Rebellion's Message

by Michael Jecks

  The thought that had been demanding attention while I spoke to Moll was still rattling at my skull as I watched the church. The people were coming out. It must have been a thanksgiving service for the queen’s (or, more likely, the city’s) deliverance from the rebels, but that was not in my mind at that moment. With a final rap at my skull, the thought seemed to direct my eyes away from the first people, and instead towards a small group to the left.

  It was the flaxen-haired woman, now clad once more in sombre black, as a widow in mourning should be. She was the woman I had seen in the Boar, but this time she was without her lover. And then I recalled her: David’s widow, Agnes Raleigh, the woman who had accosted David before we entered the tavern; the widow whom I had followed and questioned and who had set the local watchmen on to me. The widow of the messenger. I hadn’t recognized that happy face earlier in the day because she was not in black, and seeing her with a stranger made for a good disguise which I had not seen through. And then I had a strange feeling. Her flagrant behaviour with the other man today seemed rather disgraceful.

  I began to follow her. She was not alone. With her walked two servants, neither of whom was the man I had seen with her earlier that day. She took me up a road away from Paternoster Row, and suddenly I realized that she was leading me towards the place where I had met her husband that day.

  It seemed so long ago. Roscard, Ann, Gil, and since their deaths the madness of the rebellion, and, of course, my own eviction from Bill and Moll’s company. I was forced to stifle a sniff at the thought of lovely little Moll and her tightly muscled legs, her taut little stomach, soft breasts, plump lips … Aye, it was a shame. I had thought she felt the same about me as I for her, but it was all foolishness. She saw me as nothing more than a distraction. That was all I was to her.

  I stopped. Mistress Raleigh had halted outside a house. There were three steps leading up to her door, and as I stared, I felt a sudden shock: I recognized that place. It was the house where I had seen Bill that fateful day.

  She was disposing of her two men. They tugged their forelocks and began to walk away and, as they passed me, I hailed them. ‘Good sirs, that lady, I am sure I know her. Surely, she is the widow of David Raleigh from Exeter?’

  ‘Aye,’ one said. He was a pleasant enough man, with the look of a fellow who has a mild suspicion of being halted in the street, but he smiled. ‘David, the servant of the Earl of Devon, Sir Edward Courtenay. Why, do you know her?’

  ‘I knew her husband,’ I said. ‘A good man, and a sad loss.’ The two nodded, and we passed with mutual good wishes.

  I stood there, rooted as a young oak to its soil, and little thoughts, random at first, and then piling on top of one another like the bricks of a child’s plaything, began to form a great steeple that seemed as tall as that of St Paul’s behind me.

  That day when I had met David, I had seen Bill standing here, before this house, searching about the roadway; meeting David of Exeter over there, and then being accosted by David’s wife; the woman disappearing, even as Bill did; my going to the tavern, rising with David’s purse in my fist, attempting to leave, but turning at the sight of Blount in my path. I ran out, to the gate, pulled it open as David appeared behind me, and I was clubbed. But would there have been time for Blount to run out, along the alley beside the tavern and out to the back, down that alley, too, in order to club me as I opened the gate? It seemed unlikely. I had thought it must have been Roscard, but he had gone outside the tavern with Ann, so she said, before running back inside.

  But if it was not Blount or Roscard, who else could have beaten me and murdered David? There was only one man I knew who was there: Bill. Bill, who was always so anxious about Moll leaving him to keep my bed warm. I’d seen that in his eyes. Damn me, but he had made it so plain he wanted me far away from him after that first day, telling me I would have to keep my head down. He had kept me in the house at Trig Lane: surely he wanted to come and kill me when all the others were already gone. He must have hoped to have slain me in the tavern, but my hard head saved me. Or maybe he hoped that I would be captured and punished for the murder of David in his place.

  It did at least answer the question of why I was left with the purse still on my person. That had surprised me afterwards. It made no sense for Roscard or Blount to have struck me down and forgone the opportunity to win back their key prize.

  But there was still one question: what business did Bill have with the widow?

  I had no home. I had no friends. I could have marched from there and left the city as the gates opened in the morning, but if I am honest, I confess that my interest was piqued. More than that, my anger was kindled. Bill had tried to kill me – either directly by breaking my head or indirectly by putting a rope round my neck – and this woman had something to do with it. I was going to find out why, I decided.

  Striding towards the house, I climbed the steps and rapped smartly on the door.

  The bottler was a short, cheery fellow with a broad Devonian accent that was so slow and odd I could barely understand a word he spoke, but we managed to come to an arrangement, and he took me inside. I was unpleasantly reminded of the last time I met with the lady of the house. That servant in the other house was as much of a contrast to this one as that house was to this.

  I was taken through to a pleasant, warm, wide hall, in which a fire was burning merrily. Whereas the fire in the last house had been spitting and smokey, made from poorly dried logs, this was clearly built of good, well-cured wood. The chamber was well lime-washed, too, and the walls were bright with patterns painted in reds and golds, as befitted a man of some wealth.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  She was not so confident this time. I could see that at once. She entered haughtily enough, but when she saw me, I could tell that her back became less stiff. With a jerk of her head, she sent her bottler from the room, and then walked to a small stool near the fire.

  ‘So, madam, you have returned to your real home,’ I guessed. ‘It is more sumptuous than the last place where we met.’

  ‘This is my home, yes. You followed me to a place that I have occasionally had use of,’ she said with a brittle calmness. I had the feeling she could shatter like a pane of glass at any moment.

  ‘To meet with your lover?’ I guessed.

  ‘What is it to you? My husband deserted me for his trollop.’

  ‘Mistress Julia Hopwell? I remember you spat her name out before.’

  ‘Yes. I am not ashamed of it. My husband treated me abominably. I sought love in my marriage and found only desertion.’

  ‘So you took your own course.’

  ‘I have a good friend. But he’s powerful, Master Blackjack.’

  ‘Yes, you know my name. You attempted to have me arrested for your husband’s murder. At the time it struck me as odd that you should have already become aware of my name.’

  ‘Your name was bruited about after my husband’s murder.’

  I remembered Ann’s assurance just before she died. ‘No. Yet you knew it.’

  ‘I learned it from my servants.’

  ‘Here? Or at the other house?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said and, rising, walked to the sideboard. There were some pewter goblets and a jug of wine. She poured for herself and drank quickly, before refilling the cup.

  Her discourtesy annoyed me, but with the ale still fizzing in my veins after my afternoon at the Boar, I felt no need to demand wine. ‘I think you know perfectly well where you learned my name. I saw your husband’s assassin here, on the day your man died. I was out there in the street, and looked over here and happened to see—’

  ‘You accuse me? You were only there because you wished to rob him!’

  That was not something I could happily deny. ‘You took in his killer, didn’t you? And that’s how you learned my name. You spoke to the murderer of your husband to pay for that service and discovered my name at the same time! You paid an assassin to kill him. You wanted to remove
the impediment to a happier life with your lover!’

  She drained her cup again and reached for the jug. I was suddenly aware that I was short of breath. I felt slightly sickly. Anxious that she would empty the jug before I had any, I took it from her and filled another goblet, drinking it off and refilling my own before replenishing hers. It was a good, strong wine, and I felt it sparkle in my veins immediately.

  ‘Well?’ I demanded.

  She had tears in her eyes, but she held her chin up defiantly. ‘Why should I not merely call for the watchman to come and arrest you? I could have you captured and held and hanged. My companion is son to an important family.’

  ‘No. I have had the joy of serving Queen Mary,’ I said. ‘She has given me her blessing. And besides, if I were to tell her that this house was the home of rebels, I wouldn’t like your chances. You look at me with contempt, madam, but how long will you survive, if you are flung from this place, with it confiscated by the queen? All your nice belongings taken by her whom you tried to see ruined,’ I added, studying the pewter in my hand.

  ‘No! I beg you!’ she burst out, and threw herself at my feet. ‘It wasn’t me, it was David, and he was a terrible man to me. He never cared for me, and threw away all my dowry without asking me! There was no love between us. He wanted my money – that was all. My father wanted a good marriage for me, and David came of good stock. That was all there was between us.’

  ‘So you spoke to your lover and arranged for your husband’s murder. You were happy to see him dead, rather than remain in a loveless marriage. And you negotiated with a murderer to achieve that end.’

  She bent her head. And then she said something that made the entire room rock around me.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I lurched from the house, and it was not only because of the wine and ale.

  On my walk to her house, I had barely noticed where I was going. On the way back, I saw the roads and knew exactly the path I must take, but I swear, when I reached the door, I could not have said how I got there. All was obliterated from my mind.

  I raised the latch quietly and pushed the door wide. Bill was in his seat near the fire, slurping his pottage loudly from a wooden bowl. Wat was cross-legged on the floor near him, chewing bread; Ham stood at the wall eating with a wooden spoon. Moll was behind Bill.

  ‘I didn’t think you would throw me from the place,’ I said. ‘It didn’t occur to me you’d do that, Bill. After the first time, I thought I would have a bed here again as soon as things blew over, but it didn’t come to mind that you meant it.’

  ‘Shut the door behind you when you go,’ he said, and turned away from me.

  ‘I’ve been a fool long enough,’ I said. ‘I thought one of the queen’s agents or one of her enemies’ agents must have tried to kill me, but it wasn’t them at all. I saw you the day David was killed and I was knocked down, but it didn’t make sense until today. I didn’t think.’

  ‘If you stay here, I’ll have Ham break your head,’ he said, and his voice was low and mean.

  ‘No. I doubt that Ham will do that, nor Wat neither. They’re still friends. As are you, Bill. I had thought you wanted me out of here because you wanted to leave the blame pointing at me. At first I thought you feared I would bring the constables to your door, and wanted me to go somewhere else, but then I realized you really didn’t want me to stay here in case I was hurt. And I believed that I was knocked down by a man who sought to steal the note from the purse. I thought I was just unlucky to have happened upon a spy and rebel, and I paid with my skull. But today I realized my mistake. I understand now. David Raleigh didn’t die because of his support of the rebels, but because his wife wanted him dead, and she was prepared to pay an assassin to kill him.’

  ‘You say I’m an assassin just because I helped you?’ he sneered.

  ‘No. You were there, but at first I thought you were looking for me, and then I wondered whether you sought David. Perhaps his wife said she would point him out to you? I don’t know how these things work. I was sure you considered me a danger to the company after David’s murder, and then I thought you wanted me gone because you saw that Moll and I were too friendly. I was a fool, right enough.’

  ‘You should go now,’ Moll said.

  ‘It was only just now that I realized you wanted to protect me,’ I said.

  Wat and Ham turned to Bill enquiringly.

  ‘You wanted to protect me from Moll, didn’t you?’ I said. ‘That’s what David’s widow just told me. The murderer she paid to kill her husband wasn’t you: it was another woman. And she described you, Moll.’

  ‘I should have struck harder when you pulled the gate open,’ she said.

  It was plain enough. She had been to David’s wife to have the husband pointed out, and as soon as she saw me, she followed us. Seeing us enter the tavern, she had guessed that I would try to get him drunk, and she took up her place at the rear of the tavern, watching through a window where she could see us both. When I rose to leave, she guessed my reasons, and saw the suspicious David hurry after me. She was at the gate in moments, opened it in time to see me, tried to break my head, and then went to her victim and murdered him. I daresay she told him I had robbed him, and when he bent to search me, she stabbed him with my dagger, thrust it into my hand and fled.

  Quick, easy and straightforward for her. Any problems would be mine. Who would suspect a frail young woman, compared with a hulking fool like me?

  ‘He has you there, Moll,’ Bill said.

  ‘Will you let him accuse me like that?’ she said.

  ‘Moll here is a good little wench,’ Bill said. ‘She killed her first man when she was young. That was why she fled her home: she murdered her stepfather. Oh, he was a nasty brute, I have no doubt. I daresay he deserved his end. Not that I’d like to be in receipt of little Moll’s vengeance. I don’t think that would be nice.’

  ‘What now, Jack?’ Moll said. ‘You asked me to run away with you today. Have you changed your mind now?’

  ‘What did you do to Gil?’ I asked.

  ‘He knew where you were. I knocked him down with a club, bound him to the pole, and when he woke, I beat him to persuade him to tell me where you were. But he wouldn’t. In the end, I had to kill him.’

  ‘You did that?’ I said, staring at her slim shoulders and thin arms. I had not realized how strong she was. I recalled the sight of his teeth on the ground. It made the ale bubble sourly in my belly.

  ‘I wanted to find you,’ she said, but there was no coquettishness about her as she spoke.

  ‘You wanted to kill me or make sure that I was captured and slain for David’s murder,’ I said. I felt a real coolness towards her now. You know, I could suddenly see a range of imperfections in her skin, and her eyes were a bit harsh, now I came to think of it. She wasn’t as alluring as I had thought. Odd how your views on people can change.

  ‘I didn’t want you bringing the beadle to us,’ she said.

  ‘To you, you mean,’ I clarified. ‘You never cared about Bill, Wat, Ham, Gil or me. You were only ever looking out for yourself.’ I stood. ‘I’ll be off. Sleep well, Bill. I hope you wake up, too.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  I spent that night walking about the streets. There was much to think about, after all. My adoration of Moll was completely gone, as you might expect, and my respect for Bill was severely eroded. The one thing I was convinced about was that I could never sleep in the same room as Moll. She was too dangerous, especially for me, now that I had exposed her as the murderer of Gil, and as the person who had tried to have me arrested for the death of David. So I walked about, and eventually ended up at London Bridge. It was cold, very cold, and I was glad to find myself with a number of soldiers at a brazier. Their companionship was refreshing. They didn’t care about my reputation or my past. They were intrigued by my shoulder wound, and when I brought out my splinter, there was much sucking of teeth and shaking of heads. I rapidly gained the impression that I was accepted into their group
when a small barrel of ale appeared and I was invited to share in their booty.

  It was strange to stand there and watch as the barricades were removed, and most of the wood used to build a bonfire to celebrate the great victory over the rebels. I stood there a long while, staring along the line of the bridge to where the span was demolished, remembering the shock of my first battle, watching the lines of men marching towards me, only to be broken apart, the bodies flung through the air, and the sight of Atwood’s men turned into shattered ruins even as they were planning to kill me.

  I’d heard that the men who rode back with Wyatt were captured somewhere near Charing Cross, and the majority were probably in gaol already. Wyatt was in the Tower, although he was unlikely to live there for long; his men would no doubt be used to decorate gibbets up and down the country. Atwood was surely killed while trying to fight his way free, or was even now waiting in Newgate gaol for his own special noose. To my surprise, I found myself feeling almost sorry for him. He was a rogue, but at least he was moderately honest, and he had been good company.

  I remained there all night, and if I recall friendship and much good humour and singing of ribald songs, it is no surprise. The bonfire was large enough to keep half of London warmed, so it seemed to me, and the sight of the flames shooting up into the sky, sparks curling and whirling above it, was warming more to my heart than my hands. It seemed like a sign of survival. And when the women appeared, and we all began dancing to celebrate, with couples occasionally disappearing into the dark to enjoy their own horizontal parties, I watched, but for once I wasn’t interested in the idea of a woman. I kept seeing Moll in my mind’s eye, a club in her hand as she slipped through the gate, and that was enough to put me off wenches for the evening.

  Thursday 8th February

  Next morning, I awoke to pulled muscles in my neck and back. My thighs were stiff, and I had a cramp in my calf, but I was, as I noted to myself, alive. I climbed up, and stood, pulling a face while I tried to make my leg work. It was damned painful, but eventually it began to move again.