The First Horseman: Number 1 in Series (Thomas Treviot)

by D. K. Wilson

  My next move was to turn to Robert Packington for help. My friend’s tendency to lecture me was tedious but I knew that there was no one else I could trust with my confidences and whom I could rely on for wise advice.

  We met one noontime at Blossoms Inn in St Lawrence’s Lane. This popular hostelry had two advantages. It was always thronged with businessmen – foreign visitors as well as citizens – and our presence would attract no attention. Second, Robert was well known to the innkeeper, who kept for us a quiet table in a corner away from the door. We ordered ale and cheese and when these had arrived I explained to my friend in a very few words the latest development.

  He tugged at his beard, a gesture that, I well knew, indicated extreme irritation. It was some moments before he spoke. ‘You know how serious this is.’

  ‘Yes, I…’

  ‘No, I think you do not.’ He slapped the table with the flat of his hand. For a phlegmatic man unaccustomed to physical gestures this was further indication of his impatience. ‘I have spoken to Master Hubbard.’

  ‘Hubbard?’

  He sighed. ‘The man you vomited over. I explained that you have a weak stomach and were overwhelmed by the beheading. He understands and I have promised him a new gown. He is, I think, satisfied with that.’ Robert stared at me fixedly.

  I muttered my thanks, trying not to meet his eyes.

  He sighed. ‘You really don’t see what that means, do you?’ He paused. ‘If Hubbard is not making trouble for you, then someone else is. This is not just about what happened in the Tower. There are stories about you going round all over town.’

  ‘What sort of stories?’

  ‘Some say Treviot’s is heading for bankruptcy. Others say that the head of Treviot’s has fallen beside his wits and wanders the country raving like a madman. They claim that he deserts his own kind and resorts to low company.’

  ‘That is all absurd!’ I protested.

  ‘Of course it is but false rumours like these undermine business confidence – and business confidence is an exceeding fragile flower.’

  I gazed despondently into my tankard. ‘How can I put a stop to all these stories?’

  ‘Two things.’ Robert pointed his knife at me. ‘Start behaving like your father’s son. These slanders could not gain credence if there was not some truth in them. You have grieved long and hard for your double loss but the time has come to put an end to it. You cannot think that either Jane or your father would want you to continue your eccentric behaviour.’

  ‘Eccentric?’

  ‘Spending days in a haunt south of the river so notorious that you are ashamed to tell me about it is certainly something I call eccentric. Getting so drunk that you cannot —’

  I held a hand up. ‘Yes, yes, don’t rub my nose in it, Robert. What is the second thing you want me to do?’

  ‘Find out who is behind these stories. Such rumours do not spread themselves unaided. I have not the slightest doubt that someone wants to put you out of business. Can you think who it might be? Is there someone who bears you a special grudge?’

  ‘Well, there is a member of the Company who may consider himself slighted by me but I don’t think he would denounce me to the Council.’ I told Robert about my clash with Simon Leyland.

  He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I do not know the man but I will make enquiries.’

  We addressed ourselves to our simple meal. It was a couple of minutes before Robert spoke again.

  ‘Will you suffer a further word of advice?’

  I nodded.

  ‘The fact that you have inherited a flourishing business makes you particularly vulnerable to rumour and innuendo.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Simply this: younger freemen of your company look at you and see someone of their own age who has had success handed to him on a platter, while they have to wait for their fathers to die or work hard to establish their own business from nothing. That may well breed jealousy. Older freemen of your company look at you and see a junior craft member who has none of their experience but yet rivals them in wealth and prestige. That may breed resentment. Anyone who wishes you ill will not lack for associates.’

  ‘I see. What about you, Robert? When you look at me, what do you see?’

  He scrutinised me keenly across the table. ‘I see a man who cannot yet see himself; who is sensitive to his shortcomings, which daily accuse him, but who has yet to discover all his strengths. Such a man should look into the mirror of Holy Scripture.’ He lowered his voice, although there was no one close enough to overhear our conversation. ‘Have you yet read Master Tyndale’s translation?’

  ‘I have sampled it,’ I replied mendaciously.

  ‘Look deeper,’ he urged with an earnest gleam in his eye. ‘It is God’s very own truth. I especially recommend the fifteenth of Saint Luke.’ After a pause, he continued in a normal voice. ‘Now we must consider how best to handle your examination.’

  That Robert was a secret Bible lover disconcerted me, but I was too preoccupied with my own trouble to give it much thought.

  ‘What do you think the Council will do?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘You know that as well as I. It could be a fine or a spell in the Counter Prison. If they are really annoyed, they may suspend your freeman status for a while.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can do?’

  ‘There may be something I can do, though it will not be easy. Your Prime Warden is a friend of mine. We sit together on the Common Council of the City. I will have a word with him.’

  I felt like a shipwrecked sailor who sights a floating spar.

  ‘You are very kind, Robert – more, perhaps, than I deserve. Anything you can do…’

  He waved my thanks aside. ‘It is you who will have the more difficult task of convincing your seniors. Your immediate responsibility is to make sure you give no one any opportunity to blacken your name. Your conduct must be beyond reproach. Above all, avoid bad company.’ Again he fixed me with his penetrating gaze. ‘I think you know what I mean.’

  I knew only too well. Robert was telling me to restrict my movements to the north side of the Thames. But this I could not do. I had to pay another visit to St Swithun’s House.

  As the fog in my brain gradually lifted, I remembered the details of the hideous party: the drunken courtier’s insult of Lizzie, the ensuing fight, Lizzie dragging me away. Anxiety hovered in my mind like a menacing hawk. I was worried about Lizzie and needed to know that she was safe. But it was fear of the still unknown whose talons I felt most sharply. I saw myself standing over a man in a blue doublet, his face distorted with pain. In my hand was a dagger dripping with blood. I had to go back to Southwark to find an answer to the question that would not be silenced – was I a murderer?

  Chapter 7

  For my visit I chose Sunday morning, when many citizens would be at mass and the streets less crowded. The sound of the priory bells filled the air as I turned Dickon into the courtyard of the Sign of St Swithun. It was almost eerily quiet. When I had dismounted I had to knock on a couple of doors before I could rouse anyone.

  Young Jed eventually peered out. He seemed genuinely startled to see me and hesitant when asked if I might come in. Hurriedly he closed the door behind me and stood to one side, barefoot and in his shirt, as though just out of bed.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What is it, Master Treviot? What do you want here?’

  ‘I’ve come to find out exactly what happened on my last visit. I know I got into a fight but after that my mind is a blank. Tell me, Jed, I have to know, did I kill someone?’

  He seemed relieved at the explanation. ‘No, you passed out. Me and a couple of friends took you home. We was told you had to get back specially.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’ I leaned back against the door, my body sagging with relief.

  The young man was now shuffling nervously from foot to foot. ‘We was happy to help, Master Treviot.’ He reached
out his hand towards the latch.

  ‘So the other man is all right? Thank God.’

  Jed was trying to pull the door open, obviously anxious to be rid of me.

  ‘Best you were not here, Master Treviot,’ he whispered.

  ‘Who’s there, Jed?’ I heard Ned’s voice as an inner door opened.

  I turned and saw the ex-monk standing in the doorway, tucking his shirt inside his breeches. He, too, seemed disturbed to see me but quickly recovered his composure. ‘Ah, Master Thomas, how good of you to call. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’ He went back into the inner room and reappeared moments later, fastening the points of his doublet. He extended a hand. ‘I hope you are more yourself now than when you left us last.’

  ‘I fear your hospitality overwhelmed me. I must have put Jed and others to a lot of trouble.’

  ‘It was a troubled evening.’ He paused, as though deciding whether to say more. ‘But come in. Come in. We’ve some violet cordial here that will slake your thirst and restore your spirits.’

  I followed him into the room. It was a crowded chamber, obviously with many purposes. A wide bed stood in one corner. A large carved coffer beside it had an ecclesiastical look to it – salvaged from the monastery, perhaps. Three joined stools stood beside a table spread with books, bottles, jars and the other necessities of Ned’s apothecary activities. He poured intense pink liquid into pewter mugs and we seated ourselves by the table. Jed perched on the edge of the bed.

  It was I who broke the awkward silence that followed. ‘As I told Jed, I came simply to find out what happened to the man I fought with. How badly was he injured?’

  Ned waved a hand airily. ‘It was nothing. A flesh wound. You scarcely drew blood.’

  ‘That is welcome news, indeed. I’ve been worried. You spoke of a troubled evening – was there more violence later?’

  The two men exchanged glances. Then Ned said, ‘It would probably be better for you not to be involved.’

  ‘You speak in riddles. If whatever happened concerns me in some way, then, of course, I should know.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well. While you were in a stupor upstairs, your would-be assailant continued to make himself unpleasant. He was shouting all manner of threats and determined to come and find you. Jed and a couple of other burly lads got you out a back way and made sure you reached home. When she was sure you were safely off the premises, Lizzie came down and foolishly thought she could calm the troublemaker.’ He shook his head. ‘She has always been too headstrong, poor child.’

  ‘What happened?’ I almost shouted.

  ‘The fellow drew a knife. It was very sudden.’

  ‘You mean he stabbed her, killed her?’

  ‘No, no, no – nothing so dreadful. Although —’

  ‘Ned, in Jesu’s name, tell me!’

  ‘He went for her face.’

  The shock silenced me.

  Ned continued. ‘I tended her immediately… in here. Wine to clean the wound, warm oil to ease the pain. Fortunately the cut was not deep; there was little bleeding. She bore it all very bravely – more concerned about how she would look than the possibility of some poisonous infection of the air. It is that that concerns me. I cannot tell if putrefaction has set in until I remove the bandages. I considered the possibility of suture… I have seen it done by a brother who spent some years as a military chirurgeon… but she feared the needle would cause more scarring and, of course, she was right. So I have drawn the flesh together as tight as I can and we must wait to see… we must wait to see.’ He drained his mug and fell silent.

  ‘And what of her attacker?’ I demanded. ‘Who is he? Have you had him charged?’

  Jed gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid! A gentleman of the king’s court accused of wounding a whore. It would never come before the judges. If it did what would their verdict be? We have better ways of seeing justice done.’

  Ned nodded. ‘I cannot approve but what Jed says is true. Master Nathaniel Seagrave has paid for his crime. We wait to hear news from the waterfront that his body has washed up downriver.’

  I gasped. ‘The man is dead – murdered?’

  ‘No less than he deserved,’ Jed muttered.

  Ned said, ‘When you came knocking Jed thought it might be someone reporting the discovery of the corpse… or bringing less welcome news.’

  ‘What might that be?’

  Ned turned away with a deep sigh. ‘Master Seagrave has friends – powerful friends. Some were with him that evening. They have vowed not to let his death go unavenged.’

  ‘Seagrave?’ The name seemed familiar. I felt sure I had seen it in one of my business ledgers. ‘Was he not a server in the king’s privy chamber?’

  ‘Aye, that he was, and typical of the preening halfwits who are drawn to the court like maggots to dead meat. He came here mainly for the gambling.’

  Then I remembered. The name Nathaniel Seagrave featured on my blacklist of customers whose credit had run out. ‘You do well to be cautious,’ I suggested. ‘The young members of the royal household are a proud and tight band.’

  ‘So are we,’ Jed muttered. ‘If it comes to a fight we can take care of ourselves.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Ned ran a hand wearily through his fringe of white hair. ‘But what of the women?’

  ‘Do you really think Seagrave’s friends are so cowardly as to vent their anger on them?’ I asked.

  ‘Why not? To such hypocrites whores are not really women at all. When they’ve had their fill of them they look on them as vagabonds, clapperdudgeon beggars, cony-catching card-sharps, highway robbers and general gallows fodder. A man like Seagrave would boast of what he did to Lizzie and think of it as sport.’

  ‘Then Lizzie is especially in danger,’ I said.

  ‘I fear she may well be.’

  ‘Then she should not be here.’

  ‘Where could she go?’ Ned shrugged. ‘To the best of my knowledge she has no family now. A mother and sister died in the last outbreak of the sweat.’

  ‘May I see her?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What has befallen her is my fault. I must see if there is something I can do.’

  ‘She is greatly shocked. Indeed, I think she has suffered more in mind than body. She shuns all company.’

  ‘At least I must try.’

  Ned shook his head. ‘We can go up to her room but I doubt…’

  He led the way out of the chamber, up the staircase and along the narrow passageway. We passed two chambers, including the one in which I had been kept in January, before reaching a door on which Ned knocked, then entered. By the light of half-opened shutters I could see that there had been some attempt to make this room attractive. It boasted a wide cushioned chair that must have been expensive. There was a worn tapestry covering one wall that could only have come originally from a fine house and another wall had erotic woodcuts pinned to it. The bed was of a good size and canopied. Lizzie lay under a coloured coverlet, her face turned away from us. I could see that some of her hair had been shorn and her head swathed with bandages. The air was thick with a pungent aroma, presumably from the herbal ointment Ned had used to dress the wound.

  ‘How bad is the cut?’ I whispered to Ned.

  With his finger he drew a line across his own left cheek from ear to mouth. ‘God be praised it missed her eye,’ he said softly.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Lizzie muttered without turning over.

  ‘It’s Ned.’ He moved across to the bed. ‘Let me look at your bandages.’

  She groaned and turned over. Only her eyes and mouth were visible through slits in the dressings. ‘There’s someone else there,’ she said, as Ned bent over her.

  ‘Master Treviot has been good enough to call,’ Ned explained.

  ‘Treviot!’ Lizzie sat up suddenly as though stung. ‘Tell that smug, canting, posturing, self-satisfied moneybags to get his fat arse out of here!’

  I stepped forward. ‘Lizzie, I —’