by Sam Burnell
Cecil must have sensed Morley’s discomfort and said quietly through gritted teeth, “In a few more moments, her torment will end. Pray for her.”
And Morley did pray. He prayed for her instant and quick death, prayed for an end to her suffering. But it was not a matter of a few moments. Her torment continued. The flames that had lit her hair and scorched all the skin on her face to bubbling blisters receded and now Mistress Harrington was only ablaze from the knees down.
Morley’s hands tightened involuntarily on his reigns and the horse beneath him, smelling the smoke, stamped and neighed, tossing its head.
Cecil’s surprisingly strong fingers dug into his arm, warning. Morley, shaking, lessened his grip on the startled mount’s reins and tried to show an outward degree of composure, knowing that those close to him were now looking in his direction.
Mistress Harrington begged until Morley thought he could take no more. Then suddenly, her face fell forwards, chin on her chest, dead. Morley sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Had he known it though, his troubles were only just beginning. Mistress Harrington’s end had not been brought about by the cleaning flames from the faggots stacked against the stake to which she was tied, but from the arrow that had grazed the stake and severed the vertebrae neatly in her neck. It did however bring about a swifter death than that promised by the fire.
There were six others burnt that day, but it was the flames that took them to their judgment. None had the mercy of the arrow that had ended Mistress Harrington’s sufferings.
Chapter 7
An Honest Assessment
Soon after their arrival in Venice, Jack resolved that they should press Chester Neephouse and his conscience. It was a matter of necessity. What little they had left had paid for the room. If Richard could obtain money from this man, then the sooner the better. Jack left Lizbet and Richard and set out to find Neephouse. He soon found his offices, and quiet enquiry confirmed that the man Richard had known in England was indeed in control of the business here in Venice. All Jack had to do now, was to guide his brother back through the narrow streets. Returning to the rented room, and casting his eyes over the wreckage that was his brother, he was not sure he would be able to convince anyone to do anything anymore.
“Drink this,” Lizbet said, her voice encouraging, as she held out a cup for Richard.
“Is he going to be able to do this?” Jack was looking at Richard critically but spoke to Lizbet.
“I don’t know.” Lizbet sounded equally worried.
The cup Lizbet had given Richard shook in his hand, the contents beginning to spill to the floor. Reaching out quickly, she wrapped her hand around his to steady it, and shakily he raised it to his lips and emptied it.
Jack, turning towards the window, ran his hands through his hair in a savage gesture. “He’s going to be taken for the village idiot.”
“Shush, Jack, you’re not helping,” Lizbet admonished.
Richard pushed the emptied cup back towards her, his eyes meeting Lizbet’s. “Another.”
Receiving the cup she refilled it quickly, careful this time not to overfill it.
Richard watched her carefully. As she passed it back to him, he said, “With whatever it is you put in it.”
Lizbet hesitated for only a moment. She’d not realised he knew she had been putting the herbal mixture into his drinks. Quickly she added some from the stoppered pot in her pocket. When he received the cup this time he needed no help, the shakes had lessened, he emptied it quickly and held it back out for more.
“I’ve not much left,” Lizbet warned.
Richard thrust the cup towards her without a word. Lizbet obeyed the unspoken order and filled it.
Jack had his palms flat on either side of the stone window opening and was staring through the partly opened shutters into the street below. “Richard, I’ve found Neephouse’s offices. Are you ready to go there?”
Lizbet took the cup back from Richard. As she watched, she could see him emerging slowly back from the shell he had existed in. When he spoke it was to Jack, “You found Chester?”
The sound of his brother’s voice was like a knife in the back. Jack wheeled around to find Richard, bright eyed, observing him with a serious expression from where he sat on the edge of the table.
“Can you do this?” Jack asked, carefully.
“Shall we find out?” Richard pushed himself up from the bed. “When the Devil is at your heels it’s best to run. Come on.”
Richard had already set his feet towards the door. Lizbet and Jack exchanged a quick confused look before they set off to follow him.
Jack, catching Richard up, walked close to him. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, Jack, I have ears. I hear you,” Richard replied.
“Forgive me,” Jack said, sarcastically, “but it’s been like talking to a wall for the past weeks.”
“I asked you to get me here. You did,” Richard replied, as if that was sufficient explanation.
Jack was exasperated. “So now we are here you are willing to engage with the world again?”
Richard stopped for a moment, and turning to Jack, he said, “Yes, the journey has ended. And a new one begins. Is it far?”
Jack looked at him in confusion. “Yes,” he said, then, “No, a few streets away. He has a warehouse near the fish market.”
“Ah, so he’s not moved. Good, well come on then.” Richard was already striding away from him.
Jack, taking a hold of Lizbet’s elbow, pulled her along to keep up with rapid pace Richard was setting.
“Don’t complain, Jack,” Lizbet warned. “We need this to work.”
Chester had a warehouse near the Rialto Fish Market. The smell in the summer heat was enough to turn any stomach not used to it. Lizbet caught hold of Jack’s arm and pulled him to a halt.
“Please, stop.”
Looking at her pale face, it was obvious why. “For God’s sake woman, it’s only fish! Come on, or we are going to lose him.” Jack linked his arm though hers and propelled her back into the throng in the street.
Richard was already disappearing ahead of him. Jack became acutely aware that his brother seemed to be quite familiar with the narrow twisting maze that was Venice. The narrow packed streets would suddenly open to a canal, the traffic from several of them converging and pressing across the narrow arched bridge, spilling into the shaded, tightly streets, on the other side. If Jack had not kept a tight hold on Lizbet she would have been swept from him and become lost in the crowd.
Chester Neephouse’s warehouse, and Venice offices, provided the administrative centre for trade across Europe in rare spices from the East. Most went to France, Spain and Italy but much of his wares made it to England. Chester’s father, a shrewd merchant, recognised that the further you took your wares, the higher the price you could demand for them. A lifetime of trade had given him secure trade routes to move his spices easily and quickly north from Venice.
Jack, with Lizbet pale and hanging on his arm, caught Richard up at the entrance to the Neephouse trading centre. Richard, walking backwards in front of them, told them to wait and disappeared through the entrance.
Jack let go of Lizbet. She leant heavily against a wall and he was forced to stand close to her to avoid the continuing stream of traffic that packed every artery in the city.
†
The arched entranceway opened into a small yard, small storerooms and offices leading off it. The scene inside was no less chaotic than the city beyond the walls. Two liveried men, wearing the same red and green colours that adorned the Neephouse sign that graced the archway, were involved in a heated discussion with the owner of a cart that was taking up most of the space in the small yard. All around the edge of the yard were piled a seemingly chaotic mix of boxes, sacks, and earthenware jars. On one side of the yard, half a dozen women were working with quick hands sewing accurately weighed measures into small sacks. Brass scales and weights were set up on a pile of crates. Two men weighed an
d checked the black grains before the scoops were dropped into the waiting closely woven Hessian bags.
Picking up a dusty sack from the wall, Richard hefted it to his shoulder. He headed towards an open doorway in one corner, beyond which he knew were the stairs to the offices on the next floor. Dumping the sack at the bottom of the darkened stairway, he made his way quietly up the stone steps. Above him he could clearly hear men arguing. Both voices were heavily accented. If one belonged to Chester, he was unable to tell which it was. Making it to the top of the stairs, he took up a position to the right of the door and listened carefully.
“…Toby knew they were short measures. Why did you buy them?” The voice was angry and accusing.
“I knew they were short. But there’s no more to be had in the market. Even short, they are still worth double the purchase price,” came the loud, unapologetic reply.
“It sets a precedent. They’ll think they can dupe us again with the same trick. Before you know it everything we take in from the De Givan’s will be short. Mark my words, we went through all this with the Morrocci Company two years ago, and look where that ended up?” The voice was raised, the speaker exasperated and angry.
“It won’t end up the same as the Morrocci’s. Toby knows fine well we’ll not buy anything else from him in short measures, I’ve already told him this.” The reply was impatient, the words clipped and curt.
“It doesn’t matter what you told him. You allowed him to sell you short this time and he’ll do it again. You’ve made a fool of us in the marketplace. You can be sure this will become common knowledge.” Disappointment edged the words.
“Father, this will not become common knowledge. I have bought enough to fulfil our commitments. We needed it, to make the Jevani order up, that you have taken part payment on already. I bought no more than that. I didn’t really have a choice, did I? Would you have had me refund their money, cancel their orders?” The tone was at odds with the words.
That was enough to quieten the older man for a moment. “No, no, that would make our reputation even worse in the market. Just be aware that Toby is likely to try this again. It’s a bad footing to be on when your suppliers know they can cheat you like this.” The words were sullenly spoken.
“I will be careful. It’s just to fulfil the orders to Jevani. They need to leave this week otherwise they will be late,” Chester Neephouse said, his voice quietening now he realised the argument was coming to a close.
“Good. Have we had the final payment through from Jevani yet?” The anger had left the older man’s voice.
“His men are here now, in the offices downstairs with Alfredo, checking through the inventory for their order,” Chester supplied.
“I’ll go and see them. Alfredo might need some help.”
Richard heard the footsteps approaching. Flattening himself against the wall as the door opened, the figure of Chester’s father emerged and descended down the darkened stairs. He watched as the man stepped through the doorway into the light. Richard quickly flipped the door back open and closed it behind him, leaning against it. Chester Neephouse was standing behind a desk, hands resting palms down on either side of a ledger he was studying. He looked up as soon as the door opened.
“Alfredo doesn’t…” The reply he had been about to deliver died, as he realised the man facing him was not his father returning to his office.
“Yes, I am sure Alfredo doesn’t need your father’s help, but it will keep him occupied for a while, do you not agree?” Richard replied.
Chester’s eyes widened. “Jesus Christ! Fitzwarren.” And then taking in the man standing in his room, added, “What the Hell has happened to you?”
“It’s more a case, I rather think, of what hasn’t,” Richard replied dryly. Turning, he dropped the latch down, pushing the wooden peg into place to stop the door being opened from the outside.
There were wine glasses, expensive engraved Venetian ones, next to a glass flagon. To cover his initial shock, Chester moved quickly to pour himself a glass.
“Bacchus would disapprove,” Richard commented quietly, eyeing the glass in Chester’s hand.
Chester looked at him over the rim for a moment, then sighing, poured a second glass, holding it out for Richard to take. Richard stepped away from the door, closed the gap between them and accepted the glass from Chester’s hand.
“Christ man! You smell like the gutter.” Chester took an involuntary step back. “So what was it? Your father throw you out? Gambling? Women? What happened?”
Richard looked thoughtful for a moment, then his eyes flicked back to meet Chester’s, staring into the other’s for a moment too long, before he replied, “All of those, plus a few extras I added in myself.”
“What else?”
“Murder. Treason. The usual exploits that disinherited second sons involve themselves in,” Richard replied tranquilly. He finished the wine and held the empty glass out for a refill.
“Christ, Fitzwarren. You were never anything other than trouble,” Chester said, tipping the decanter to swill more wine into the glass.
“I don’t remember that bothering you particularly,” Richard countered.
“What is it you want?” Chester said, ignoring the comment.
“Surely you can guess?” Richard answered, before he drained the glass.
“I can guess. So what will it cost to get you gone from my doorstep never to return?” Chester said, his tone hard.
Richard put the emptied glass down and folded his arms. “Let’s negotiate, shall we? You are a merchant, after all. What would my lack of presence be worth to you?”
“I should imagine a few angels would be wealth indeed to you right now,” Chester sneered, his eyes running over the dishevelled form of the man before him. Then they settled on Richard’s hollowed eyes, and his sneer deepened. “I think there might have been something you omitted from your list of sins.”
Richard did not reply to that, and Chester laughed loudly. Opening his purse he dug his hand in and pulled out a number of coins. He shuffled them in his palm for a moment, sent half back into the purse, and the rest he scattered on the desk. “Take those, that should be enough for you.”
Richard didn’t even look at the coins. “I need, as you can see, clothes, food and…” Chester waited for his next words expectantly. “…slightly more money than you would throw at a beggar in the street.”
“Fitzwarren, you are a beggar in the street. If you don’t take that and get yourself gone, I will call my men to drag you from here and dump you back in the gutter you crawled out of,” Chester said angrily. “If you think you can blackmail me, think again. Do you think my father is going to be interested in the ravings of an opium addict from the gutter? Do you?”
†
“Something has gone wrong,” Jack grumbled, from where he sat against the wall next to Lizbet opposite the entrance to the Neephouse warehouse.
“You’ve said that a dozen times,” Lizbet replied, exasperated. “We’ve no choice but to wait. Lord, you are not a patient man, are you?”
“Have you only just noticed that?” Jack replied, casting a sideways glance in her direction.
“If something was wrong, we would have known by now,” Lizbet assured him. They were sitting some distance away from the entrance to Neephouse’s business, in the shade cast by one of the wooden bridges spanning the Rialto canal.
When Richard finally emerged from the archway, both Lizbet and Jack were on their feet instantly. Richard dropped a handful of coins into Jack’s hands and immediately set his feet back in the direction of the rooms they had rented.
Jack looked in disbelief at the money in his hand, then stepping quickly after his brother, he said, “Is this it?”
Richard, ahead of him, replied over his shoulder, “There will be more. I’m to call back in three days. That will be enough for now.”
Jack, relieved, tucked the coins away, and followed his brother to the rented rooms. On the way they’d pause at
an apothecaries. Lizbet, knowing why Richard had stopped there, took coins from Jack and ducked under the low beamed door. After that, they returned to the room. Richard, saying barely a word, lay on the only bed, and shielding his eyes from the light, sank into sleep, or at least what looked like sleep.
It was too much for Jack.
“You said I had to get you here,” Jack said, speaking though clenched teeth, his temper barely in check. “I’ve done that.”
“Jack, leave him alone.” Lizbet’s voice was weary. She’d hoped for more as well. When he’d emerged looking tired and uncommunicative, she’d felt as disappointed as Jack had. “If there is something to know, he will tell you when he wakes up.”
“I’m awake.” Richard’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Find another room, get me some clothes and for God’s sake, feed Jack!”
Lizbet and Jack exchanged a look. Lizbet picked up the purse containing the coins Chester had given Richard and hefted it in her hand. “You heard him, come on then.”
They left Richard apparently asleep and set out towards the centre. Street sellers provided Lizbet with skewered meat, and sweet crusty pastries still warm from the oven. Jack’s temper dropped from him as soon as he had a full stomach.
Enquiry of the stallholders directed them towards a row of respectable boarding houses clustered above small narrow fronted shops.
Lizbet stopped Jack from setting his feet towards the doors, a restraining hand on his arm. “You’ll not get in looking like that.”
Jack realised her words were true. He was filthy, his hair crawled with lice, and he had no doubt he smelt worse than the canals.
“The market near the fish sellers, we can get everything we need there.” Lizbet said, turning her feet back toward Rialto.
Lizbet was almost right.