The Queen's Oranges

by House, Gregory

  That single pile of books had almost cost Ned more pain than the rest of the affair. They were translated bibles pried off Meg Black. True, they were broken, battered and in some cases rejected due to serious flaws in printing. Even so, despite the fact that they could never be sold or used, Ned had been forced to argue well into the early morning that they had to have something to give to the Lord Chancellor. Reason or exhaustion had prevailed.

  “This were got out o’ the shipmaster’s cabin. Seems the Hanse merchant, Hagan, were into a bit o’ smugglin’ along with the powder. There’s another pair or so o’ barrels out with ye men.”

  The Lord Chancellor’s eyes burned with a fierce longing as he beheld the gathered collection of heretical works. His reputation as an unforgiving enemy of any writings contradictory to the writ of Holy Mother Church was already infamous. This offering was bound to whet his interest, and from what Ned had found out, equalled the last three seizures.

  “What of the Hanse who trafficked in such blasphemies?”

  Ned spoke up before Skelton could ruin their tale. “My Lord Chancellor, the Hanse, Albrecht Hagan, has already paid the ultimate price for his treachery. He was amongst the slain last night.”

  Sir Thomas fixed Ned with an especially keen glare. “This unfortunate accident with the King’s powder seems to have removed a remarkably convenient number of people, Master Bedwell.”

  “Over twenty we think, my lord, though it’s a bit difficult to tell, what with the few pieces we have been able to find.” That handy piece of information came from Rob Black, and the Lord Chancellor switched his fascinated attention to the apprentice artificer.

  “Pieces?” The tone of surprise was unfeigned

  “Aye my lord. We think there were four or five barrels that went up, taking out the building and one of the wharfs. Not much left after that.”

  Perhaps honesty from a man like Rob was outside of Sir Thomas’s experience, for the Lord Chancellor just frowned and tapped the arm of his chair distractedly. Or maybe it was the ‘bits and pieces’ concept that was difficult to encompass. Whichever it was, Ned was very relieved. The disposal of the remains of the affray had been a cause of concern, until Gruesome Roger had suggested an appropriate and simple solution.

  Ned had originally been aghast at such a method, until he considered the elegant symmetry and the fact that the people along the riverside who had suffered under the sustained abuse would see it as a fitting revenge. When he had seen the results of just five barrels, he was doubly glad they’d foiled the plot. If the traitors had set off the six thousand barrels, as originally planned, it would have truly devastated the city. Such an awesome power of destruction should only be the preserve of an almighty and forgiving God, rather than the fallible hands of man.

  The Lord Chancellor, having been deflected from the affair of the Gonne powder and smuggling, was left with only two avenues of approach. Somehow it seemed appropriate for him to start with the one closest to his passion. Anyway it was past time that Meg Black had a serving of the Lord Chancellor’s interest. That was, after all, just and fair.

  “Mistress Black, during the investigation of heresies your name has come to my attention. My pursuivants...” The Lord Chancellor halted there. Obviously he had recalled the fate of his most recent servant, and paused in distasteful thought. No doubt the word ‘pieces’ wafted into consideration

  “There have been rumours that you are involved in the subversion of His Majesty’s explicit command regarding the import of heretical texts.” Sir Thomas had regained his accustomed stride, and while not prosecuting in the courtroom, he made it seem that Mistress Black was indeed on trial.

  The lass under scrutiny gave a very deep curtsy, as one would to a respected elder, and clutched her hands in an attitude of beseeching prayer. “My lord, I can assure you upon my very soul that I had no knowledge of the heinous smuggling of Albrecht Hagan or any part in his treasonous plot. These gentlemen here are my witnesses that when I found out about the nefarious plan, I rallied as many good citizens of the city as I could, and went to their aid.”

  It was as good a piece of acting as anything seen at the Inns, though at no point did Meg Black actually lie. She just took an interesting walk around the truth, stopping for occasional visits with prevarication and misdirection.

  “Aye, the lass certainly was there in the thick. It would ‘ave been a rough time with’ut her help.” Skelton growled out his valediction of her action. The northerner reckoned he liked a girl with spirit, and visibly mourned the lack of any reciprocal regard from the apprentice apothecary.

  In the byplay of the Royal Court, Sir Thomas More was no fool having survived well over a decade. You could accuse him of many abiding sins like arrogance and pride, but he knew that Margaret Black was, for this time, out of reach. The mounting acclaim of her impromptu street party had touched a royal nerve. Open displays of loyalty were appreciated by His Majesty and had been brought to his attention by her patron Lady Anne.

  So frowning in thwarted ambition, the Lord Chancellor tried for his last play. “Master Bedwell, in the missive from Sir Thomas Cromwell, he informed me that you had been given the task of investigating the Royal household at Richmond. Did you find anything?”

  Such a casually asked question and so loaded with traps and mazes. A year or so ago Ned would have been paralysed with fear and trepidation. Now he faced the Lord Chancellor with all the accustomed veneer and circumspection of a courtier. “My lord, as I said to Sir Frederick Belsom, I was unable to find anything unexpected in Her Majesty the Queen’s household. All was as I had been lead to believe. It was, I must say, a perfect model of the decorum and behaviour we have come to expect from the wife of our beloved sovereign and aunt of his Imperial Majesty.”

  Ned loved the use of language. It could be so expressive, revealing and concealing at one and the same time. He of course failed to mention exactly what he had expected to find. That was already fixed in the mind of the hearer.

  To Ned it was evident that, for the Lord Chancellor, this interview was not going according to plan. He’d been expecting a different set of conclusions or even a completely different audience. Whether that was to be a grateful sovereign, thankful for the saving of his throne from a catastrophe, or a reinstated Queen, was difficult to say. Neither Belsom nor Blackford had been overly forthcoming with information in that sphere before their demise, so all Ned really had to go on was conjecture.

  In the meantime it was worth pushing a bit. “My lord, since the affair of the murdered Hanse shipmaster and his nephew has been solved, and the smuggling of texts has been halted, can you release the Ruyter?”

  This request had not been part of Sir Thomas’s script, and he frowned darkly before giving a wave of assent and dismissal.

  Ned bowed deeply. However he didn’t move off as anticipated.

  “This matter is concluded, Master Bedwell. The ship is released!”

  As a command, Ned really should have obeyed, but still he maintained his patient stance.

  “My lord, I am loath to bring up such matters before the most valued servant of His Majesty, one in whom our glorious Sovereign has reposed so much trust and affection, especially on such an important day as this one, with his Great Petition waiting to be signed. However Sir Welkin promised Master Robinson a pension of fifty pounds for his injuries in the King’s service, and advancement.”

  The Lord Chancellor pursed his lips into a tight line of disapproval. Ned made note of it, and continued ticking off items on his fingers. That, at least, meant no further interference in the demi cannon casting, and gave Master Robinson a chance to proof his office against any more incompetent appointments. He could also hear Rob’s sigh of relief. In the circumstance, it was the least he could do. The foundry crew had come in very useful and may so again, which is why he’d waved the proffered rescue fee.

  “As well my lord, Sir Frederick promised recompense for the defence of the King’s powder of twenty pounds to my men
and eighty pounds to Mistress Black’s retainers.” That settled most debts. Ned maintained his respectfully humble bow and avoided eye contact with the Lord Chancellor. He could feel the anger and disapproval washing over him anyway. The silence stretched out and the rest of the band fidgeted nervously under the lengthened strain.

  “I shall command it, Master Bedwell.”

  From the grating tone, Ned could tell that Sir Thomas would prefer to order his questioning at Chelsea, and just as an extra tweak, Ned pushed that inch more. “My thanks and gratitude, my lord. If you could append your seal, it would ease matters with the officials of the Privy Purse. They have an unfortunate reputation for tardy action”

  That audacious demand, framed as a request, shocked his following. Ned could hear the sudden indrawn breath of surprise. Even Skelton suppressed a curse.

  The eventual reply came in a musing tone, rich in future promise. “Master Bedwell, Councillor Cromwell advised me that you were a young man to watch. I believe I shall. You are dismissed.”

  Ned straightened and gave another deeper bow, dripping with respect and obsequiousness, then led his party out of the audience chamber.

  At the last step before he left, a now familiar voice called out. “Master Bedwell, I see that you bear your tokens openly.”

  Ned spun around, hiding his surprise at the parting comment. “Yes my lord. I do not believe in concealing my allegiances.” Well no more than necessary.

  The Lord Chancellor gave an abrupt wave towards him. “The ring, is it yours?”

  This question appeared to be motivated by genuine interest, and as such, puzzled Ned. ‘Yes, my lord. I have it from my mother.”

  Sir Thomas More gave Ned a very strange look, as if measuring him up, a comparison if you would, and then, eyes hooded, slowly nodded, in some way satisfied. “At some time in the future, Master Bedwell, we will have to have a talk about the past.”

  Another low bow and he escaped. More had some strange notions. It must be all the time spent bent over his quill, refuting Luther.

  Once outside the chamber, Skelton was the first to speak. He gave his bushy beard a hefty scratch and then thumped Ned on the back. “That’s a game play lad ta ‘ut bold the Lord Chancellor. Remind me ta niver face ye at cards.”

  With that parting comment he took Ned’s proffered hand, gripping it like a vice, before strolling off to join the remainder of his band of savage northerners. Last night would have been more of a disaster without Skelton, and Ned had retained a certain amount of gratitude for his rescue and possibly more, if it weren’t for the shots from Byward Tower. Who had Skelton been aiming at, him or Don Juan Sebastian?

  “Damn it, Ned. Are you cracked? Baiting More like that is a dangerous risk!” This response from an angry Meg Black was also accompanied by a solid whack.

  Ned intercepted a second, and grinning, shook his head. “No. Sir Thomas More lost and he needed to see that he’d lost. Also he needed to be forced to pay recompense for what was tried by his minions.”

  Margaret Black scowled at the answer, and disentangled her captured arm. “Doesn’t that stupid posturing declare us as his enemies?”

  “Too late. After this week and what he just said, you can have no doubt that we are already listed amongst his foes. If you remember the Ruyter wasn’t chosen by chance. It was a considered action to enhance More’s campaign against heresy and the Boleyn faction.”

  She continued to frown at the thought and was clearly not consoled.

  “Let me put it another way. After expenses, the Lord Chancellor’s reward should pay for a gross weight of bibles, yes?”

  It took a few moments of thoughtful consideration until a generous smile began to unfurl, and Meg Black, to his surprise, grabbed him in a firm embrace, bestowing on him the most shivering kiss imaginable. “Ned Bedwell, there are times when I don’t know what to make of you!”

  It would appear that his indiscretion and evasions had been forgiven.

  For now.

  Ned, for some reason, had forgotten to mention how much rescued Gonne powder he had already organised to sell to Southwark, and as for the salvaged weapons, Rob had arranged a suitably discrete home for them. Of course the bulk of the gold from Sir Roderick Belsom’s thoughtful donation was now locked away with an accommodating goldsmith, once it had been extracted from the obliging corpse of Joachim. A useful, if revolting, hidey hole that even the murderous powder sorters hadn’t considered, and for now the gold need not concern the Company of the Cardinal’s Angels. As for the origins of the affair, the murders and compensation were too dangerous and complex a case for any court to deal with, so Ned had made other arrangements. ‘Master Hagan’ was sending the bodies’ home along with a letter of condolence and purse of fifty sovereigns to Joachim’s widow. The lamented Hanse merchant had, before his ‘untimely demise’, signed his Steelyard business concerns across to his beloved godchildren, Robert and Margaret Black, which Ned hoped would help for a time assuage Meg’s suspicious questioning. By next week Albrecht should be safely ensconced in Lubeck, and if he was smart, have a new name.

  Another more problematic reward had been to Mary’s Petty Wales punks who’d assisted Rob with the falconets. He’d arranged for Rob to deal with that, ahh, grey area in whatever manner or cost seemed right. At the present, in light of Meg Black’s current kind regard, and to avert a return of possible wrath, he’d keep the girls at arms length, if not a touch further.

  Having dealt with the King’s Powder and the Queens’ Oranges, the only difficulty left was the two chests from Sir Welkin. Whom that gold belonged to was up for question, so Ned had the chest sent to Dr Caerleon. It could repose under his supervision until Ben Robinson worked out if the King’s Office of Ordinance had been short changed. However he’d made one provision from it for the realm. The rag tag crew of children under Mistress Emma had proved more valuable than their diminutive statue would have indicated. A quiet annuity of, say, fifteen pounds a year, would see them healthier, faster and able to read, a very useful skill for intelligencers and perhaps a wise investment for the future. So what Mistress Black didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him.

  Well, probably—he hoped.

  After all, she didn’t tell him about her private deals, or else they wouldn’t have been dragged into this mess. He also had one particular idea to chase down, an errant thought prompted by Meg Black, an investment that could literally mint gold for the canny. For once, to Ned, the future looked a good deal brighter than a week ago. Now all he had to do was buy some new clothes and find a Spaniard.

  ***

  Post Script

  The signing of the Great Petition asking Pope Clement to dissolve the current marriage of King Henry and Queen Katherine went ahead as planned. Although there was a degree of reluctance from some lords, both temporal and secular, all of them did in the end, sign the Petition. It is also worth noting that the former Lord Chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey, put his seal to the Petition. There was one exception, the current Lord Chancellor, Sir Thomas More, who later claimed a ‘private’ Royal exemption. To date no historian has satisfactorily explained how that worked.

  ***

  Historical Note

  Red Ned and the Queen’s Oranges is a work of fiction. However most of the main points of the story are based around historical events, and the setting is derived from period documents. Lady Stafford did use oranges to smuggle messages to Queen Katherine when she was held at Richmond Palace, and there did seem to be some sort of plot or conspiracy that involved Imperial backing at the time of King Henry VIII’s Great Petition to Pope Clement. While no attempt was made at that time to seize the Tower and blow up the vast store of powder, it was a continual worry to those concerned with the realm’s security, since it would have, at one stroke, both destroyed the kingdom’s capacity to wage modern warfare, and due to the destruction of London, to pay for it’s replacement. It is interesting to note that in 1547 poor powder storage and handling levelled the Lions Tower and destroyed
a large quantity of records, so the threat was very real.

  ***

  Red Ned Tudor Mysteries- The King’s Counsel

  After the Oranges affair Red Ned Bedwell, apprentice lawyer and aspiring rogue, will return in another story The King’s Counsel that winds it’s way around the contentious issue of King Henry VIII’s annulment case, where the conflicting evidence of royal mythology, papal pretensions and legal practice cause a deadly furore that threatens to derail the King’s plans. As could have been predicted Ned and his companions have to sort through the myriad problems of death, deceit, and the easily bruised egos of university scholars. A task not made any easier by the suspicion of treachery and foul murder attending too close to a newly arrived physician of Meg Black’s acquaintence. Despite all those taxing difficulties Ned has a more urgent task, to save both his latest business venture and his reputation. Someone is publishing a run of lewd and scandalous pamphlets complete with explicit woodcuts, telling the tale of Red Ned’s Vessel of Vyces Revealed. That’s if he can find the time between the competing plans of Councillor Cromwell, Lady Anne Boleyn and his wily uncle Richard Rich, all keen for their take on the royal prerogative.

  Cannon sizes and Gonnepowder

  Serpentine: Fine grade powder about the consistency of flour used for firearms such as harquebus.

  Gross corn: Larger coarser granulated powder, more water proof and powerful than Serpentine. Used for Siege Gonnes.

  Slow match: Cord soaked in saltpetre and used as a slow burning source of ignition for harquebus and cannon.