"You would have been too late anyway,” replied Master Drew. “It is murder that we are dealing with. Therefore, be cautious in your thoughts before you recite to me as much as you may remember."
Tom Shadwell rubbed the bridge of his nose with a crooked forefinger.
"The first light was spreading when I came by the corner of Stony Street to make my way to my pitch. I was pushing my barrow as usual. It is not long after dawn that the prison door is opened and visitors are allowed to go in. I usually start my trade early. I was passing the old house when I saw the flames . . ."
He suddenly paused and frowned.
"You have thought of something, Master Shadwell?” prompted the constable.
"It is unrelated to the fire."
"Let me decide that."
"There was a coach standing in Stony Street, not far from the house. Two men were lifting a small wooden chest into the coach. It seemed heavy. Even as I passed the end of the street they had placed it inside, then one climbed in and the other scrambled to the box and took the reins. Away it went in a thrice. I then crossed the end of the street towards the old house and that was when I heard the crackle of the fire and saw its flames through the window. I pushed my barrow to the end of the street, for I knew Master Pettigrew, Warden of the Fire Watch, dwelt there. I was reluctant to leave my barrow—prey to thieves and wastrels—but there was no one about, so I ran along to his house and raised the alarm. That is all I know."
"This coach, could you identify it?"
Shadwell shook his head.
"It was dark and the two men were clad in dark cloaks."
"Well-dressed fellows, would you say?"
"Hard to say, Master Constable."
"And which way did this coach proceed? Towards the bridge?"
Shadwell shook his head.
"In this direction, towards Clink Street or maybe along to Bankside, not towards the bridge."
Having ascertained there was nothing more to be gathered from the fruit-seller, Master Drew turned past the Clink Prison to the adjacent imposing ancient structure of Winchester Palace which dominated the area just west of the bridgehead. Southwark was the largest town of the diocese of Winchester. In the days when Winchester was capital of the Saxon kingdom, before London reclaimed its Roman prominence, the bishops of Winchester were all-powerful. Even after Winchester fell into decline as a capital, the bishops remained within the royal court circles and therefore had to be frequently in London for royal and administrative purposes. So the grand Winchester Palace was built on the south bank of the Thames.
Master Drew explained his business to the gatekeeper of the palace and was shown directly to the office of Sir Gilbert Scrivener, secretary to His Grace, Thomas Bilson, the Bishop of Winchester.
"The house on the corner of Stony Street? We have large estates in Southwark, Master Drew, as you do know. But I do vaguely recall it. Unused since Bishop Gardiner's decease."
"You have no personal acquaintance with the house, then?"
"My dear constable,” replied Sir Gilbert, “I have more things to do with my time than to personally acquaint myself with all the properties controlled by the diocese. As for the burning of this building, and the murder of foreigners, it is not to be wondered that they and empty houses are treated in such manner—and it may be a blessing, for it has long been His Grace's wish to rebuild that crumbling edifice and set on the site something more useful to the church and the community."
"So you are acquainted with the house?” frowned Master Drew sharply.
Sir Gilbert spread his hands with a thin smile.
"I said, not personally. But I am His Grace's secretary. I fear you do but waste your time, for do we not live in Southwark and is it not said that these mean streets are better termed a foul den than a fair garden? Its reputation is best described as notorious. Bankside itself is a nest of prostitutes and thieves, of cutthroats and vagabonds."
"And playhouses,” smiled Master Drew grimly. “Do not forget the playhouses, Sir Gilbert."
Sir Gilbert sighed impatiently.
"I cannot spare you more time, Master Constable. I wish you a good morning and success with your endeavours."
Outside the gates of Winchester Palace, Master Drew paused, frowning, his hand fingering the golden chain that reposed in his breeches pocket.
He sighed deeply. It was going to be a long walk to where he felt his next inquiry was going to take him. His allowance as Constable of the Bankside Watch would not stretch to what the justices of Southwark might deem unnecessary expenses to a wherryman to ferry him across the river. So, with a shrug, he set off towards the entrance to the London Bridge. He was walking towards it when a voice hailed him.
"Give you a good day, Master Constable."
He glanced up to see old Jepheson, the tanner, guiding his wagonload of hides towards the bridge. He knew him well, for he had prevented the old man and his wife from being attacked and robbed one summer evening in their tannery in Bear Lane.
"Good day, Master Jepheson. Wither away?"
"To deliver these hides to The Strand."
Master Drew smiled broadly. Here was luck, indeed.
"Then I will seek the favour of a ride with you there, for it will save an exhausting walk and the wearing of my shoe leather."
"Climb up and welcome. I am already in your debt."
Master Drew obeyed with alacrity. While old Jepheson prattled on, Master Drew could not help but dwell on the meaning of the golden chain in his pocket. A symbol of a Spanish noble order found on the corpse of a murdered man. All England knew that the long war between England and Spain was coming to a negotiated end. Envoys from the two kingdoms were even now meeting in the palace built by the Duke of Somerset. Since 1585 the war had continued with no side gaining any advantage. With the death of Elizabeth and the accession last year of James VI of Scotland as James I of England, it was felt time to end the long and wasteful war. The old enemy, Philip II of Spain, was also dead and Philip III now ruled there. Six leading Spanish noblemen had arrived with their entourages to conduct the negotiations that would, hopefully, lead to a treaty.
Somerset House was on the north bank of the river Thames. Southwark was south of London Bridge and a separate jurisdiction from London. It owed its importance to its position at the southern end of the only bridge spanning the Thames and thus the main thoroughfare to the south. And its population had grown by making itself a pleasure ground for the more law-abiding north bank of the Thames. It had only been in 1550 that the City of London had decided to attempt to control the lawlessness of Southwark by setting up justices and constables, such as Master Drew's own office.
Southwark still felt separate and would not be forced to obedience of the justices of London. It became the headquarters of the rebel Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1554 when he raised an insurgent force to move on London to prevent Queen Mary's intended marriage to Philip II of Spain. Only the fortification on the northern end of London Bridge and the training of the cannons of the Tower of London across the river on the homes and churches of the people of Southwark, forced the withdrawal of the insurgents.
It was because of this “independence,” this freedom and laxity in the laws, that the Bankside area became a place where playhouses had sprung up outside of the restrictions placed on them by their neighbours on the northern banks of the Thames. The Bankside had become a haunt of prostitutes, pimps, and thieves. And due to this separation in jurisdiction, Master Drew realised, he would be unable to exercise authority on the northern bank.
Master Drew left Jepheson and his wagon of hides in The Strand and walked to the gates of Somerset House. In the courtyard an officer of the guard stopped him and shook his head when he said he wanted to see one of the Spanish delegation or their secretaries.
"You have no jurisdiction here, Constable,” replied the officer. “I can let no one through here without legal authority."
"Master Drew?” a sharp voice suddenly called behind him.
; The constable swung round. A man of small stature, crook back, with a tawny-coloured beard and hair and sharp green eyes was examining him. He had apparently emerged from a nearby doorway. The officer of the guard stiffened and saluted while Master Drew performed a clumsy bow as he recognised the Lord Chancellor of England, Sir Robert Cecil.
"I thought it was you,” Sir Robert said, with a soft, malicious smile. “I never forget a face. What business brings you hither?"
Master Drew tried to repress thoughts of how Sir Robert came perilously close to having him arrested for conspiracy to High Treason while Elizabeth lay dying the previous year.
"A matter that may be one of national importance, Sir Robert."
The Lord Chancellor raised his eyes and then waved away the officer of the guard.
"Then come walk with me, and tell me what you mean."
Master Drew, with few wasted words, explained what had happened as they paced the courtyard and ended by presenting Sir Robert with the gold chain.
The Lord Chancellor frowned as he examined it.
"I have seen the like before, and recently. You have in mind that it belongs to one of the Spanish delegation?"
"And even worse,” agreed Master Drew. “That the owner of the chain and the body in the house on Stony Street might be one of your Spanish nobles. If it is so and one of the ambassadors has been murdered at such a fraught time . . .” He shrugged.
The diplomatic implications were not lost on Sir Robert.
"If so, then, indeed, we face perilous times,” he said softly. He turned back to the officer of the guard and called to him.
"Go to the apartment of His Grace, the Duke of Frias, and ask him if it would not be troubling him too much if he could attend me in my chamber. I pray you, put as much courtesy and politeness in the request as you can."
The officer went off on his new errand.
Sir Robert guided Master Drew into the building and through to a chamber where a fire crackled in the hearth.
"I have seen the Duke of Frias returning from his morning ride, so I know he is safe,” confided Sir Robert. “He is chief ambassador of the Spanish and should be able to assist in this matter."
It seemed only a short time passed before there was a knock on the door and the officer of the guard entered and stood to one side.
"His Grace Juan de Velasco Frias, Duke of Frias, Constable of Castile,” he announced solemnly.
A tall, dark, and elegantly dressed man entered and made a sweeping courtly bow to them.
Sir Robert went forward to greet him.
"Your Grace, forgive me for disturbing your morning's preoccupations, but we must ask for your advice and information on a pressing matter of concern to both our nations."
The duke smiled but with a movement of his facial muscles only, his dark eyes looking enquiringly at Master Drew, taking in his more shabby clothing and appearance, which clearly did not place him as a courtier or officer of state.
"It is what I and my compatriots are here for, Sir Robert. But I have not had the pleasure of acquaintance with this gentlemen."
"This is Master Drew, Constable of the Bankside. . . ."
"Master Drew? And a constable? I am Constable of Castile. Do you not have to be of the knightly rank to be a constable in this kingdom?"
"There is a difference in office, Your Grace,” Sir Robert explained hurriedly. “Suffice to say, Master Drew is much in our confidence. Tell me, have you seen all your compatriots this morning?"
The duke frowned.
"All? Indeed, we breakfasted together to discuss some points to raise at our sessions later today. Why do you ask?"
"Master Drew has something to explain."
Master Drew cleared his throat and repeated his story and then held out the chain for the Spanish duke to inspect.
"The Order of the Golden Fleece,” the duke whispered softly. “It bears the insignia of His Majesty, Felipe the Third.” The expression on his face told them he recognised it. He turned his dark eyes to Sir Robert. “Can someone ask the Count of Villa Medina to join us?"
Sir Robert glanced towards the officer of the guard who had remained by the door and issued instructions.
When he had gone, Master Drew asked: “Does Your Grace think that this belongs to the Count of Villa Medina?"
The Duke of Frias shook his head.
"I know that the Count of Villa Medina is not a member of this noble order. However, he will, I am sure, be able to cast light on the person who held this honour."
Again, it was not long before the door was opened to a nervous man whose movements reminded Master Drew of a bird, quick and unpredictable. He possessed the habit of running his hand quickly over his small pointed beard each time he spoke.
This time, the Duke of Frias explained in a rapid Spanish and then turned to Master Drew and asked him to hold forth the golden chain.
The count's face paled as he examined it.
"I can identify the owner of this,” he said slowly. He spoke a fair English but without the fluency of the duke.
"And the owner is . . . ?” queried Master Drew.
"My secretary, the Chevalier Stefano Jardinero y Barbastro."
Master Drew frowned.
"Stefano Jardineiro?” he echoed.
The count made a quick motion with his hand, stroking his beard rapidly.
"He is of an English family who fled to Spain on the death of Mary, the former Queen Consort of Spain."
Sir Robert sniffed in embarrassment as he explained.
"Stefano Jardineiro was a nephew of Bishop Stephen Gardiner. That is why the name is familiar. I recall the family."
Master Drew tried to hide his surprise.
"Bishop Gardiner of Winchester?"
"The family was granted asylum by the late King Felipe, who gave them an estate in Barbastro,” added the Count of Villa Medina. “The chevalier proved his nobility and loyalty in the service and so was ennobled by the court and made a member of this order."
Sir Robert glanced keenly at Master Drew.
"I am aware that Bishop Gardiner sent several worthy men to the flames as martyrs for the Protestant cause. Therefore there might be some who would see the death of one of his family as just retribution. But before we seek conclusions, let us seek the facts. I presume the chevalier is currently unaccounted for?"
The count looked embarrassed and nodded.
"I sent for him this morning to discuss notes appertaining to the treaty but was told he was not in his chambers and that his bed had not been slept in. He has not been seen since last evening."
"And why has an alarm not been raised?"
The Count of Villa Medina shrugged.
"The Count is still a young man and there are many distractions in this city to preoccupy him."
Master Drew looked sharply at him. The manner of his speech was careful to the point where it seemed obvious that he was withholding something.
"If I am to expedite this matter, I need to know the facts."
The count was hesitant but the Duke of Frias spoke to him sharply in Spanish.
"It is true,” the count said, as if answering the duke but in English. He turned to Master Drew. “Very well, the facts it shall be. The chevalier said he had to go out last evening, as he wanted to collect an old . . . how do you call it? Una reliquia de familia."
The duke translated for him.
"A family heirloom. He spoke to the count of this within my hearing. He mentioned no further details."
Master Drew sighed deeply. “I would be grateful if the count would accompany me across to Bankside in order that he may formally identify the body. After all, it may not be the chevalier. But if it is, let us confirm it. Perhaps, Sir Robert, you might provide a coach to take us south of the river? I cannot ask the count to walk with me."
"Even better,” replied the Lord Chancellor, “there is a boat by the quayside at my constant disposal that will make your journey shorter.” He turned to the officer of the guard. “C
aptain, take you two good stalwarts of your guard and accompany Master Drew and the count. You are the constable's to command and his commands may be given in my name. Is that clear?"
The officer saluted and turned to fulfill his task.
A moment later the count and guards were seated with Master Drew in the boat, whose four oars were manned by men in the livery of the Lord Chancellor. It pushed off from the north bank, making its way swiftly over the dark waters of the Thames south towards the less than salubrious quays and wooden piers that lined the Bankside.
An elderly man limped forward to help tie up the boat in the hope of receiving a coin for his trouble. Master Drew recognised the man as one of those unfortunates who regularly frequented the quays to scavenge or pick up the odd job here and there. A thought suddenly came to him.
"Were you about the quays last evening?” he demanded sharply.
The man touched his cap awkwardly.
"That I was, Master Constable. I do be here most times unless the ague confine me to pot room at The Bell, wherein I do be given a place by the fire by the good office of the innkeeper."
"Did you notice a boat similar to this one?” He jerked his head towards the boat they had arrived in. “Did a young man land here last night?"
"There be many young men come to the Bankside, good Master. You know as well as I. Young rakes in search of a good time at the taverns or theatres, and the company of low women."
Master Drew took out a penny and fingered it before the man's eyes.
"This man would have been well dressed and foreign withal."
"Foreign, you say? Spoke he like a Dago?"
Drew's eyes narrowed.
"You spoke with him?"
"By my soul, I did. It was late and I was about to go back to The Bell. There were few folk around. He came from the quay and asked if I could direct him to Stony Street, which I did. He then asked if I knew whether the Gardiner house still stood. That I could not say, for I had never heard of it. But when he confided that Gardiner was once the bishop here, I said he had best call at Winchester Palace and enquire there. I told him where that was and he gave me a coin and went his way. That's all I do know."
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