrel, and it was adequate, yes?”
Another nod from Rob. Good.
“The third was from the bottom of the Somersby’s Southwark barrel and it sputtered quite a bit, didn’t it?”
“Aye, a fairly poor mix, too much charcoal and impurities, not much force in the charge.”
“What of the last sample?”
“If you used it in a Gonne, the ball may travel a few feet or so. It’s an extremely weakened mix. Not even enough for fireworks. What of it Ned?”
“Well Somersby claimed he only cut his powder by a firkin’s worth. That was sample three. While the last one is from the barrels you found secreted on this ship, and I think it was this powder that got Joachim and Pieter killed.”
“For the love of God, how did the powder cause that?”
“I believe that Joachim kept a barrel out to supplement the supply for the ship’s Gonnes, and as any experienced man would do, he tested it and found as you did that it was as useful as ash. The night he was slain I believe he was expecting another load of powder. I think he challenged them over the quality. He may have even tried another sample, who knows? Anyway they killed him and offloaded their contraband.”
Rob was clearly puzzled and waved his hand towards the cabin above. “But why do that…that obscenity with the bodies?”
Ned gave a grim smile at the question. The ‘arrangement’ had him confused as well, right up until the Southwark trip. “They couldn’t find the first shipment and dawn was coming, so they arranged the bodies in the way that we found them to buy some time. By reporting murder and heresy the vessel would be impounded. I suspect that Sir Roderick Belsom was supposed to be faster seizing the ship.”
Rob shook his head in dismal shock at such an evil practice, though for Ned it seemed a depressingly familiar cozening trick. “Well I suppose that explains the firebomb I found. Somehow they ran out of time, but still, why burn the ship? I found over five hundred pounds worth of their stock. If they murdered for it, why destroy it?”
That of course, thought Ned, was the really difficult bit to swallow and he proceeded to tell Rob his plan on the morrow for divining a bit more of the refined metal of truth from the dross of lies and falsehood.
Ned must have had worse nights’ sleeps after many a tavern binge, but he’d be damned if he could recall one. The night watch had been split between himself and Rob, and even though the summer night was pleasant, trying to rest in the shipmaster cabin was unsettling. The taint of savage death still hung heavy in the air. The straw stuffed mattress had been removed and the dried blood laboriously scrubbed off, while Mistress Black had bunches of sharply pungent herbs suspended from the beams. Despite all that, Ned still felt the quiver of souls untimely wrenched from their life. The Church may sternly lecture on the place of spirits and ghosts, but right now he felt their accusing eyes upon him, and wraith like hands raised in demanding supplication. He was very glad to see the warm glow in the east of the rising sun putting to flight the unsettling memories of the night.
Though the morning brought its own share of difficulties. Ned was beginning to discover the problems that bedevilled and perplexed commanders from the time of Alexander on—time, space and communication.
Come the first full flush of daylight he began to receive messages from the Orange Watch. Emma’s diminutive band of pursuivants was proving very effective in their roles as spies and messengers, but that was when he discovered the first problem. Smarts Key Wharf was closer to the Tower, while Milford Lane was on the western side of the city, between the Strand and Inner Temple. At the best speed it was half an hour to traverse that distance, so Ned was discovering the quandary of receiving news half an hour after it may have happened. Then, if he had thoughts on it he’d have to compose a reply and send it back, thus another half an hour. It was an incredibly frustrating experience. He had to trust that Meg and Emma first supplied him with correct information and then secondly had the intelligence and capability to deal with the events as they witnessed them. For if they had to rely on his reply, then actions would follow events an hour too late.
Thus Ned found that he had fallen into a dilemma of his own devising. To keep Meg Black away from any possible intervention with his plans for this morning, he had no choice but to send her to the crucial Orange Watch. Once there, she was to all respects her own commander, Meg Black given free rein to exercise her own judgment and discretion. It was a terrifying prospect.
***
Chapter 22. Dark Deeds in the Day, The Ruyter, Morning 9th June
It was much earlier than he’d expected, closer to the second hour after the dawn bells and chimes had rung over the city when Ouze respectfully ushered the Hanse merchant into the cabin. Ned had all night to prepare for this. A few props had been acquired by Rob, who was now Ned hoped, snoring in blissful repose after his long labours in the dark hold.
The Hanse merchant gave him a short bow of respect as of social equals. Ned, as manners and decorum dictated, returned the compliment and offered the Hanse a mug of ale and the only other available seat, a rough timber stool.
It was, by any respects, an ordinary meeting between business associates, complete with the usual courtesies that one expected. However, on another level it was a radical break from prior occasions, and Ned suspected that the Hanse was beginning to sense the subtle differences. He’d have to been a fool not to. For one thing, on all prior occasions Ned had been with Margaret Black as her tag along and friend. Albrecht in the past had been welcoming and jovial, a perfect host, but behind that lay a simple fact. Ned was not as equal in his eyes as the Black daughter. The other matter of the offer to dispose of an inconvenient Ned last year also had bearing on this meeting. When required, this affable German merchant would kill without a qualm.
After the usual social niceties had been exchanged Ned launched straight into it. “I’ve heard many glowing reports of your business skills and wise judgement, uhh, Albrecht.”
Ned made a play at clumsy familiarity with the use of the Hanse merchant’s first name. It worked. The Hanse visibly relaxed as if he’d gained the measure of Ned’s uncertainty. “You are too kind Meister Bedwell. I am just a humble merchant with some small skill.”
The self deprecation was prefect. Ned’s daemon suggested this fellow would make a first rate pleader in the courts. “Why, hmm, Albrecht you underrate yourself! Margaret Black always said you’re the most renowned merchant at the Steelyards, with a keen sense for the customs of trade.”
This was definitely the right tack—flattery will always get you further than truth. The Hanse returned a small bow at the compliment. “I have some small mastery in London trade, Meister Bedwell, though I can name several men far more worthy than myself.”
Ned waved his hand in dismissal of the Hanse’s attempt at modesty. “Certainly not Albrecht. Frequently Margaret has told me that of all the men in trade of the city, you’re the only one she trusts. She said you were as kind and as wise as even her own Uncle Williams, and if I had any questions of business I couldn’t do better than ask you.”
At the repeated mention of Meg Black’s more formal first name, Margaret, the Hanse merchant’s eyelids flickered and Ned suspect a guilty conscience was tugging at the soul. Hopefully it reminded the merchant of Ned’s more legal position in the relationship, though the ‘honest’ smile didn’t waver. “Hmm. Albrecht, I find myself in a very difficult position with no one to turn to for assistance in a very delicate matter. I beg you to extend to me the kind regard that has so assisted our sweet Margaret in the past.”
Now Albrecht’s eyebrows quivered, but the merchant lent forward and put his hand on Ned’s arm in a fatherly manner. “By the love of God and the regard I have for our dear Margaret, Meister Bedwell I will.”
At that confirmation Ned gave a great sigh of relief and clutched at the ha
nd like drowning man. “I thank you Albrecht. That is great weight off me. Anyway call me Ned since I feel we will be good and close friends to each other.”
If anything the Hanse’s smile grew broader as he continued in his role of kindly uncle.
“Firstly it is of Margaret’s well being that I’m most concerned. You know of the writ I received from my good lord, Thomas Cromwell?”
After a slight pause the Hanse returned a nod.
“I have had word from a concerned friend at court, that it would be advantageous if Mistress Black visited friends abroad for a while.”
At that, Albrecht’s eyebrows shot up like a pair of startled caterpillars. Ned hadn’t named names, but it was common knowledge around the Inns that his master’s rescue from the wreck of Cardinal Wolsey was owed in no small measure to Lady Anne Boleyn. So Ned just floated the supposition and let intuition and rumour do the rest. The Hanse reached up and twisted one of the forks of his beard in thought, while Ned maintained his friendly, concerned and hopefully slightly naive expression. Honestly, he didn’t know how experienced lawyers did this. You’d have to practice in the mirror for hours!
“Ned, I am most glad you sought my assistance. I’m one of her guardians, according to the will of her father. I could not see her harmed!”
Ned adopted a very grave, concerned demeanour and made a pious triangle of his fingers. “Nor would I Albrecht. Nor would I. However I see no way out of this for her or us, unless Margaret’s true friends disregard her wilful tantrums and see her safely to Antwerp. Once out of the way, my lord and our courtly ‘friend’ can arrange for Chancellor More to…well, to loose interest.”
The Hanse considered the options. Ned could see that it held his attention. It certainly did for him. Albrecht heaved a great sigh and slowly shook his head. “It may be so, but she won’t go willingly.”
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