Rebellion's Message

by Michael Jecks

  It was lucky I could not see into the future.

  Thursday 1st February

  When I woke in the thin, wintry light that Thursday morning, I had no idea that I would witness one of the more momentous days of London’s history. For me, it just seemed that the world was a very cold place. The room stank of soldiers, of rancid skin, sweat and privies. Someone had eaten something that didn’t agree with them.

  I was one of the last to rise from my sleeping mat. The soldiers were already gone, and Bill was outside. Moll was swearing at the tinder and trying to stir some life from the sparks she was showering liberally over the little hearth. I rose and found that my pack had been moved. Somebody had rifled through it. Probably a soldier, I thought. They were desperate enough to hope that even I might have something worth stealing. Luckily, the bishop’s purse was securely placed inside my blankets as I slept.

  Going to Moll, I tried to help her, but the effort made the bruises on my head pound still more painfully, and in the end I decided that I had done enough. The fire did not want to light. Wat ambled over, struck his flint once, and sat back smugly when a flame appeared almost immediately. From the gratitude that shone from Moll’s eyes, I suddenly discovered I didn’t like Wat. I left them to it.

  Outside, I found Bill sitting on the wharf, his jack unbuttoned, staring moodily out across the river. ‘Look! They’ve raised the drawbridge.’

  I followed his pointing finger and, yes, there was no doubt of it.

  ‘The wherrymen will be enjoying a feast day on the back of this lot,’ he said. ‘They can charge what they want.’

  I nodded. ‘I had best be off.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘I have to find this man. You can’t help me with the bishop’s questions. Perhaps the fellow who found me beside the youth in the tavern might be able to help. If I can only find out who he is, perhaps then I can take something of use to the bishop. He may allow me a little freedom, or even ignore me for the future.’

  ‘You think so? Bishops don’t think like that, Jack. Especially not the political ones like him. He’s the Lord High Chancellor: he thinks only of what is good for the queen. Other mere mortals don’t measure to him. Men are viewed through the window of his needs.’

  ‘He seemed not too—’

  ‘He threatened you with the rack.’

  ‘Yes, but only because he thought it was necessary.’

  ‘Just as he’d have your head cut off, if he thought it was necessary. Just think: Wolsey, Cromwell, and now Gardiner. Do you not see a theme with the sort of man who gets that position? They are all ruthless, mostly seeking to serve themselves, and the best way to do that is to give their masters what they want: heads. And right now, yours is moderately cheap and easy for him to procure. You’d do better to flee the city and make your way back to Whitstable.’

  ‘With an army marching in our direction? No, I don’t think so.’

  He moodily picked up a pebble and flung it out into the water. The river flowed so swiftly that it barely caused a splash before it was washed away. ‘I really think it would be better if you left, Jack. Stay here, and you’ll be swallowed up by men like Gardiner.’

  I didn’t meet his eyes. ‘What do you think will happen, Bill? Will the rebels break in?’

  ‘If there are enough citizens in the city supporting them, yes. They could run to the river there, lower the drawbridge and let Wyatt and his men in. It’s quite possible. And then God help anyone who’s been serving Mary. Wyatt would have Lady Jane out of the Tower and on to the throne faster than you could say, “Ballocks to that!”’

  I left him there, ruminatively hurling stones into the water, and I went up towards Ludgate and the Black Boar once more. I would see what I could learn with the bishop’s purse.

  Mostly, I learned the price of ales in different taverns.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was dark, with the reek of smoke wafting about, so that even the candles appeared with their own little haloes in the fumes. I sat at a table and was served with cold mutton chops, a quart of thin ale, and a half loaf of bread that had been fresh sometime in the last week. Still, after the last few days, it was a breakfast feast, and I consumed it quickly, before leaning back and belching with satisfaction.

  However, as an occupation, while it was filling for my belly, it was not ideal in terms of finding either the man Henry or Ann. There was no sign of her again. I finished the ale, tipped the waitress with a casual wink, as though I was rich enough to feast in this manner regularly, and made my way outside. I was looking for the sort of man who would usually be Ann’s target, but today I saw all too few. Instead, on a whim, I headed southwards towards the far side of the cathedral. I don’t know what I was expecting to find, but suddenly there was a blaring of trumpets and horns, and then some muted cheering. Intrigued, I went on and craned my neck to see over the multitude waiting. I saw a small cavalcade, with a woman almost at the head.

  She rode well, almost appearing to glide on her ambler. Its gentle motion, swaying from side to side as it lifted both left legs, then both right, was supposed to give a lady a comfortable ride. To me, it made her progress look regal, whereas all the knights and men about her seemed to jar with their lurching gait. Suddenly, a man cheered, and another bellowed out his support for the queen, and she turned to us and gave us a grave smile.

  Very well, I confess, Queen Mary was not a jolly little strumpet like Moll on a good day, but I’ll give her this: she knew how to play her part. She was in the presence of a crowd that could, in a moment, turn into a mob, yet she still carried herself as though never for one instant doubting that she would be honoured and protected by the citizens of this city. Of course, later we learned that she was as mad as a sackful of tomcats, but that morning, in the chilly air, with the steam rising from the horses and from every mouth, she was not only every inch a queen: she was our queen. She had an elegance and grace about her, riding along with all those guards in their armour. They would have gleamed, if the sun had been but a little brighter. She did not, though. The queen wore sombre colours, and her face, which could never be described as ‘beautiful’ in the best of circumstances, was grim. She knew that her reign hung by a slender thread, I thought. It was easy to remove a challenger to the throne, but I confess I had little idea just how easy it would be to remove an aspiring queen’s head. That I would soon learn.

  I was reflecting in this sombre manner, when I saw her: Ann.

  She was over at the other side of the crowd as the parade rode past, and I could see that she was watching the crowds more than the queen and her men. Ann was surely looking for another mark, I thought at first, but then I saw that her appearance was not that of a confident floozy searching coquettishly for a helpful man to fund a new dress. She looked scared, as though seeking a threat.

  It was impossible to push through the people, and even if I had, the road was blocked with horses and riders. Besides, any man darting into the road would be viewed, rightly, as a threat and cut down. Only a complete fool would try such a thing. So I bided my time, waiting until the way should become clear enough for me to shove the nearer men from my path and cross to the other side of the road.

  She was already moving away. I could see her quite clearly at first, as she passed along the road, down towards Ludgate. She was working the crowds, I saw: smiling and ducking her head in the prettiest manner imaginable whenever she caught a man’s eye. I know, because from where I was I could see the men giving her appraising looks in return or colouring slightly at being acknowledged. After all, when she wanted to look appealing, Ann was a thoroughly attractive woman.

  At the edge of the old Blackfriars, where the Okebourne Inn stood, catering for all the visitors from the west, she turned south towards the river. There was little there, I knew, apart from Puddledock. I hurried down after her. There was a place there where the buildings overhead almost met and the sun was all but extinguished. It was like walking in the middle of a dark night. That was wher
e I hurried my paces. At the last moment before I grabbed her arm, she realized I was following her, and she gave a squeal, whirling, her face a mask of utter terror. I’d never inspired such horror in anyone before. Most women considered me more a source of amusement than fear.

  Perhaps that was it. As soon as she realized who I was, her face’s panic turned into an expression of contempt. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, but I saw how she peered up the alleyway behind me.

  ‘What is it? Has someone threatened you?’ I asked.

  ‘Just leave me alone!’

  She was terrified. But it was not terror of me. It was another man.

  She started to make her way down to the dock again, but I went to her side and joined her. ‘I need to find out who was with you that day in the tavern.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look, Ann, I’m in trouble. I think that fellow is involved in something. Yesterday the Bishop of Winchester had me knocked on the head and taken to see him. Look, do you want to feel the lumps on my pate? That’s two now, and I’m getting fed up of being used as a target for every bully’s cudgel. Just tell me who the man is, so I can go and speak to him.’

  ‘I told you his name.’

  ‘You said he was called Henry. What is his other name?’

  ‘I don’t know that I should tell you …’

  ‘Ann!’

  ‘Oh, very well. His name is Henry Roscard. He has a house on West Cheap near the conduit.’

  ‘What does this house look like?’ I asked.

  She described in precise detail a narrow hall, recently built, with timbers that were still pale golden where the limewash had not stained them. It was a two-level house, with an overhung upper storey, with carvings on the timbers and wattle and daub facing the road. I could recognize it by the larger, brick-built hall next to it that was double the frontage on the road.

  ‘That’s all I know,’ she said when she was done.

  ‘Why were you so scared when you heard me behind you?’ I persisted. There was something here. I could see it in her eyes. She kept glancing behind us as though expecting someone else to join us at any moment.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

  In fact, she said it several times, until in the end I grasped her upper arm and pushed her against the wall. I don’t usually maltreat women, no, but this was a bit different. I was getting worried that my life was in danger, after all.

  ‘Ann, I have at least three men who are hunting me and may well try to kill me; at the same time the bishop has threatened me with torture. I don’t know how much you know, but in the name of all the saints, you must tell me! Please!’

  ‘You are safe enough. No one knows your name. I kept that from Henry and the others.’

  ‘A man can kill a nameless stranger as easily as a man with a title,’ I pointed out. ‘You know this man Henry, Ann! Wouldn’t you be anxious with him after you?’

  She bared her lower teeth and bit at her upper lip with them, holding my gaze for a while. Then, at last, she seemed to come to a decision. ‘Look, the man who was with me, he’s a spy, all right? I think he works for my Lord Edward Courtenay, the Earl of Devon. Henry is a keen supporter of his master in all things, and, right now, Earl Edward wants Queen Mary to give up her infatuation with the Spanish emperor’s son. Earl Edward thinks his buttocks would suit the throne better than those of a foreign man. Now do you understand?’

  I shrugged. ‘What has this to do with me?’

  ‘Henry saw me two days ago. He wanted me to find you and get you to talk about a small message that was inside the purse you stole. That was what he was after: a small message from someone who would help his master to prevent the marriage. I don’t know what it was, but it would help him, apparently. He believes you have it, and that means he will do anything to force you to give it up.’

  ‘Anything?’ I said. I wanted to make sure I had heard her aright.

  ‘Yes, Jack, anything! He’s a competent man with a knife or a sword, and he likes to sit waiting for a man in dark alleyways and passages. Henry enjoys killing men – and women, too, I have no doubt.’

  ‘You are scared, Ann. What is it?’

  She was silent, staring at me for a moment, and then, ‘I tried to blackmail him, Jack. I said I’d tell others what he’s been up to, and now I think he’ll kill me so I can’t talk. I’m going. I’m leaving this shithole. There’s always money for a woman with a brain, body and the inclination to use both. So leave me! Let me escape!’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I have my looks. I can find a man wherever I want. I always wanted to see Calais, and this is a good time to see it. You should do the same: you need to leave the city. Run away and hide, before he can get to you. Otherwise, you will end up in his webs or discarded.’

  I knew what that meant. I had a mental vision of Gil’s body as she spoke. ‘Why me, though?’

  ‘Because he thinks you found this message. And that makes you useful, if he can see the message – and dangerous, if you are thinking of sharing it.’

  NINETEEN

  Her words made a lump appear in my throat. Everything I learned or did just now seemed to result in more threats to me, more risks.

  I saw little point in delaying here; I wasn’t to know what dangers she faced. At the time, my sole concern was the effect that this was all going to have on my own life. Don’t forget, I was still concerned after the sight of Gil’s body. His murder, and the manner of his death, had a profound effect on me. I was, basically, terrified. I also had a lot to mull over. The bishop, Henry Roscard, my dead friend from the tavern.

  She continued on her path. ‘Where are you going?’ I called, but she paid me no heed. In fact, I was about to return to Paternoster Lane, to see if I could find this man Henry Roscard, when I heard something. What? I don’t know, really. Just a scattering of gravel, I thought, or the sound of leather rasping on a wall. Whatever it was, it was enough to catch at my attention. I stared back the way she had gone, but there was a bend in the alley, and she had disappeared around it.

  I took a step, listening intently, then another. I thought I heard a thud, but I couldn’t be sure. By now I was already anxious and approached the corner in the alley as timidly as any mouse approaching a sleeping cat. There was a sudden scuffle and clatter, and I turned with my hand on my knife, the blade half exposed, to see an enormous rat observing me from the top of a rainwater barrel.

  It was such a relief that I thrust my blade back in the sheath and stepped onwards. In one pace, I found my foot ensnared, and I was tumbled to the ground. Ready to curse the fool who had left something out to trip me, I turned to find myself staring at Ann’s face. She was deathly white, but that might have been because of the red beard of blood that encompassed the whole of her breast. Her mouth was moving, but without effect. The weapon that killed her had opened her throat entirely, and, even as I watched, her eyes rolled upwards into her skull and her head fell to the side. One shoe pattered against the other for a moment or two, and then she was still, while I sat before her, appalled.

  This was not a good occupation. I quickly rose and, staring about me, hurried down in the direction that she had been taking. Any man doing this could not have gone north – that would mean passing by me – no, he must have come in this direction, towards the Thames.

  There was a boat moored there. A scruffy shipman was sitting on the dock, his knife out, cutting strips from some dried meat. He eyed me, chewing, as I approached.

  ‘Did a man come past here a few moments ago?’ I asked somewhat breathlessly.

  ‘Been several.’

  ‘A man has just killed a woman up the alley – it was only very recently. Did you see anyone?’

  ‘There was a man in black, wearing a fashionable cape and black hat,’ he said. He had set aside his meat, and now he wiped his blade on his forearm and thrust it into his sheath. ‘You say he did this?’

  ‘It must have been him. She was talking to me a few moments before, an
d when she left me, I heard her attacked.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ the man said. He had the face of a man who had seen too many storms.

  ‘Where did he go?’

  The sailor pointed eastwards, and I ran on, following the direction he indicated, but now I wasn’t alone. Three sailors dropped their bales and packs and gave up their stevedoring duties to join the hue and cry. There was a mess of ropes and old broken spars and floats that I took in a single bound, and then I was pelting onwards. The buildings here were all low factories for fishermen and occasional boat-builders, and I stared into each building as I passed, then on to a collection of barrels. I was almost at it, when the topmost barrel wobbled alarmingly. I slowed, and then the whole mass of barrels tumbled and clattered and rolled towards me. I was forced to spring sideways to avoid two of the larger casks, and as I looked up, I saw him again.

  It was Henry Roscard, the man from the tavern. Ann’s man.

  He snarled at me. If I had been alone, I think he would have set upon me. As it was, he hared off up a narrow passage as I stared, panting and trying to catch my breath, and then I was after him again, filled with a kind of irrational rage that lent power to my legs. This man had tried to see me captured for murder, had pursued me, I believed, for days, and now had murdered poor Ann for no reason, after slaughtering Gil for an empty purse. He had wanted me, and, if he could have done, would have seen me deposited with the bishop to have me tortured, and all for some ridiculous message that I had been unable to decipher without the aid of another man. It was not too much to say that I loathed this man. I hated him with all my heart.

  He bounded off like a man possessed, and my posse and I chased behind like demons after a recalcitrant soul which now regretted the pact of a lifetime ago. We splashed through puddles, we beslubbered our legs with mud and ordure, we ducked under cables stretched across the alley, sprang over midden-heaps, and almost slid on our arses when we landed in one particularly foul pile of filth, but somehow we managed to recover. I almost fell headlong when I leaped a particularly nasty pile of sticks, and my foot caught the top, but although I landed badly, I carried on.