by Toni Mount
I know not how but I gathered my legs ’neath me and threw myself forward. He struck out at me. But I caught him a lucky blow with the stool and he fell back, bleeding from a gash across his forehead. The hammer fell with a clang and I swooped to pick it up. It was a heavy weight in my right hand, a good weapon, and the stool to serve as my shield.
The other man loomed over Jude, wrenching him in an agonising grip from behind.
My brother dared not struggle for a long blade gleamed in the starlight, held at his throat. I watched, horrified, as his blood trickled darkly against the pale skin of his exposed neck.
‘Put hammer off, or he die.’
From the corner of my eye, I saw the first man recovering, getting to his feet.
Chesca was still screaming.
But it was my brother’s terror-stricken face that spurred me on.
No marksman I, this had to be accurate. I threw the hammer at the face of Jude’s assailant. It hit him full square. He released hold of my brother and crumpled like an empty grain sack. The knife dropped from his grasp and skittered across the floor, disappearing ’neath the bed, out of reach.
Jude was upon him in an instant, removing the fellow’s belt and using it to bind him to the foot of the bed afore leaping to Chesca’s aid. Not that she was in need of it. The lass fought like a demon in a flurry of bedcovers, her assailant writhing and smothered beneath them.
I trussed up the half-stunned man, the one I had caught with the stool, as if he were a Christmas goose, taking Jude’s example and using the wretch’s own belt. He groaned and cursed. At least I had not slain him. Concerning the other, I was less certain, for his face was a mask of blood, black in the gloom, pooling on the woven rug. He lay still. I knew not if he breathed.
By the time the taverner, his wife, the tapster and the potboy, roused from slumber by the din, came hastening and squawking into the chamber like fox-fearing hens, it was all over.
I righted the stool – my sturdy defender, now split – and collapsed upon it. Then I saw a small object lying on the floor. It was an iron nail and I had seen its like three times previously.
It was a long night.
The man I had swiped at with my trusty stool would survive with a few bruises and stitches to the gash on his brow. The one who had held a knife to Jude’s throat was less fortunate. The hammer had broken the socket of his eye. There was a deal of blood and the eye was likely blinded. But I felt neither remorse for my deeds nor the least compassion for the outcome. Let them suffer who had dared threaten my brother.
The third assailant, the one who had come through the door and attacked Chesca, suffered worst. It seemed our feisty Venetian lass went to bed armed with a stiletto – a lethal narrow-bladed dagger hid ’neath her pillows. She had used it to defend herself with considerable efficiency and the bedsheets were now gory and slashed, bearing witness to a ferocious fight. The wretch might not recover from his wounds, so Surgeon Dagvyle warned. If he succumbed, Coroner Fyssher would have to be involved, unfortunately.
Jude and I had no liking for Fyssher, having worked as his clerk, each in turn, and learned of his slapdash, heartless and idle ways in dealing with such cases. Chesca’s defence would fall to us, if the fellow died.
I was deep in sleep upon my stool, leaning back against the wall, when someone shook me awake.
‘Seb, wake up! How can you sleep with this turmoil all around you?’
I forced my eyes open reluctantly. The chamber was ablaze with daylight, too bright for my aching head. I never was a wine-drinker.
‘Thaddeus? God be thanked that you’re here; not Fyssher.’
‘Aye, well, he might have to be summoned yet. But Dagvyle wants to tend to your hurts now.’
‘My hurts? I have none.’
Thaddeus raised my right arm and showed me a long, bloodied rip in my sleeve. I had been unaware of it. Then he touched my cheek and his thumb came away crimson. I realised my face was sore.
‘My brother and Chesca?’
‘Both safe. Like you, they have cuts and bruises. Jude complains loudest about his ruined doublet but his neck will heal without a scar, Dagvyle says.’
I sat quietly whilst the surgeon cleansed my injury with wine, stitched the cut, smeared it with honey and bound it in clean linen. He bathed my face and picked out splinters from my cheek, likely from the shattered casement when the men broke in. He gave me some ointment to apply myself, as needed.
The taverner announced that we could break our fast downstairs. But first, I bade the potboy go to my home, to inform Rose and Adam of my whereabouts and that I was quite safe. I feared the gossipmongers might already have spread abroad tales of murder and mayhem at the Sun in Splendour and would not have them worrying without cause. Emily ever used to berate me for not telling her where I was or what I was doing. Belatedly, I had learned my lesson.
‘Go to the bookshop at the sign of the Fox’s Head across the way, if you will,’ I instructed the lad. ‘Assure them all be well with Seb Foxley, his brother, Jude, and his sister-by-marriage.’ I gave him my last halfpenny and told him to hasten. ‘I hope you can afford to pay for breakfast,’ I said to Jude. ‘That be my last coin.’
‘Don’t know why you bloody wasted it. You could’ve shouted your message from here and they would’ve heard.’
‘Aye, likely you be correct.’
Jude made to go down to the taproom, though I was unsure whether I wanted food. Rather, I enquired of the surgeon if he had a remedy for an aching head. He was then much concerned that I might have taken a blow to my skull. I told him, I thought not. I did not want to confess my wine-sodden brain for fear my testimony might be doubted when I answered the bailiff’s questions later.
‘I hardly credit what I did,’ I admitted to Jude as he munched oatcakes beside the empty hearth in the taproom.
‘What did you do? Last I saw, you were hiding behind a bloody stool.’
‘But I… no matter. At least you came through it whole.’
‘Whole? Have you seen the state of my best doublet? Ruined! And I have more bruises than time to count them. And the taverner expects me to pay for the wrecking of his bloody chamber. How am I to pay for that?’
‘With the money you received from my singing last eve?’
‘You jest, little brother. What do you suppose bought the jug of wine you were guzzling, eh? There might be a few pence left to pay for these oatcakes – and for the saints’ sake, bloody eat some of them.’ He pushed the platter towards me. ‘Otherwise, I’m penniless as you are.’
‘Who were they, Jude?’
‘Who?’
‘Those men, of course. They came for you, did they not?’
‘They attacked you, too.’
‘Only because I was there.’ I bit into an oatcake and realised I was hungry. ‘Likely, they believed you and Chesca would be sleeping, since we lit no candle. They intended to murder you in your bed, if not Chesca also. Who were they? And do not say you know not. This once, do not lie to me, Jude.’
‘When do I ever?’
‘Constantly. Now tell me the truth.’
‘You slander me, little brother.’
‘’Tis no slander, unless it be false. Cease avoiding my question.’
Jude looked away, anywhere but at me. Then he spoke but so softly I had to lean close across the board to hear him.
‘They were Baldesi henchmen.’
‘I knew it.’
‘Shh. Keep your voice down. I’ve been avoiding them for a week past.’
‘They came armed with a hammer and nail. Did you know that?’
‘I saw the hammer. Seemed an odd choice of weapon.’
I took the iron nail from my purse, where I had put it for safekeeping. I held it out to him in the palm of my hand. He did not touch it but looked at me with an appalled expression.
> ‘They were going to nail your hand, just as they did with the others. Why? Did you also owe them money and repay them with false coin?’
‘I wouldn’t borrow from the bloody Baldesis if they were the last money-lenders on earth. I’m not bloody stupid.’
‘So, if not money, there be only one other reason: Chesca. Tidings of what came to pass when you eloped with her from Venezia must have reached her relatives in London by now. Tell me, Jude. Forwhy, if that be the case, your life may yet be hazard.’
‘Don’t say that. What am I to do? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about last night but I couldn’t find the words… then it was too bloody late. They must have found out; discovered who I am. They’ve been following me. I don’t know what to do for the best any longer. You’ve got to help me, Seb. I reckon I’m safe for a while with those bastards all in a sorry state but the Baldesis can afford to pay others.’
I almost told Jude he should have thought of that afore he stole Chesca away from her family, under cover of night. But it was too late to point that out now. It could not be undone.
‘I cannot promise you any miracles but I shall make enquiries. I think you must be prepared to leave London though, for a while, at least. Would you be willing to work?’ I chewed thoughtfully, attempting to recall the details of something I had overheard during a recent meeting of the guild at Stationers’ Hall in Amen Lane.
‘Work?’ He voiced the word as if it were a foreign tongue to him. ‘What sort of work? The bloody guild banned me, if you recall?’
‘Aye, which be why I can but enquire. At the last guild meeting, Master Collop said…’
‘He that bloody banned me!’
I ignored his exclamation.
‘Master Collop said he had received a request from Westminster. From the king’s French-Italian Secretary, no less. The office deals with correspondence in those tongues particularly and a senior clerk there has died recently. They be asking for a likely replacement but, thus far, though a few know French, none with any knowledge of Italian has come forward. If I could persuade Master Collop that you would not bring the guild into disrepute, as you did afore, he might see fit to reinstate you and recommend you at Westminster. If your language skills be good enough? You may find safety at the king’s court, you and Chesca. The Baldesis would not dare to attack you there, in a palace full of guards, with courtiers thronging every passageway and chamber. What say you? Shall I make enquiry?’
‘I’d owe you a favour, Seb, if you did.’
‘You owe me a tally’s-worth of favours already. What matters one more betwixt us? I shall do what I may. Meanwhile, you best find somewhere to hide. Mayhap, Dame Ellen would give you sanctuary in our old lodgings. I believe they stand empty at present.’
‘Take Chesca to that poky little hole?’
‘I think safety be more important than comfort this once. Chesca will understand.’
‘You don’t know her.’
‘True. But if lives – yours and hers – depend upon it…’
The Foxley House
Having eaten and taken the headache remedy, I went home. Thaddeus would know where to find me when he wished to question me but I hoped he might allow me pause to recover fully. Despite having slept upon the stool, I yet felt worn to the bone. Fighting for my life was not a common occurrence, Jesu be thanked, and I ached from head to foot. New bruises appeared by the minute, blackening tokens of last night’s debâcle.
Besides, I had yet the king’s commission to fulfil and, in addition now, a visit to Master Collop was required upon Jude’s behalf. That conversation must employ diplomacy and careful wording on my part, if I were to persuade the Warden Master of the Guild to have my brother’s name relisted upon the guild roll. What I could make of Jude’s virtues to argue the case, I knew not. Knowing somewhat of the speech of Venezia and Firenze was little enough, yet I must create of that adequate reason. I would not lie to enhance his recommendation. To do so would reflect badly upon me, if he proved less than I made of him. I valued my position as a rising guildsman too much to take the risk, even for my brother’s sake. Mayhap, that was selfish of me but I had the responsibilities of a household and business and a hard-won reputation to maintain, if I were to succeed in these things.
Having given but a brief tale of last night’s happenings to everyone, enough to content them with the promise of a full accounting when Thaddeus arrived – as he surely would – I sat at my desk and arranged my brushes, determined I should paint a half-page miniature or two and think matters through more thoroughly afore he came. I did not. Rather, I fell asleep there, at my desk, my head upon my folded arms.
Adam roused me to say Thaddeus was come and dinner was about to be set upon the board. The bailiff’s timing was perfect on this occasion – a rare day when it was otherwise but he was ever welcome with an invitation of long-standing.
‘You should not have let me sleep so long, Adam. ’Tis a morn entirely wasted in slumber.’
My cousin shrugged.
‘You looked exhausted. I hadn’t the heart to drag you from your dreams.’
‘Dreams? Nightmares more like.’ I winced as I stood, wrenched joints and bruised flesh complaining. I vowed most fervently that ne’er again should I fight with any man. God be praised, I was not born into the knightly class with combat as my craft and trade. A sharpened pen was weapon enough for me. ‘Does Thaddeus intend to eat afore questioning me? The subject hardly sits well with enjoying our repast.’
‘So long as we get to hear all about it.’ Adam looked far too gleeful at the prospect of a gory tale. ‘You promised us and I can’t wait to learn how you fought off a trio of murderous felons. You, of all people, the hero? Who would have thought it, eh?’
‘Who says so? ’Tis unwise to pay heed to gossip. How often it befalls a fabric of fiction, errors and plain lies.’
I went through to the kitchen. The bailiff sat at the board but rose to greet me, bowing in fact!
‘All hail, Sebastian Foxley, mighty Vanquisher of Foes.’ He laughed. ‘And how are the wounds of battle?’
‘Do not make mock. I hurt too much. And I know not how you come by this ludicrous notion that I…’
‘Your brother is telling the whole of Cheapside and Farringdon, all who care to listen, that you fought off three brutes and saved his life and Mistress Foxley’s.’
‘Why would Jude do that? Belittling me, come what may, be more his way. Besides, Chesca saved her own life without aid from any man, least of all me. I used a stool as a shield and threw the ruffians’ hammer back at them. That was all. Oh, but I found this, Thaddeus.’ I gave him the iron nail. ‘That and the hammer may be evidence sufficient to solve our three murders.’
‘’Tis just like the others.’
‘Aye, but unbloodied, God be thanked. I fear they intended the same gruesome end for my brother.’
‘Is he likewise a debtor to the Baldesis?’
‘He says not, but stealing away their daughter would likely do their name as much dishonour as counterfeit coins.’
‘His new wife is a Baldesi? I didn’t know that. Your brother lives dangerously, Seb.’
The conversation lapsed as Rose served us a fine dinner of beef spiced with anise and cinnamon, served with a green pea pudding and alexanders in batter – a favourite of mine, as she well knew. I suspected this meal was a thanksgiving for my survival. I ate my fill, content that Thaddeus kept his necessary enquiries ’til after, else it would be a pity to spoil such fine meats with talk of dour happenings.
After dinner, since it had begun to rain, Thaddeus and I retired to the parlour. It would not do for his notes to get wet, if we talked in the garden. However, I left the parlour door ajar and arranged the settle for the bailiff such that he had his back to the open portal. I was unsurprised to see that Adam and Kate remained in the passageway betwixt the parlour and the workshop
since I had promised they should hear my story in full. No doubt but they would convey the details to the rest as soon as may be.
I told Thaddeus all that I knew and could recall. In truth, it was not well told forwhy the events had occurred so swiftly. It was no easy matter to untangle them and arrange them in sensible order. It seemed to have happened all at once and, likely, in time enough to recite but a handful of Paternosters. My telling took longer, even though I embellished naught.
‘So you threw the hammer and it caught your brother’s assailant in the face, or in the eye, to be precise?’
‘’Twas but luck where it struck him.’
‘Jude tells it otherwise.’
‘Oh? I do not think I misremember it.’
‘He says you flew at the wretch, clouting him repeatedly until you could wrest him – Jude – from his would-be killer’s hold.’
‘I recall no such acts. Did the miscreant suffer so many blows?’
‘Not according to the surgeon.’
‘Then it must be the case that Jude yet suffers from the shock of it and tells it awry. I see no cause for him to make me out his most strenuous defender, exaggerating my deed. ’Tis quite unlike him.’
‘Perhaps he would make you out a hero in recompense.’
‘A hero?’ Or – the uncharitable thought came to me of a sudden – a scapegoat, should the ill-doer die of his injury? Or the pot of honey to attract any other Baldesi wasps that might come seeking revenge? Nay. I must not do my brother such injustice. I set those unwelcome possibilities aside.
‘Indeed. You’re London’s hero of the hour. Make the most of it, Seb. There could be a few free cups of ale in it for you at The Panyer or elsewhere.’
And, thus, my tale was told.
Epilogue
In the weeks following, we completed King Edward’s gift for Lorenzo de’ Medici, Lord of Florence, in time for the king’s examination afore the merchant-ambassador’s departure. Vegetius’s De Re Militari, though I say it myself, was the most beautiful work to come out of the Foxley workshop thus far. Mallard’s emerald was an exquisite centrepiece upon the gilded leather binding, set about with the rainbow colours of the Ravenna mosaic tesserae. The miniatures and decorated initials were sumptuous in the gold and vivid pigments and Adam’s script was faultless. We were justly proud of it.