Wolf Wood (Part Two): The Dangerous years

by Mike Dixon

  Chapter 5

  Southwark

  John Baret trudged back to his lodgings in a state of depression. He was overdressed and sweating beneath his heavy coat. He had followed Harald Gascoigne and his escort back from the cathedral to see where his friend was being held. To his amazement, Harald was a prisoner in the Tower of London.

  That was where they put traitors. Cardinal Beaufort either had strong evidence against him or was making a point by holding him there. John hoped for the latter. Beaufort was putting on a big performance. The ridiculous charade at the cathedral was part of it. He and his cronies were locking people up in order to strengthen their case. The next step would be to find some guilty and execute them.

  The heads on pikes above London Bridge added to his gloom. They belonged to people who had suffered the traitor's death of hanging, drawing and quartering. He had once been obliged to watch. It was the sort of thing you did to show you were a loyal citizen of England and a worthy member of the wool merchants' guild.

  The execution took place at Tyburn. The guilty party was strapped to a hurdle and dragged there by a horse. The crowd threw stones along the way and the man arrived bloodied and disfigured. He was then strung up by the neck and taken down while still alive. His entrails were cut out and burnt before his eyes. After that, the whole hideous performance was brought to a swift end. The victim was beheaded and his body cut into parts for distribution around the country. That way, the citizens of England were reminded of what happened to people who tried to overthrow their rulers.

  'Master Baret. Wait.'

  He heard his name and saw his manservant, Tom.

  'I was coming to get you.'

  Tom pushed his way through the crowd and arrived by John's side, red-faced and sweating. He had taken off his smart surcoat and was wearing it round his waist with the arms tied in front.

  'Owen is after you,' he blurted.

  John was irritated by Tom's uncouth manner and untidy appearance. He expected more respect from his servants and he expected them to take better care of their uniforms.

  'Who are you talking about?'

  'That Welsh archer what used to hang around with Dickie Vowell. The one what sometimes sings at All Hallows.'

  'What about him?'

  'He got interested when he saw me. Asked after you … said it's about a very important person. He wants to speak to you.'

  'Did he say who this person was?'

  'He said he'd come from Sherborne and you would know.'

  John's mind turned to the Gascoignes. Owen was a loyal supporter of Sir William. The old archer could have come to London to see what had happened to Harald.

  'Where is Owen?'

  'At the Bull in Southwark. I went there with them guards what you hired at Greenwich. He told me to go and fetch you. Said it would be better than if he came to see you.'

  John couldn't agree more. He was lodging at the wool merchants' hostelry. The guards at the gate kept a strict watch on who came and went. Having Owen visit him was not a good idea. At the same time, he wasn't keen on going to a rough drinking house in Southwark. As a young man, he used to cross the river when he was in London. It was where young blades went to enjoy the sort of female company that was not available in the puritanical circles in which they had been reared. Elizabeth would be horrified if she knew what he did before they were married.

  On occasions he marvelled that some awful catastrophe had not befallen him. Some of his friends had been injured in fights. Others had caught sinful diseases. Southwark wasn't a safe place for a young man with money and it was even more dangerous for an older man. He hoped the guild's guards would be there when he arrived. He might need them for protection even if that meant paying a bribe to ensure their silence.

  The Bull was in an even rougher part of Southwark than he used to visit. John was surprised to see people he knew. Prosperous merchants from Amsterdam were seated at a table surrounded by girls. They turned their heads away when they saw him and he pretended not to see them.

  To his relief, Tom located the two guards. They were at a long table with a crowd of sailors and some women who had taken advantage of the hot weather and removed most of their clothes. They made a place for him.

  'You'll cook in all what yer wearing.'

  A huge girl leant over him and poured a mug of beer.

  'You have some of this … it'll cool yer.'

  Her breasts hung out of her linen shift and brushed against him. John held his breath and tried to hide his discomfort. He had been in rough places but this was the pits. He looked around. Tom had vanished and there was still no sign of Owen. A man in a corner was taking an interest. There was something very professional about him. That was disturbing. Beaufort had spies in places like this.

  'Some of these to get yer going …'

  He heard another voice and winced as a dish of oysters was thrust at him.

  'All the gentlemen do swear by them …'

  John knew the routine. Oysters were famed as a cure for male erection problems. The women could smell money and knew he was loaded.

  'Try a bite of this …'

  It was like being pestered by a swarm of midges on a hot summer's day. He wanted to take off his heavy coat but that would reveal the expensive clothes underneath and get them even more excited.

  People at neighbouring tables seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. He glanced to where the Amsterdam merchants had been and saw they were gone. The man in the corner was still casting a professional eye in his direction ... or was he merely amused. John hoped for the latter.

  'Master …'

  He heard Tom's voice.

  'Owen is upstairs. He wants it done proper.'

  John wondered what that meant.

  There's this girl,' Tom said. 'She'll come and say you can have her for a shilling. You've got to agree and go with her.'

  It was a preposterous sum. John suspected Tom had fallen for a trick. He was a country boy and not wise to the ways of the City.

  'Are you sure it's Owen … you're not mistaken?'

  'No, Master. It's him alright. The one with that David.'

  A girl arrived in a pale dress. She looked no more than fifteen. The other women drew aside and didn't argue when she said she was a virgin and he could know her for a silver shilling. John was horrified. All his instincts rebelled against such an idea but there was only a shilling to lose and Harald's life was at stake. He rummaged in his purse and did his best to find a shilling without revealing how much was there.

  The girl took the coin then, at the prompting of the women, examined the edges. Finally, she placed it on her tongue to check that it tasted right. John felt degraded.

  He followed her upstairs and found Owen waiting for him. The old archer emerged from the shadows and told the girl to go back to her family in Kent. He watched her leave then beckoned John into a small room, lit by a window covered in sail cloth. The stench was appalling.

  'These are sad times, Master.'

  'They are indeed, Owen.'

  'I've been with them all the way,' Owen said.'

  John guessed he was talking about Harald and his escort.

  'I've just come from the Tower,' he said.

  'The Tower?' Owen look surprised.

  'Yes. That's where they are holding him.'

  'Who?'

  'Sir Harald … didn't you know?'

  'No. I thought he'd be alright. It's Sister Alice I'm worried about. She'll burn if they catch her. There's her little boy and Henriette with her and that Robin who used to stay with you. He's a good lad is Robin. Beaufort would have got her if it hadn't been for him.'

  John listened in silence as Owen told him of their harrowing ordeals and his plans to get Alice to safety. He had contacts who had agreed to help. John knew who he was talking about. Every instinct told him to have nothing to do with them. Owen said they were prepared to do it as a favour for Sir William and expected a favour in return. They needed papers to land a valuable cargo
in the port of London. That meant bribing port officials and that was dangerous unless you knew who was taking bribes.

  John agreed to help. It was impossible to refuse. Cardinal Beaufort needed a witch or two to burn. It was his way of showing who was in control. Beaufort had been present in Rouen when Joan of Arc was burnt at the stake and had been a leading figure behind her death.

  The thought of Alice burning on the abbey green in Sherborne had been a recurrent nightmare for John. It was something William Bradford had spoken of when venting his fury over the almshouse charter. Now, it seemed that Bradford might get his wish. John resolved to do everything in his power to stop that happening.

  ***

  Harald narrowed his eyes and squinted. It was a bright day and his vision was better than usual. Alice had explained why that happened. She said his eyes had lenses like his seeing glasses but they were faulty. When the light was bright his iris contacted and he wasn't using as much of them so their imperfections didn't matter as much.

  Alice knew so much. He longed for her and their little boy, Steven. Being apart was as painful as being in prison. Where were they now? Robin had rescued them but what had happened next. His captors didn't know. They were still asking questions about people she knew and where they lived. They wanted to find out where she was hiding.

  Their attitude remained courteous. Harald wasn't surprised. There was no reason for them to go to the next step and use torture. They were doing very well without it. He had provided valuable information about the company Eleanor kept when she stayed at Wolf Wood. It had led to the arrest of a number of prominent people, including a priest called John Hume.

  Harald remembered him as a shadowy figure who was present when the smell of molten wax came from Eleanor's quarters. Hume had agreed to give evidence against Eleanor. But they needed to go carefully when prosecuting her. She was, after all, Duchess of Gloucester and married to Duke Humphrey. They couldn't burn Eleanor so they had to find a proxy. Right now, it looked as if their sights were on Alice.

  In return for his cooperation, his captors had released him from the Tower. He could now breath fresh air again but wasn't free. He was a guest of Cardinal Beaufort in one of his London residences. Instead of guards, he now had armed servants to look after him. One of their duties was to take him on walks.

  They said the walks were for exercise. Harald figured they were using him as bait. They wanted to see if anyone would take an interest in him. Today they were down by the river at one of the ferry stops. People were milling around. A face looked familiar. Harald narrowed his eyes and thought he saw Robin but couldn't be sure. The young man was about the same shape and moved like Robin. Shape and movement were how he recognised people with his bad eyesight. He looked again and the young man had gone.

  ***

  The air was cooler in the hold than on deck but not as fresh. Alice fanned Steven's face and sang a lullaby. He liked the game of hide-and-seek they were playing. But why did they always have to hide? Why couldn't they be the ones doing the seeking? Alice said their turn would come. Until then, they had to be as quiet as the little mouse in the story Owen had told him. The little mouse stayed quiet and the big bad cat didn't catch him.

  Earlier, the child had thrown a tantrum and the crew had threatened to muzzle him. They had good reason for not wanting to attract attention. Their boat was registered as a trading vessel and flew the flag of the Hanseatic League. Nothing could have been further from the truth. They weren't Hansas. They were pirates and the flag was there as cover.

  Alice could hardly believe that anyone would be so brazen. The League was a powerful confederation of merchant ports, stretching from the Baltic to the Low Countries. Its navy was constantly on the alert for pirates. Whole crews had been executed from the captain to the youngest cabin boy. The wharves of Amsterdam, Bremen, and Hamburg were littered with corpses dangling from scaffolds.

  Henriette was frightened of the crew. They spoke Breton and a rough sort of French. She said they reminded her of her uncle's men. That was scary. Uncle Philip's boats traded with North Africa and one of their cargoes was slaves. Philip made money out of people captured in the fighting in France. He held the rich for ransom and took the rest to Tangier where he traded them for fruit and spices. The smell in the hold was a mixture of spices and human sweat. Chains with leg irons hung from beams.

  A movement on deck caught Alice's attention. Someone had come on board and was shouting orders in a mixture of French and Breton. She glanced at Henriette and saw her tense.

  'It's him.'

  'Who?'

  'My Uncle Philip.'

  'What's he saying?'

  'He's telling the men to get their weapons. He says they're going up river to rescue someone … then the boat will sail.'

  'Does he say who?'

  'There's a young man trailing him. Owen will point him out and tell them what to do.' Henriette's voice rose in excitement. 'It's Robin … he's talking about Robin … they're going to rescue Harald from the cardinal's men.'

  Alice listened as Henriette continued to translate. Philip's French was peppered with too much Breton for her to understand but Henriette had no problems. They were going after Harald and Robin was in charge.

  She didn't doubt that Philip had good reasons for rescuing her husband. Perhaps it was loyalty to the Gascoignes. More likely, he wanted Harald as a bargaining chip. The two families were partners but it was the partnership of thieves. Alice had come to understand that during her time in Wolf Wood.

  Chapter 6

  Water Mole

  The tide had turned and the Thames was flowing back to sea. Robin glanced at the two men standing beside Harald. They were dressed as soldiers but their bearing was not military. The real soldiers were mingling with the crowd. He had seen them the previous day. They were dressed as seamen but everything about them said otherwise.

  Seamen stood with their knees bent and walked with a shuffling gait. It was a habit acquired from long hours on a ship with a heaving deck. Soldiers stood upright and strode around with their heads held high. They did that to look tough.

  Robin behaved like a soldier when he was in France. Today, he was going out of his way to behave like a peasant, which was how he was dressed. His woollen stockings were knitted from homespun and ended halfway up his thighs. When he bent over, his woollen tunic rose to reveal parts that were kept well hidden in polite company.

  Philip's men were Bretons. Owen had told them about the soldiers in the crowd. Owen spoke Breton, which was close to Welsh and Cornish. He said they were to take orders from Robin and follow his instructions. That hadn't happened. When Robin met them on London Bridge, they pretended not to understand French, which was the only language they had in common.

  Robin pointed out landmarks and tried to explain that everything depended on timing. They must grab Harald and get him into their boat when the tide was running at full spate back out to sea. That way, they would be going too fast for anyone on shore to keep up with them.

  The Bretons got it half right. Their snatch boat was upstream. But, instead of securing it to a pylon, they tied it to a ferry jetty with predictable consequences. Robin winced as a torrent of incomprehensible Breton was followed by an explosion of London slang. He had told the Bretons to remain invisible. Instead, they had gone out of their way to antagonise the ferrymen.

  A fight broke out. People flocked to watch. Harald's minders joined them. They took him to the edge of the wharf and craned their necks. The soldiers in the crowd did the same and yelled encouragement.

  The Bretons had taken on more than they could handle. They were beaten back with oars. Their mooring line was cut and they were pushed away with a pole. The soldiers cheered and yelled abuse. They were still cheering when a mob of Bretons charged them from behind.

  They came at them, heads down, arms linked over their shoulders. Robin had seen Welsh archers do it at football matches. The crowd at the edge of the wharf didn't stand a chance.

>   Harald and his minders were the first to go. They splashed into the river and were followed by the soldiers and some bystanders. Robin saw the Harald struggling in the water and an awful thought crossed his mind.

  The mole couldn't swim!

  He would be a gonner if he wasn't rescued soon. The current would carry him between the piers of London Bridge. If he didn't drown first, he would be battered to death in the rapids on the other side.

  The Bretons were in the river with him. One reached him and held his head above water. Others fought the soldiers and signalled to the snatch boat. Robin felt cheated. No one told him they were going to do it this way. They were behaving as if he didn't exist.

  He started to run. People and things got in his way. That was how he'd planned it but it wasn't meant to happen to him. He jumped boxes and squeezed between bollards. A jetty poked out. It was his last chance. The snatch boat would have to round it before shooting the rapids.

  He dived in and the snatch boat grazed his shoulder. Something jagged sliced into his arm. He heaved himself onto the boat and saw Harald. He had brought up the contents of his stomach but was breathing normally. Robin crouched beside him and tried to keep out of the way of the rowers.

  ***

  Henriette bathed Robin's wounds using a preparation Alice had made from herbs collected on their travels. He had a nasty cut to his arm. Alice said it wasn't serious and did not need stitching. Henriette wasn't so sure. She dabbed the wound gently and told Robin to hold his arm above his head to reduce the flow of blood. That was what soldiers did when they were wounded in battle.