by Sam Burnell
“If ever you need work,” Christian grinned mischievously.
“When my fortunes run so low, I’ll let you know,” Richard stretched straightening his back.
“Pass that other board here,” Christian gestured towards another laid next to Richard, covered with more neat tally marks.
Richard examined the board before passing it over, “You haven’t lost your love of details, I see.”
“Don’t mock,” Christian received the board, “it keeps me at the top of the heap, and that’s not an easy position to retain these days, I can tell you.”
“I wasn’t mocking, although when we studied together it did have it’s advantages,” Richard laughed.
“I know – I read all the books, made all the notes and shared them with you. I remember it well, Why did I do that?” Christian asked.
“Because you felt sorry for me?” Richard ventured.
“Hardly!” Christian exclaimed.
“Well there wasn’t time for everything and I had to take advantage of what opportunities there were and you, my dear Christian, were one of those,” Richard replied stretching to ease his aching back.
“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never before an opportunity,” Christian replied grumpily.
“It was a fair trade, do you not think?” Richard smiled and Christian inclined his head in agreement. Tying himself, as he had, to the charismatic Richard had gained him entry to groups he could never have got close to; many of the men would be lifelong friends and more than a few had been pivotal in advancing his business when he took over from his father.
“Well, that coin I was keeping for you isn’t going to last forever you know,” Christian replied. A year ago, Richard had extorted money from his cousin Harry and, by what could only be judged very fortuitous foresight, he had left a portion of it with Christian.
“I shall temper my spending, worry not. It will be enough,” Then Richard added, “I could always ask my father for money, could I not?”
“Aye, you could. So he wants to see you, are you reconciled? After all these years, after what he did?” Christian asked sounding doubtful.
“Not at all. I went to see him about a week ago and we struck a bargain,” Richard supplied, jumping down from the barrel.
“A bargain? Go on, tell me the whole tale,” Christian gave Richard for the first time his full attention.
“He told me a tale of how he’d got a fair price for me. At least he’ll not be able to say how worthless second sons are,” Richard mused as he hitched himself up onto the end of Christian’s desk
“Sold to whom?” Christian asked, his brows furrowed, absently pushing an ink pot away from Richard.
“Oh, it’s the same family scandal, but up until now I hadn’t realised he’d actually profited from the arrangement. He got a place on the Privy Council.” Richard supplied.
“That’s terrible I knew he was a mean bastard and never had much liking for anyone save himself, but to do that is beyond belief. Are you sure?” Christian’s hand was still pushing the ink pot and Richard leant and grabbed it a moment before it fell from the desk.
“As sure as I need to be. He got himself on the Council in return for pledging my neck,” Richard placed the glass ink bottle down with a solid bang.
“There’s more to this,” Christian observed. “Go on, tell me.”
“I cannot say more.” Then seeing the look on his friend’s face, he added, “Christian, it’s not safe, you don’t need to know.”
Christian grumbled under his breath, “I’ve also got those other details you wanted.” He delved into his pocket and pulled out a few loose squares of paper. “No, not that one, or that one, ah - here it is.” He passed it over. “The ship you want would probably be the Dutch Flower. She’s back and forth pretty often on a fairly regular run. It’s a sturdy vessel as well, and her Captain is Hugo Drego. His name is on there; he’s honest and reliable. We used him last year to get two families over to Holland before the Crown caught up with them. If you wanted to get a passage to Holland, that’s the ship I’d be taking.”
“Thank you. Do you know when the ship is due back in London?” Richard asked.
“I can do better than that,” Christian smiled. “They are berthed down at the dock now and due to set sail in two days when she is re-loaded.”
Richard smiled, “As always you are thorough to a point.”
“I know that’s why you like me,” Christian replied a little grumpily.
Richard dropped from the barrel and moved swiftly over and clapped the other man on the arm. “You know that is not true.”
“Well, I don’t see you often, and when I do…” his words trailed away.
“I am straining our friendship,” Richard replied, sorrow on his face. After a moment’s silence, he sat back down heavily on the barrel. “There is much I cannot tell you; much I would have you know.”
“I know, I know and then I would understand,” a bitter edge in Christian’s voice. “You can trust me, you know. How long have we known each other?”
“Too long,” Richard reflected. The square of paper Christian had given him he had folded length ways until it made a neat spill. Leaning forwards he fed it to the flame from the candle on Christian’s desk. Both men watched the smoke until the paper was gone.
“Will you dine with Anne and me tonight?” Christian asked changing the subject. “We would enjoy your company.”
“Thank you, but another night, Christian. Soon though,” Richard replied, too quickly.
“Damn you, Richard! You test our friendship too far!” Christian’s voice was raised and the look he gave Richard was a cold one.
Richard ran his hands through his hair. “Alright, alright. I need to see my father soon that is all.”
“You’ve spoken to him once in five years and now he demands your immediate attention? Really?” Christian snapped, angrily, “Can it not wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it can’t,” Richard spoke with finality, and dropped from the desk back to his feet.
“We are friends. Bloody well tell me what’s going on?” Christian demanded.
“I’ll not bare my soul, Christian, not even to you,” Richard voice was once more calm.
“I’m not asking for your soul on a platter. Just why such haste to see a man you’ve not spoken to for years?” Christian asked reasonably.
“He might have news of someone I am trying to trace, that is all,” Richard conceded. “It’s important I reach him before Robert does.”
“So who is so important to you? I’m feeling quite hurt.” Christian asked, sounding not at all upset.
“You never give up, do you?” Richard smiled.
“Not usually, it’s a talent. So, tell me, who is this person that has fallen into an unlucky hole between yourself, Robert and your father? What poor bastard could deserve that fate?” Christian mused. He was closer to the truth than he knew, and he sensed it from the look on his friend’s face.
Richard smiled. “A poor bastard indeed, he’s my brother.” Then he added, “Half-brother, one of my father’s by-blows. We have been together sometime and I owe him a debt. I’d not see him ruined by my family.” Christian listened in silence until Richard had finished. He told him of Jack, not all the story, but up to a point. He stopped short of telling Christian that Jack was indeed the Fitzwarren heir.
“Alright, as always you have me I am sorry for doubting you. Where is he now? Is he still in the city?” Christian asked, wondering why he’d never heard of Jack before.
“Knowing him as I do, I would think that after his recent failure he’s sitting in an inn somewhere trying to find the solution at the bottom of an ale jug,” Richard sounded troubled.
“If he’s such a man as that is he worth helping?” Christian asked, “I can understand you feeling obliged to help him, he is kin, but still…”
“He’s… I need to find him, Christian, before Robert does,” Richard explained. Christian was right – no
-one deserved to be in the situation Jack had found himself in. He knew that there was only one way Jack would deal with the situation: badly.
“Well, that isn’t going to be easy. There are hundreds of places he could be staying in London. He’ll not be using his own name, where do you begin looking?” Christian asked, sitting back and folding his arms, a thoughtful look his face.
“My father told me Jack had been to see him. I was full of hate and I wanted retribution when I went to see him. I’ll accept that there was a good chance I’d leave with his blood on my hands. I let him be and the bargain was, if he heard of Jack he’d let me know, and send a message to me through you,” Richard stretched like a cat. “So I will off and find out what he has for me.”
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? Be careful,” Christian meant it.
“He’s hardly able to move these days: the onset of age is upon him. If he has indeed news of Jack, I need to find out quickly before Robert.”
“Your father might be old and withered but you can bet that Robert isn’t. Be bloody careful Richard.” Christian warned.
“Always,” Richard grinned.
“You are many things, but I don’t rank careful amongst them,” Christian shook his head. Then he added, “Like you said, it is all in the details,” and his voice this time was quietly serious. “I know you well. I can tell you have been unwell, and I know you use your left hand as well as your right. I threw the board for you to catch with your left hand and you caught it badly in your right. You’ve the look of sickness still about you. I know you’re not going to tell me, I can read that from the look on your face.”
“At least you know you’ll not get an answer,” replied Richard quietly, then smiled. “I learned a valuable and somewhat painful lesson in loyalty, that’s all. Atropos controls our lifespan, does she not? Only she knows how long the mortal thread is, and where she chooses to cut it, we are blessedly ignorant.”
“Atropos! You don’t believe in fate any more than I do!” Christian scoffed, hands on the desk as he pushed himself up from his chair.
Richard rubbed his hand over eyes that suddenly seemed very tired. “It would be a comfort though, would it not?”
“Perhaps. However, we both know it’s just an excuse.” Christian’s voice was stern. “And you are just trying to divert me from my questions, more to the point.”
Richard smiled, “Yes, well, I forget you are not as easily diverted as some.” Rising, he squeezed Christian’s shoulder. “I will make an honest account of all my humble deeds. Give me time.”
Richard bid his friend goodnight and slipped quietly from the warehouse into the dark of the early evening. Christian watched him leave. He wished him well.
†
“Madam, for the child, please you must not spend hours like this,” pleaded Anne Bouchant.
Mary, on her knees in front of the small shrine in her room, rosary in hand, pretended not to listen. Always devout, her Catholicism her defining characteristic, it was no surprise that now in her real time of need, she was leaning heavily on the crutch.
The child was heavy within her: she felt it’s weight like a stone, a cold hard rock deep inside. Although never before with child, she had spent her whole life surrounded by pregnant women. They smiled, they caressed their broadening stomachs, their faces bloomed and they pulsed with the vigour of a double life. Mary felt none of this joy.
Her ladies asked her if she felt the baby turn yet, assured her that when she did she would know it; there was no feeling quite like it in the world they said. They reassured her that it would happen, and it was most likely that she carried a lazy boy, who had not yet woken within her. Their comments and reassurances calmed her a little, but never for long. Soon the dragging weight would return, and she’d pray to the Virgin for some sign from within her, some movement to show her that there was a living son, safe and warm within her womb.
They had resorted eventually to an intervention that even Mary would not ignore. They had sent for Phillip.
“My lady,” he spoke in Spanish, “the Lord will hear you, whether you are on your knees or in a chair. We must think of the child, and your health, my love.” Kneeling next to her he smiled and reached over to take her hand. “The day is warm and bright, come walk with me, and let a consort show off his pretty Queen.”
Mary blushed and allowed him to raise her from the cushion she knelt on. Trapping her hand in the crook of his arm he guided her from the room.
“Now come with me, and let me show you what has just come to us from Spain,” Phillip implored. “I am tired of English entertainment, and tonight we shall have proper Spanish dancing and singing: my father has sent over the De Fablio troop from the Spanish Court to entertain us.”
Phillip took her to see the wagons, all filled with the costumes and stages and instruments they had brought with them, and to meet the esteemed leader of the troop, one Monsignor De Fablio.
Eventually, he returned Mary to her ladies, and bid her not to overtire herself, and he would escort her that evening to the entertainment. Then he returned to his own rooms, surrounded as always by his Spanish nobles.
“How long must we endure?” Phillip pulled the gloves from his hands and slapped them on the table. “The very damp of this country is between my bones, and my nose, it drips. How do they put up with it?” Phillip pulled a silk square from his sleeve and delicately dabbed his nose. “It is so sore! This is why the English sniff so much Alberto: they fear to dab their noses, they know it makes them so painful, so the revolting creatures suck it all back up.”
“Quite so,” Alberto laughed. “Have you heard the Earl of Winchester? Every third word is punctuated by a great rattling sniff. His head must be packed with snot.”
Phillip smiled, amused, “To be fair, it is not packed with much else. And Arundel and Gardiner have just given up entirely and let their noses drip. I can hardly look them in the face now the winter is upon us.”
“How fares the Queen today?” Alberto enquired, changing the subject. It was well known in Phillip’s Spanish camp that whilst Mary was devoted to her new husband, he, on the other hand, saw her merely as a part of the necessary process of obtaining England. If she produced him an heir then the realm was secure for him, and England would be firmly tied to Spain.
“She is well, as well as a Lady of her years can be, I expect, in her condition,” Phillip’s voice was resigned, he hated his inability to have any control over the situation.
“We shall trust in our Lord, and hope for a son for you,” Alberto replied, a poor reply, but there was little else he could say Phillip acknowledged his words with a weary smile.
It was December, the Queen was due to give birth in May and the Court was preparing itself for Christmas. Phillip hoped fervently that this would help him pass another month of his own confinement in England a little quicker than was the norm.
†
They met in a room above The Sheep’s Wool, a smart inn near Blackfriars. Richard arrived early and took a place at the table towards the back, sitting in the shadows to better observe the rest. Inn staff brought up cups, ale and wine in readiness for Fairfax’s meeting. Richard look skyward; he might as well have put a sign outside the place advertising the fact. The word ‘secret’ was something entirely alien to Fairfax and he was treating the whole venture like one of his guild events: a grand affair with himself at the centre.
Some arrived and seated themselves at the table and enjoyed the wine and talk. There were eight of them all present when finally the guild master, predictably late, finally arrived.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, I am so sorry. Pressing business at the guild hall I am afraid. Nothing I could avoid. Lord Hadley called by to discuss the coming Christmas feasts we are supplying and I simply could not get away.” The guild always provided the Court with meat and wine for the Christmas celebrations and Fairfax could not resist reminding everyone of his close Court links. A pity, thought Richard that the stupid man was plo
tting against the current Court!
The talk covered little of any interest to Richard. It seemed that no significant progress had really been made since their last meeting which at least boded well. They were all in agreement on one thing: that any action should be put off until after the New Year. January or February were the preferred months.
“Richard, did you get any information on passage to Holland?” Fairfax asked at last.
“Indeed, there is a ship which makes a regular crossing with a sympathetic captain,” Richard replied.
“And how much would his sympathies cost?” George Sewell asked ever the ventures treasurer.
“I have not asked him yet,” Richard replied shortly.
“Why not? We need to know. His fees could be extortionate and our coffers are not bottomless man!” Thomas Cresswell retorted hotly.
“It seemed,” Richard spoke patiently, “prudent to leave those inquiries until we indeed had a date in mind, in case careless words are spoken and our intent revealed.”
“Hmmphh,” was the reply from Fairfax
“I will call to see the captain when the ship next comes into London and I will find out as well what his sailing plans are for the early part of the year,” Richard offered.
“Good man, good man,” Fairfax’s voice was loud bringing the attention back to where he liked it. “On my side, we are all set, the orchard has been cut back, and the wood all set ready to light. If we get the sailing dates for the ship then we can agree on a date at our next meeting,”
“Please remember that the weather in that month can play havoc with well-laid plans. A bad storm and a ship could remain in port at either side of the North Sea for weeks,” Richard warned sensibly.
“Always on the black side,” Fairfax countered, “I am sure that we could find a safe refuge for the lady for a few days if the weather does change our plans. We are nothing if not resourceful, and the Lord is most certainly on our side with this venture.”
Richard sat back and in the darkness, the look of incredulity that sat on his face was invisible.