‘Oh, the hell with this nonsense,’ snapped Marlowe. ‘We’ll search the place.’
With his henchmen to back him, Marlowe went into the church and because he had to maintain some kind of respectability in front of his men, he took his hat off.
‘Vicar,’ he said to the portly man putting out the candles on the altar. ‘I am going to search here for a Papist traitor I am seeking. Please don’t put me in the position of having to order my men to lay hands on you.’
The vicar stood stock still, and seemed on the verge of protesting. Then he took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. ‘I protest, sir,’ he said. ‘And I will be writing to the bishop this very afternoon.’
‘Do as you like,’ said Marlowe and nodded to his men to quarter the church.
They did, very carefully, and then the sacristy and that was when one of them came hurrying out, triumphantly waving a lace with a glittering aiglet.
Marlowe took it between his fingers and held it up to the light. It was a beautiful piece of work: gold, with the sharp point of the aiglet formed in the shape of a stork’s beak. Nobody except a courtier would bother with such elaboration. The lace had been snapped by someone in too much of a hurry to untie his doublet points properly.
There had been no naked men in the crowd. ‘Devil take it,’ growled Marlowe. ‘He changed his clothes.’
He spun on his heel and barked at the vicar, still standing at his altar. ‘What did he put on?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Don’t pretend to be any stupider than you are. What was he wearing when he slipped out?’
‘Who?’
‘The man I am looking for, on the Queen’s business, Sir Robert Carey. The man who left this on your sacristy floor.’
The vicar looked at the pretty little thing in Marlowe’s fist. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘What was he wearing?’ Marlowe was pacing across the church up to the altar, advancing on the vicar who shrank back at first and then seemed to find some courage somewhere in his windy fat body and faced him boldly.
‘Sir, I was working on my sermon, putting last minute touches to it, in my study. If there was a fugitive here, which I doubt, then to be sure he must have been wearing something. What it was, I have no idea.’
‘The vestment bag. The old bitch coney-catched me,’ said Marlowe to himself. ‘Of course. Where’s the old woman? A little short woman who burbled to me about St Bride?’
‘Do you mean Nan? I’m sorry sir, she isn’t here. She asked for the day off and I gave it to her and she’s gone.’
‘God damn it.’
‘Will you stop taking the Lord’s name in vain in my church?’
‘No, I won’t. It hasn’t done me any harm yet and I doubt it will. I shall have words with my master, Mr Vice Chamberlain Heneage, I shall have you investigated thoroughly for Papistry and loyalty, if it lies within my power I shall have you in Chelsea and question you myself.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ said the vicar with a patronising smile. ‘But my own Lord of Hosts will protect me, quite possibly through the agency of my lord the Earl of Essex who is my temporal good lord.’
Marlowe was outbid and he knew it. In the feverish scheming of the court, Essex was implacably opposed to Heneage and worse, Essex hated Marlowe, whereas the Queen loved Essex and generally did what he asked. And Essex was the ultimate object of all Marlowe’s manoeuvring.
Marlowe wrestled with the urge to punch the fatuous old man.
‘If the gentleman returns who changed his clothes very hurriedly in your sacristy, tell him that Kit Marlowe wants to speak to him. I’ll be at the Mermaid.’
‘Certainly sir. Goodbye.’ As if trying to rouse Marlowe to an even worse fury, the vicar lifted his hand in the three fingered sign for benediction. ‘The Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his countenance to shine upon you…’
The church door banged behind Marlowe before the old man had finished his superstitious prattling.
For a moment Marlowe stood in the courtyard, irresolute, his thoughts disordered by anger. Carey had somehow managed to give him the slip, probably by changing into his henchman’s old homespun clothes. He was loose in London; probably he was already on his way to Somerset House to talk to his father, or possibly he was taking horse in St Giles in the Fields, to ride to Oxford.
He beckoned his men over and gave them orders for the search, then headed towards the Mermaid inn for an early dinner. He needed a drink badly and he needed to sit and consider how to rescue his plan.
***
Nan stood by the stairwell in Whitefriars over which there had once been a handsome figure of Our Lady standing on the globe, now defaced by Reformers. The young man she had taken rather a liking to came clattering down, now dressed in a well-made homespun russet suit a bit wide for him and short in the breeches, and a leather jerkin, with a blue statute cap on his head. He had done his best to hide the colour of his hair and the excellence of his boots with mud and dust and he had kept his sword which had anyway been an incongruously plain broadsword. There was no question but that he had been a great deal more fine when in his courtly clothes, but she liked him better now. Also he had pawned the whole beautiful suit he had been wearing and got an astonishing price for it, some of which he had given her, without her asking, which had pleased her greatly. And he had told her to call him Robin which also pleased her.
‘Are you sure about this, mother?’ he asked her with a worried frown on his face. ‘When I wished I could find a nurse for my servants, I never…’
She tutted at him and pulled down her little ruff to show him the round scars on her neck. ‘See?’ she said. ‘I had the plague years ago, when I was a maid. We all got it but I was spared. You never get it twice. That was why I went to the nunnery, you know, my family was dead, except my uncle and he didn’t want me.’
‘I didn’t know you were a nun.’
She beamed up at him. ‘Why should you? And I’m not any more, now I clean St Bride’s church.’
‘Don’t you mind?’
Young men were so sweet, so worried about things that didn’t matter. ‘No, of course not. I can pray all the Offices whenever I want to.’
‘Do you do that?’ he sounded impressed.
She laughed. ‘Generally I forget.’ She took his arm. ‘Now help me up all these stairs, I’m not as young as I was.’
The climb left her breathless, so she sat down on the top step just above the dead rat and fanned herself while Robin used his wonderfully enamelled little tinder box and lit the candle she had told him to bring.
As he put it back into the pocket of his jerkin, he paused and frowned, pulled the pocket inside out and looked closely at the seams, as if he was searching for nits. Nan couldn’t make out what he had seen, but she saw his lips move. ‘Mercury?’ he asked and frowned in puzzlement, then shook his head and put the pocket back.
She was recovered by then so she heaved herself up and took her knife, heated it in the flame and carefully prised off the seals on the door, leaving them hanging by their cords.
Cautiously she opened the door while the young man stood back, looking worried, and then she braced herself and went in.
The smell was bad but mainly because of the magnificent fighting cock roosting on the bedhead. It took its head out from under its wing and crowed once, then settled down to watch her with the cold beadiness of all fowl. The place was a mess, the small chest was open and its contents flung on the floor, the main bed had been stripped and the mattress lifted, slashed open. The man in the truckle was obviously dead, but the boy lying on the straw pallet just inside the door was not. He was trussed like a boiling chicken and efficiently gagged and as soon as she came in his tear-swollen eyes flicked open and he started grunting at her frantically.
She put her head round the door. ‘There’s no plague here,’ she said. ‘Or not yet. Come and look.’
Carey came in after only a moment’s h
esitation and stood staring at the scene for one frozen second. His fists bunched and his blue eyes blazed with rage.
‘God damn them to hell.’
Seconds later he had his knife out and was carefully cutting the boy free of the ropes, undoing the gag and helping him spit out the wad of cloth in his mouth. The boy was weeping and couldn’t talk because his mouth was too dry. After shutting the door to stop the cock getting out, Nan gave him some of the wine posset she had brought with her, mopped it when he dribbled. Carey was rubbing his purple and swollen hands and feet.
‘Don’t talk for a bit,’ he told the desperate boy. ‘It’s all right, Simon. Don’t worry.’
Leaving Nan to give Simon more wine and help him use the pot, Carey went over to the truckle bed and stood looking down at the twisted body there, the sheets filthy with blood and muck. Nan came over to look.
‘He died hard, God rest him,’ she said objectively. ‘Was he stabbed?’
Carey had tears running freely down his face. He checked the body carefully and shook his head. Then he went to the window, opened the shutters and flung them wide so the man’s soul could fly. He stood there a while, his head bowed. Nan waddled over to give him her handkerchief so he could blow his nose, and then he went back to the boy who was still weeping, clasped him like a brother and patted his shoulder.
Whatever the little ferret-faced man on the bed had died of, it certainly wasn’t plague. There were no swellings at his neck, nor was his face blackened. From the disgusting state of the blankets, she thought he must have died of a flux or bad food. She carefully shut his eyes and put pennies on them to hold them shut, then she drew up the least horrible blanket to cover his face.
‘One minute, mother,’ said the young man behind her, his voice still choked.
She stepped aside and watched as he gingerly felt about the little man’s soiled doublet and then reached under the pillow. He drew out a worn silver flask, that had once been nicely chased and enamelled. He looked at it carefully, then opened it and sniffed what was inside.
‘Do you know what he died of?’ she asked, seeing the enlightened expression on Carey’s face.
‘I think so,’ he answered her gruffly. ‘I saw a man die of the same thing yesterday morning.’
Nan tutted. ‘It’s no kind of plague I’ve ever seen. It isn’t even the sweating sickness.’
Carey shook his head. ‘I think it’s not catching either,’ he said. ‘Except one way.’
He didn’t explain any more, only went back to where Simon was sitting, tearing ravenously at the bread and cheese Nan had brought for her own meal. Carey squatted down in front of him.
‘All right, Simon, what can you tell me?’
‘It was awful, sir, it was terrible.’ The boy was rubbing his cheek muscles and jaw hinges and wincing. His face was bruised and his lip was swollen from a cut but he was so desperate to talk that he was almost gabbling. ‘Uncle Barney was sick in the night, he was up and down and then he was sick something horrible, and he wouldn’t let me help, only said he thought it was something he’d eaten and he’d be better in the morning. So I went back to sleep, like he said, sir, I never meant him to…d…die…I never thought…’
‘I don’t think there was anything you could have done for him, Simon. Did he drink from this flask?’
‘Oh, yes. He had it refilled at the boozing ken down the way, and drank that as well, said it was medicine, only it wasn’t, it was aqua vitae, but that was before he took sick. He was scared because he had a headache and a fever like me, he was scared he had plague, see.’
‘How’s your head?’
‘It’s better, sir,’ Simon sounded surprised. ‘And me neck isn’t stiff or anything. Do you think I won’t get it, even though I kissed me mam goodbye?’
‘You might not. Nobody knows why some people get it and some people don’t.’
Simon was crying again. ‘Me mam’s dead now, in’t she, sir? That’s what Uncle Barney said. He said, if she was all covered in black spots, then she’s as good as dead.’
Carey sighed. ‘I don’t know because I haven’t seen her, but I’m afraid that is true.’
‘Oh, sir. What am I going to do? Everybody’s dead. ’Cept my sister and I don’t like her.’
‘Shh. Everybody has to die sometime.’
‘Yes, but not all at once. Not like that.’ He gestured at the shape on the truckle bed.
Carey sighed again. ‘Tell me what happened. Your Uncle Barney was sick and you went back to sleep.’
‘Yes, sir, ’cos I never knew how bad it was, he didn’t tell me, he said I should…’
‘Nobody’s blaming you for sleeping. What happened? How did you come to be trussed up?’
‘Oh, yes. Well, I went to sleep, like I said, sir. Next thing I knew, it was still night and they was banging on the door.’
‘Who was?’
‘They was. The men.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Didn’t say, sir. I didn’t want them to disturb Uncle Barney what had just dropped off, as I thought, so I went to open the door and tell them to be quiet and they just pushed it open and came in and one of them grabbed me and I tried to fight but he just clipped my ear and held me tighter and they searched the room. One of them looked at Uncle Barney and said, “Jesus”, and then another one asked me questions.’
‘What did they ask?’
‘Where you were, sir, which I didn’t know because Uncle Barney didn’t tell me, and where your brother was, which I didn’t know either and where some money was which I said you had and what we were doing in London which I said was looking for your brother…’
‘Did they hurt you?’
‘They knocked me about a bit, sir.’
‘I can see that. Did they do anything…er…else?’
Simon shook his head. ‘No, sir. Only they said they were going to tie me up and gag me because I was a bad boy and then they’d make sure nobody came in here at all until I was dead of thirst only they wouldn’t if I’d tell them what they wanted to know, but I didn’t know it, so I couldn’t and Uncle Barney was dead so they couldn’t ask him and they were worried in case it was plague, so they did what they said, they tied me up and…and…then they left me and then they scorched the cross on the door, I heard them, so I knew nobody would dare to come in and…and…’
Simon’s shoulders hunched over and shook with sobs. Carey sat down next to him and let the boy howl into his shoulder. When the storm had died down a bit, he asked very softly, ‘Did you know any of them, Simon? Had you ever seen any of them before?’
‘Well they was four of them, but I couldn’t see their faces because they had cloths muffled up to their noses and their hats pulled down.’
‘Was there anything at all about them that you can remember?’
‘They sounded like courtiers, sir, gents.’
‘Hm. What were their hands like? Rough? Smooth? Did they have rings?’
‘Well, the one that did the talking had two rings but I don’t remember no more, sir, honest I don’t, I was so frightened, what with Uncle Barney being dead and the men hissing at me, and I couldn’t think what with getting my head slapped and everything…’
‘It’s all right, Simon,’ said Carey. ‘You did the best you could. None of it was your fault. Do you know what they were looking for?’
‘No, only it was small from the way they searched.’
‘Hm.’ Carey stared straight ahead of himself, at the dented plaster of the wall. ‘The men expected me to be here?’
‘Oh yes, sir, when they came in they all had their swords drawn and one of them had a dag with the match lit.’
‘Hm. Do you think you could walk?’
Simon sniffled and rubbed his hands. ‘I dunno, sir. My feet are killing me wiv pins and needles.’
‘Try. I want you out of here in case the men come back.’
‘But where will I go, sir? What can I do? My Uncle Barney’s dead and…and…’
‘Simon, do you think I’m going to put you on the streets because Barnabus is dead? Do you think that’s the kind of man I am?’
Simon gulped hard. ‘No, sir.’
‘You’re not thinking straight. We need to get you somewhere safe. Now it’ll be a lot easier if you could walk down Fleet Street to Somerset House, but if you really can’t manage, I’ll get you a litter.’
Simon shook his head and struggled to his feet, biting his lips and leaning on Carey’s arm. Then he sat down again.
‘It hurts. But I think I can. But I can’t do my boots up, my hands is too sore.’
Nan came over with the boy’s boots and between them, they got them on. Then Carey took Nan to the window and looked out carefully.
‘Mother,’ he said looking straight in her eyes, so she found herself smiling and thinking what a pity it was she wasn’t forty years younger. ‘I want you to do me a great favour. Take this boy to Somerset House and ask to speak to my Lord Hunsdon. Tell him what we found here and what Simon told us and also tell him that Dodd’s been arrested in mistake for me, God knows how. Can you do that?’
‘My Lord Hunsdon?’ she asked, very impressed. ‘Is he your lord?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said the young man drily. ‘Tell him Robin sent you and if he wants confirmation, you can tell him I said I’m at the reiving again, only for two-legged kine this time.’
‘You’re at the reiving again, for two-legged kine,’ Nan repeated uncertainly.
‘Don’t be frightened if he laughs or shouts, that’s just his way. Tell him Dodd’s in the Fleet in mistake for me.’
‘Will you not go with us?’
‘No. I’ll keep an eye on you, but my guess is that the men who did this might be watching the place and as it’s me they want, I don’t want them seeing me.’
‘What if they stop us?’
‘Play stupid but don’t try anything with them, they’re very dangerous.’
4 A Plague of Angels Page 22