Sir Frederick tried smiling like a doting uncle and lent forward as if imparting a special confidence. It wasn’t a great success. “My boy, it seems we have been deceived by duplicitous foreigners. I have had a warrant issued for a merchant named Albrecht Hagen. A pair of witnesses have come forward swearing that they saw the Hanse leaving the vessel covered in blood the night of the murder.”
Now that was very interesting. It seemed that Belsom was keen to sacrifice his key informer. Had the disappearance of Albrecht ruined his plans? The Hanse merchant may be a treacherous rat but he was a damn sight more efficient than whoever had actually committed the murder. Albrecht wouldn’t have made the mistake of leaving the bodies lying around. Sloppiness was bad for business.
“Sir Belsom, I am very impressed with your honesty and candour. There have been stories around the Inns regarding dread affairs where an official has allowed his personal feelings or errors to sway his judgement, thus continuing to hound and persecute innocent men.”
The pursuivant tried very, very hard to look affronted at such an outrageous suggestion, while at the same time suitably humble and proud of the compliment. He failed horribly with all three and just managed to look bloated.
“Tell me Sir Belsom, does that mean you will release the vessel?” It was a hopeful question.
“Well no, I’m afraid not. My Lord feels it is for the good of the realm to hold this vessel.” The red faced pursuivant lent closer and whispered conspiratorially. “The Lord Chancellor believes that the Hanse was part of a plot against the Kings’ Majesty by foreign princes, and that evidence of the other conspirators is hidden on board this ship!”
That was very inventive, and clever. It always paid to mix a bit of truth in the tale to make it more convincing. Ned was certain that Belsom had knowledge of a plot—intimate knowledge. That it concerned foreigners was also proven, though perhaps not the ones that Sir Thomas More’s pursuivant was trying to implicate. As for Albrecht, he looked even more like a sacrificial pawn. Perhaps he always was. Either way it knocked him out as a witness against Welkin and Belsom at the murder inquest. But where now did Ned and Meg Black fit in? Or the heretical books? Or the other interesting contraband? Was More’s pursuivant playing his game, or that of his master? This shift in tactics was intriguing. The buffoon couldn’t have forgiven his humbling the other day at Ned’s hand. So what ploy or desperation drove this act of false modesty and bonhomie?
“That, Sir Belsom, is evil news, and I hope you are not insinuating that I had a part in any treasonous conspiracy?”
“No Master Bedwell, never! The Lord Chancellor knows of your profound loyalty to His Majesty! He does but beg your indulgence and continued assistance as owed by a loyal subject.”
An accurate translation would be that either Sir Belsom or his lord had already tried leverage in the Royal Court and it had failed. Maybe having Cromwell as patron was proving useful after all, though what of the continuing silence? Still this didn’t answer the question, why was Sir Toad here and still being condescendingly pleasant? Perhaps some dramatic gesture may pry out a grain of truth?
Ned thumped the table and lent forward glaring at his visitor angrily. “I, as any good and loyal subject, will do all that is within my power to bring down traitors! If this ship is involved, then I would burn it to the water line! Aye, and lose all that I have before I would allow it to be used by nefarious foreigners to His Gracious Majesty’s harm!”
It sounded very dramatic and to add flavour Ned leapt up, grabbed the tinder box off the table and made a show of trying to strike a spark. Sir Belsom was smiling indulgently at the impulsive rashness of youth, until Ned got some scrap tinder alight and made a move to set the straw bedding afire.
At this the pursuivant turned very pale, waved frantically and screamed in panic. “No Master Bedwell! No, please restrain yourself! No fire or all will be LOST!” Then Sir Belsom grabbed the leather pitcher and doused the incipient sparks with a slosh of ale, before collapsing back into his seat, his red colour washed pale by terror.
With a show of grumbling acquiescence, Ned slowly sat back down. His daemon however was crowing. The panic confirmed his suspicion of the pursuivant’s involvement in the powder affairs. Sir Belsom puffed and wheezed like a pair of old bellows and mopped his face frantically, before waving Ned closer. “The Lord Chancellor is a kind and noble lord, and as you know, the most learned man in all England.”
Keeping his smile carefully in place, Ned nodded in answer, while throttling his daemon’s automatic response of incredulous denial.
“My noble master would not see any subject suffer grievous loss for his loyalty, so he has sent me to offer compensation for the vessel.”
Ned didn’t have to try very hard to act out his amazement at this. For most of the past week they had tried every trick and subterfuge to seize the ship, and now Belsom was actually trying to buy it? If previously the situation had been bizarre, that was nothing to this latest change.
Ned cautiously cleared his suddenly constricted throat. “Ahh hmm. That…that is a very generous act, from the most noble of His Majesty’s councillors. What…what amount is the Lord Chancellor offering?”
Oh that must be painful Sir Belsom squirmed on his seat as if he’d sat on a hot poker.
“Hmmph, ahh well lad, considering the difficult situation, my lord is prepared to offer five hundred pounds in gold.” Sir Belsom reached down and hauled up a large leather script that’d been resting by his leg. It clinked most attractively as it landed on the table.
Ned didn’t have to feign amazement. His jaw was closer to the floor than at any time during this whole sorry affair. Five hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds was a very significant sum. Ned took a couple of paces to the leather satchel and unbuckled the clasp then tilted it over. Out flowed a golden cascade of coins, ringing sweetly as they tumbled onto the wooden table. Ned had occasionally seen sums like this change hands before, but never so close. He picked up one of the coins and had a close look the face. The image of the King enthroned was crisp and fresh. These hadn’t long been off the minter’s die.
Now he had an interesting problem. Some philosophers would even term it a moral dilemma. More’s pursuivant was here with a five hundred glittering enticements for Ned to hand over a vessel that he only had a probable half share in, for almost the value of a quarter of the contraband. As fractions went it was simple, for the amount offered was close to twice the value of the ship but only half that of the legal cargo. But that was just the first offer, the gloss coating to the bribe so as it would appear as a normal transaction between gentlemen in business. Once the glib phrases and the veneer of reputability were removed, what lay underneath was the rotted canker of modern life. The money was, of course, for the hidden powder and weapons that Ned was not supposed to know about, but it was also masked another dark offer—the Judas fee to surrender Meg Black to the tender discretions of the Lord Chancellor.
Sir Belsom sat there with a very satisfied smile as Ned slowly sifted his fingers through the clinking coins. He knew that if he looked up, the hunger of avarice would be burning in the eyes of his visitor. As with any arrangement in his society, bribes followed a proscribed ritual. First a gift was offered as a mark of respect. It also allowed the parties concerned to weigh up the social rankings of each other as well as the prospective benefits. For instance, a simple introduction to a gentleman of the Privy Chamber by an usher would cost, say, five to twenty pounds, depending on what you wanted put before the Sovereign, while assistance in preferment to a lucrative position from the right person could be in the way of hundreds of pounds in ‘gifts’. As the opening move in the ritual, this gave both parties the space to negotiate without causing offence.
Ned felt the warm gold slip across his skin as it tinkled and glittered in the summer light, and thought furiously. As much as he would dearly like to give Mistress I know better than thee Black her overdue comeuppance for the insults and arrogance of this past week, this a
ttractively glittering pile of coins was well in excess of the humiliation he was longing to inflict. His daemon was eagerly reminding him of a host of thwarted ambitions it could fund—the gold was desperately tempting to an aspiring lad. For one thing, he could be free of both his uncle and Cromwell, a man of independent means and status, with a reputation for cleverness and success. That…that was damn persuasive. Images of his own London great house, like the Lord Chancellor’s old mansion of Bucklesbury, flitted across his imagination, soon followed by a train of servants and livery men at his beck and call. Then there was the fine gowns and doublets. He could replace his splendid gold ring given over at Christmas to redeem the worthless Walter. In fact, the more he allowed the glitter of the coins to en–trance him, the more possibilities opened up—advancement at the Royal Court, a title, Sir Edward Bedwell, a country manor, the prospect of a wealthy heiress. Oh by the saints, it was the very mother load of temptation! And it held him lost in speculation for…for as his angel pointed out entire too long, as the prospects of wealth and fame paraded before his eyes.
It was perhaps these stern words of his better angel or maybe the strident warnings of his daemon that pulled him back from the golden path. Both of them pointed him to the same difficulty. Trust, it all revolved around trust, and Sir Roderick Belsom was absolutely and utterly untrustworthy. Well you could trust him to find some very convenient way to recover his gold, preferably with Ned too dead to worry about disputing the finer points of the arrangement. The Lord Chancellor’s pursuivant was too ready and eager to show the gilt. Anyway, as Ned regretfully agreed, saying farewell to his promise of prosperity, Sir Thomas More would turn heretic before he would admit to any error to a scion of the Rich clan.
On many matters Ned differed sharply with his Uncle Richard. However their one point of common ground was the unreasoning hatred of Sir Thomas More towards any of their kith or kin. These were only a few of the difficulties raised by the offer of five hundred pounds, though to many fellows he knew at the Inns of Court, half this or less would cancel any conflicts of duty, honour, friendship or family. Now, if any in this affair, was the time for measured reason not base lust. Ned carefully arranged several of the coins into a short stack, as he prodded his thinking towards survival, not gold. Damn difficult that!
There weren’t many choices. To refuse the offer was a foolish move and would probably set Sir Belsom on his guard and then the cunning riverside rat would find another scheme not quite so transparent. So Ned had to tread very carefully. Perhaps if he played up being a greedy youth? It was exactly what Sir Belsom seemed to expect.
“Your gift, Sir Belsom, is extremely generous. I…I don’t know what to say!” Ned kept his eyes fixed on the gold as if it would disappear.
That was a good start. Sir Toad beamed benignly and rubbed his hands. Ned was after all a Rich by blood, and as they say, blood will tell. “Edward, it’s only right that loyalty be rewarded. Sir Thomas is a generous lord, caring and solicitous to those who serve him and His Majesty.”
Oh and here was the expected upping of the bid. As a bonus there was an offer of a position in the retinue of Sir Thomas More.
Ned kept his eye firmly riveted on the coins as if fascinated. He was of course. Only a saint would fail to be moved by five hundred pounds! The problem however was still trust. As of now, even his better angel screamed caution and rectitude, warning that Belsom had marked him for death. Sir Toad had used his first name to lull him into a trap.
Ignoring these repeated warnings, he gave a startled cough, clearing his throat and made his counter offer. “The friendship of the Lord Chancellor is an offer beyond price. However there, hmm, are costs I must discharge to join his service. If, Sir Belsom, I had five hundred companions to these…” Ned lifted a handful of gold and let it dribble through his fingers, with his sight locked on the golden rain “…that would more than meet them.”
Stealing the slightest glance out of the corner of his eye he could see the attempted nonchalant benevolence of Sir Belsom. The fellow was very keen to keep a mark on his stake. His voice betrayed the outward calm and quavered in an endeavour to stop the falsetto of panic at the raised price of bargaining. “Ahh Edward, my, my lad. Ahhm, ahh, an…an increase could be arranged . However the Lord Chancellor would expect to receive immediate assistance in his current duties for His Majesty.”
Ned twitched a slight smile. That agreement was too fast. Sir Belsom should have gone through three more rounds of polite bargaining. Though Ned did understand the subtext, his daemon still whimpered at the neat columns of gold. They were a difficult prompt to ignore. He appeared to hesitate, or at least made a play at hesitation. The problem with temptation was, as his both his daemon and angel frequently said, it so damned tempting! “I see…well Sir Belsom, in that case I may be able to let you have the vessel, and its cargo.”
The light of greedy eagerness burned bright in Sir Belsom’s face. Ned could feel it scorching him. His angel screamed in dismay and he continued, the flickering glint of gold gleaming and sparkling before him in a hypnotic manner, whispering of wealth and power and privilege. He really wasn’t succumbing. It was a sham, a cozener’s play. It was, it was just so real. His fingers ached and twitched to scoop up the coins and let them slide through his fingers once more.
“In return I…I have a gift for the Lord Chancellor. I believe I know where Mistress Black is hiding her Hanse friend. Both of them could be yours before Sunday.”
At that Sir Belsom let out a long breath and burst into a full smile, his toad like eyes glowing. “Excellent Edward, excellent! I believe we have an understanding. My clerk will have the bills drawn up by Monday next. Here’s my hand as bond. I’ll warrant a lad like you will go far in the Lord Chancellor’s service.”
With that Sir Frederick bounced onto his feet and shook Ned firmly by the hand, all the time continuing to grin like a fiend. Ned didn’t have to act. The stupid smile plastered on his face was real. Sir Belsom actually thought he had the better of the cozening!
They parted as old friends after a long separation right up to the doorway where the pursuivant paused to add two further stipulations. “Edward my friend, there is one final task. Could you have the vessel moored by the Tower wharves by Saturday evening? After nightfall would be best. I, oh I mean our Lord requires…you know, privacy from the prying eyes of the city and the like. Of course I will have the balance of your fee. In fact, for your extra services my Lord will add a further fifty pounds for the heretics!”
Ned still grinning, swore upon his departed father’s soul and his uncle’s honour that it would be as the Lord Chancellor wished, and escorted his new best friend and patron to the dockside. “Sir Frederick, I have just one question. You told me of the two honest men who will stand witness for Albrecht Hagan’s heinous act. Will they appear at the inquest?”
At this the pursuivant paused in thought, with a distinct look of nervous concern. Obviously his planning hadn’t got that far.
“It’s just that I hear many stories at the Inns of Court about how poorly some decent fellows can be treated before the Justices, unless that is, they have some suitable instruction. After all, there may be some facts regarding the affair that may need clarification and Justices can sometimes be so unreasonable in their questioning.” Ned gave what he thought would be interpreted as an attempt at a sly smile.
“Considering the value of your esteem, I would like to prove my worth to the Lord Chancellor, at no charge of course.” Now that was a good grovel. Ned accompanied this plea with a very deep bow. After all, if you had just been bought, it served to provide extra value for the price.
Sir Belsom thought it over stroking his ample chin. Ned could see avarice fighting with his caution, and finally there appeared a slow relaxed smile. “Why Edward, you are proving to be a very useful young man. Go to the Goat’s Head past Galley Key by Petty Wales and ask for Clemmie Watkins and Johnny Edwards on this Saturday morn and I’ll be much appreciated.”
Further profuse thanks and many courtly bows saw the old toad off, and Ned waited until his visitor had picked up his single livery man from the custom house before retuning to the cabin.
Once inside Ned slammed his clenched fist against the closed door. Damn all these grasping old fools to the nethermost circle of Hell, where Satan’s demons could roast and torture them for eternity! Ned was in the most absolute rage. All of them, from his supposed good lord, Cromwell, to Skelton, and finally this fat buffoon, treated him as if he was a lack brained child, too dim witted to clean his own arse! By all the saints, he’d had enough. It was well past time to serve them all the measure of justice they deserved. As for Belsom, he had actually tried the cony catchers twist. The scarlet faced toad really expected Ned to fall for that cross biters swindle. Not, his daemon muttered, that it hadn’t been a good bid. Five hundred pounds no doubt purchased the honour of many fine men in this decadent age. But, and this still left him wryly bewildered, apparently not him. That urge for honesty and honour left him trembling and shaking. It was a dangerous habit to cultivate in any man associated with the Royal Court. An unaccustomed bout of honesty before the King could see you splayed out and gutted for treason within the blink of an eye.
So, caught between rage and fear, what was he going to do? Obligingly his daemon hinted at a tempting possibility. What if he actually complied with the deal? Sure! Have the vessel down at the docks by the agreed time with a bonus, and in return he’d gain the rest of the promised payment. Oh that was as certain as…as Faerie gold!
Ned smiled with feral amusement at the idea. As for the supposed witnesses to Albrecht’s guilt, he hadn’t forgotten where those names had first appeared. Watkins and Edwards were the elusive powder sorters from the Tower. Considering the prominence of the King’s black powder and murder as a twisted cord throughout this investigation, they gained Ned’s personal attention.
This was becoming a very confusing day. This morning he’d bribed Albrecht, midday he’d shot at Meg Black, and this afternoon he’d been bought by Belsom. So if Lady Fortuna was playing her hand in this fashion, Ned couldn’t wait to find out what the evening had in store for him.
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