“At this time I am a tool to them, to be used. But soon I shall change positions with them. Then they shall be the tools and I the user.”
“You are ambitious,” I said, “and ambition may destroy you.”
“Aye. ’Tis a gamble, is it not?” The humor was gone from his eyes. “I know well the chance that I take, and the need they have of me. I must take each step with care. But you yourself have helped me, for they will read what you have written and measure my usefulness against what you have claimed for me. Now they will need more money when they come to me.”
He pushed the gold toward me again. “Take it. Gold is a useful servant that never talks back. Had I hired you this could have gone no better, nor come at a better time.”
He rested his powerful forearms on the table. His wrists were the thickest I had ever seen and his hands gave a sense of awful power. He was, in his own brutal way, a handsome man. His face suggested power and strength.
He motioned to the waiter. “A bottle of sack,” he said. “Your best!
“Look you,” he said suddenly. “I like you not, nor you me, but yet you could help me. You are shrewd, and you fight well. Not well enough,” he added, “but well. Join me. I do not plan that you should become a thief, but rather an agent.”
“A tool?” I suggested wryly.
“We are all tools in one way or another.” He leaned toward me. “England is changing. Any man with his eyes and ears open knows it. We are coming to power. You shall see.
“Spain is all-powerful now, but Spain has come upon wealth in the wrong way—too much, too quickly. It will destroy her. Slow growth builds caution into a man or a nation, but sudden wealth is a spoiler. Now gold comes to her by every ship, and the living is easy. The great fighting men who graduated from the ranks of the army that fought the Moors will disappear. The politicians and the courtiers will take over—the gentle ones, the conniving ones! They will rook the fighters out of all they have won. Men like Cortés, Pizarro, Alvarado, and de Soto will disappear, and in their place the weak ones, the ones grown fat on easy wealth, will come to power.
“We are a young country, yet very old. We have the men and we have the ships and we will win. There are ships to be built, and equipment to be supplied to the ships. The press gangs will be after men and more men.”
“What has all that to do with you?”
He shrugged, smiling. “I shall control it. The supplies will be bought from me or through me. As for the press gangs, I shall direct them.”
“You?”
He laughed. “Who else? Who could do it better? Of course, if we should happen to press into service a few of the gentry who did not want to go…we can always make an arrangement.”
“And I?” I asked. “What role have you planned for me?”
“To write when I need something written. You have made me out to be a king of thieves. Now I wish another broadside turned out. This one will deny that I am a thief, but will imply that I am a man of great but mysterious power. That I merely have a wide knowledge of what takes place and have been able to recover stolen goods from time to time. Protest that I am a good man but one who has great power in many quarters.”
“I see. The thieves and the bawds have already had their message. Now you want to clean up the picture of yourself while implying you have still greater power.”
“Exactly. And of course, when people come to me to recover their stolen goods, I shall recover them…for a price. I am sorry about the cost, but the man who reaches the thieves must be paid.”
“And you will have it both ways. A friend to the thieves and a recoverer of stolen goods, and well paid by both.”
He laughed with genuine amusement. “See how easy it is? In the end I shall be knighted and perhaps will stand for Parliament.
“For you see, I shall also be serving Her Majesty. Even now there is talk in Spain of a great fleet of ships, an armada to sail against England. My spies tell me this, and I pass it on to those close to Her Majesty so that she also knows.”
“To Walsingham?”
He laughed again. “Perhaps!”
“And is he your protector?”
The laughter died. “Protector? I have no protector! I need none! I stand alone!”
Yet it seemed to me there was a false note in the statement, and when I finished my sack and parted from him he stared sullenly after me. I believe I had reminded him of something he wished to forget.
Cutting Ball’s men fell in around me. That worried me a bit, for how far could I trust Ball? And why, even at Greene’s behest, should he serve me in this manner? For that matter, who and what was I to Greene?
I would do well to keep a loose sword in my scabbard. I was thinking of that when suddenly a voice spoke from an alley. “Tatt? I must see you.” It was Padget.
“At the Boar’s Head.” I spoke softly but hoped he heard me, continuing on without missing a step. There had been anxiety in his tone, and I knew he was my friend. What now, I wondered. What more could come?
Much, I realized well. I wished no association with Rafe Leckenbie or his kind. It might be true that what I had written had done him good rather than ill. Some might read it as an evidence of his power, but others would know better, for a thief exposed is a thief soon taken.
When Cutting Ball’s men left me at my inn and vanished into the night, I took a side door into a dark alleyway and went on to the Boar’s Head. There were few about, and Tosti sat alone toward the back of the room. I went to him.
“You keep late hours,” I suggested.
“I am received of a message,” Tosti said. “For you.”
“Why not directly to me?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. The man came to me. I did not like him but he was not one to trifle with. You were to come to a certain place, and you were not to be followed.”
“And for what?”
“There is one who wishes to speak to you of a private matter. He would give no name.”
“I do not like it, Tosti.”
“Nor I, my friend, but I think you have no choice. I think this man has power, for his messenger was a soldier—or had been. He carried himself well and knew what he was about. One who can command such a person is no ordinary man.”
“All right.” I made a decision suddenly. After all, I carried a sword and a dagger. “I shall see him.”
I was directed to a street of quiet elegance. Entering the gate, which stood open, I went to the door and used the brass door knocker.
The door opened almost at once and a man stood facing me—no doubt the one who had delivered the message to Tosti. “You are…?”
“Tatton Chantry. I was asked to come here.”
“This way.” He indicated a door at the end of a short hall. As I stepped inside, he looked past me. The street was empty, as I well knew. Then he led me down the hall, rapped lightly at a door, opened it, and stood aside.
The room I faced was rectangular and lined with shelves of books. There was a fire on the hearth.
A man of something over medium height stood near a table, an open book before him. As I entered he did not look up but turned a page, and read a bit more.
“Please be seated.” He looked up then, but not at me. “John? A bit of malmsey for me.” He glanced then at me. “And for you?”
“The same,” I said. “It is a rare wine.”
“Aye, so it is.” He sat down opposite me and crossed his knees. “You know it?”
“We sometimes drank it at home,” I said. “My father would have a butt of it from time to time.”
“Ah? And your father was?”
“My father,” I said.
I knew the man at first glimpse, but he did not know me. Something about me disturbed him, a hint of familiarity, perhaps? I must have changed much in the past few years, but he almost none at all. The same white hair, the identical features, as if carved from marble, and the same wide, intelligent eyes.
“Do I know you?” he
asked suddenly.
“No,” I replied.
The less of me he knew, or anyone else, the safer I would be. With a hint here, a hint there, a man might well be traced.
“You are younger than I expected,” he ventured, frowning a little. “You’re little more than a boy.”
“Age is ever an indefinite thing,” I said, “and perhaps the poorest way to estimate or judge…except in wine, and even there one finds exceptions.”
He had done me a favor once, and I was disposed to do one now for him—if the situation permitted. I could not forget that moment at the inn when he had spoken for me and prevented my being cheated. Yet he would have no reason to remember a tired, lonely, and rather untidy boy.
“Yes,” he mused, “much younger than I expected.”
“I have never been older,” I commented.
The barest hint of a smile touched his lips, a wry smile. He tasted the Madeira and I did likewise. It was excellent. My father would have approved.
“You have written some pieces,” he said. “You seem to know much of cheating.”
My expression did not change. “I observe,” I replied. “I do not participate.”
“I see. And where does one acquire such knowledge? Much of what you wrote in the Damber piece was strange to me.”
“There is always something to be learned,” I said, and waited. What did he want? Why was I here? The man was obviously a gentleman, a man of means.
“You have lately written a piece about a kind of ringleader of thieves.”
“I have.”
“How did you secure that information?”
“It is quite commonly known about London,” I replied, “and I listen well.”
He stared at me for a moment, not liking my reply. “Yet you seemed to have some personal knowledge of this…man.”
“We had a brief encounter.”
“And you are still alive….”
“It was an indecisive battle. However, as you suggest, I am alive.”
He frowned and seemed to be wondering just how to proceed. My obvious youth had surprised him, also the fact that I was of gentle birth. He had not yet succeeded in placing me and I had a feeling he was one who liked to put things—and people—into their proper niches.
“Having written such a piece, I am surprised you are alive, if this man has the power you suggest.”
There seemed no appropriate comment for that, and I let it pass, yet I was puzzled. Who was this man? What did he want with me? Was he a friend of Leckenbie? An enemy? Or did he think my writing might be used in composing a broadside of some kind for him? Many such were written and passed out in the streets to advance one cause or another, for there was no other means of getting information about except by gossip.
He sipped his wine and after a bit, he said, “This is your means to a living?”
“It contributes,” I replied.
“I do not seem to place you,” he muttered. “You are not from London, nor Lancashire nor Yorkshire….”
“I am from the Hebrides,” I replied, not wishing him to get around to thinking of Ireland.
“The Hebrides?” He spoke as if it were the end of the earth, which no doubt it seemed to him. “I did not think there were gentry there.”
“The MacLeods and the MacDonalds would not like to hear you say so.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
He finished his glass and put it down. I retained at least half of mine, for even Madeira can be heady, and I wished to be thinking clearly.
He was puzzled by me. A man accustomed to command, he was now uncertain of how to proceed. I was enjoying myself. The atmosphere was pleasant, the room warm, and I liked the candlelight on the backs of the books.
Suddenly he said, “You would like a bit of supper? It grows late and I have not dined.”
“I should, indeed.”
Some unseen signal brought John again, and when he departed, my host seemed to relax somewhat. He had not offered a name nor had anything been said of mine, although obviously he knew it.
“I would assume,” he said after a moment, “that Leckenbie was irritated by your piece?”
Did he know that I had encountered Leckenbie since? I decided he did not, and merely shrugged.
“If I were you,” he continued, “I would avoid him in the future. You seem an intelligent young man, obviously an able one. There is no reason to run such risks.”
I sipped my wine, and made no reply. What did he want?
“Such stories could destroy the man.”
“Or make him even larger.”
He glanced at me sharply. “Did he pay you to write the piece? Was that his intention?”
“He did not pay me, and I do not know his intentions, except…”
“Except?”
“Does not every man wish to grow larger? To improve his lot? I have heard rumors that since the piece was published some of his enemies have yielded and come over to his side.”
He changed the subject and began to talk casually about troubles with Spain. I listened, offering no comment. He seemed to be merely thinking aloud but I had a suspicion he was trying to lead me into some comment that would give him a hint or two about me. For some reason I disturbed him and offended his sense of order.
Why was he interested? How had I disturbed him?
And then, like a sudden shaft of light into a darkened room, it came to me.
He—this man here—must be Rafe Leckenbie’s protector!
Many men in high places, or climbing to high places, had utilized the services of such. It would be very convenient to have thieves at one’s beck and call, to steal papers, to frighten, to murder.
Now, at least, I had a theory, an inkling of what might be the truth. He needed Leckenbie, and I therefore represented a threat. Or perhaps he felt Leckenbie was growing too independent and he wished to know more….
John entered with a tray bearing two plates of cold meat, cheese, and bread, and two glasses of wine. One plate, one glass, were placed before me, the others before my host.
Suddenly of one thing I was sure. I was not going to drink that wine.
CHAPTER 21
MY HOST LIFTED his glass. “Your health!” he said, cheerfully enough. I picked up the remnants of my malmsey and drank, then put the glass down. There was some irritation in his glance as he watched me but he said nothing. I made up my mind to leave as soon as chance offered.
This man I did not like, despite the fact that he had befriended me long since. What was on his mind I did not know but I suspected he wanted to see what might be among my clothes, and if I had any message that would tell him more of me or what I was about.
“I have come at your summons,” I said at last. “I do not know what you wish. I thank you for the food, but I shall be going now.”
“Sit,” he spoke sharply, commanding me. “You have written a piece about Rafe Leckenbie. I believe that you conspire with him, but whatever you do, I wish no more of this.”
At a stir behind me, I arose so that none could come at my back. “I have nothing to do with Leckenbie or any other. I am my own man,” said I. Then I thought to warn him off. “Although I have friends enough who wish me well. I shall write what I please.”
“He will see you dead!”
I laughed. “Once he has tried to kill me, and several times he has promised it. Think you that another warning will matter?”
My hand rested on my sword. “I bear you no ill will, whoever you are, or whatever you do. I shall go now. Do not send for me again.”
“You do not trust me?” he asked, smiling.
“I will trust you,” I said, “if you will drink that wine.”
His eyes were not pleasant to see. “That wine? I drank my wine. I want no more. What has wine to do with it?”
“Then let your man drink it.”
“There is no need for that,” my host protested.
“Very well then. I shall go.” Then I spoke to John, w
ho barred the door. “Do you stand aside.”
John made no move. “He seems a good, trusting man, this John of yours.” I spoke quietly. “If you wish not to lose him, have him stand aside.”
“Bother him,” said John. “Let him come at me.”
“I do not wish to kill your man,” I said, “but I fought more than half an hour with Leckenbie.”
John looked at his master.
“Stand aside then, John,” said the man. “This can be done another time.”
John stood aside, and I walked past him, ready to turn upon them if need be, but neither moved. When I was outside upon the dark street I ran a dozen steps quickly and dodged into a lane. Within minutes I was far away, still puzzling over it all but sure of one thing. The man was somehow allied to Leckenbie, and probably his protector.
If I had enemies I wished to know them and from what corner they might strike. So it behooved me well that I find out this man, and know his name and strength.
Tosti Padget was nowhere about when I entered the inn, but Jacob Binns was. I went to him at once and recounted my experiences. Binns himself had changed. He had filled out somewhat, his eyes were clearer, and for all his years, he was much more agile. He was rested now, of course, and eating with more regularity.
He listened without question until my story was complete, then asked several questions. Finally he said, “I know the man.
“There is always,” he began, “a struggle for power, for a place close to the center. In England Queen Elizabeth is the power, make no mistake about it. There are some who believe it is this minister or that, or some favorite or would-be favorite, but such is not the case. The good Queen Bess has things very much in hand. Any who wish to use her had best examine their position with care.
“There is much pulling and pushing for power. There are some who believe that no woman can be strong, that if close enough they could manage her. They delude themselves. She is an uncommonly shrewd woman.
“The man we speak of is one of those reaching for power. Leckenbie is a convenient tool. Four persons who would have blocked that man’s reach for the throne have had accidents. One, a woman, was struck by a horse racing through a lane and killed. A man fell into the Thames and drowned. At least two others have been killed in duels.”
Fair Blows the Wind (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 17