The Cardinal's Court Page 19
‘Come with me when it is safe.’ Once again I spoke Gaelic; saw him take a quick glance around and then join me in the shadowed archway.
I waited until the boys came back and then with a quick gesture to Colm moved along beside them on their journey back to the wood yard and then slipped through the gate to the south-east. Colm followed closely on my heels and neither of us spoke.
There was a pathway sheltered by a hedge on either side and I went rapidly along it, thankful that it was not gravelled, but was just grass underfoot. Quite soon it finished and then, looking in the direction of London I spotted the little woodland of bare-twigged willows. Now I broke into a run. I could not afford to miss the next barge and I didn’t quite know how long it would take to row down the stream that joined the river.
I saw the pond first. It was constructed so that the stream flowed into it, through a metal grill and then out again through another grill so that the water would remain fresh and the fish were trapped inside. The skiff was there, as she had told me, at the far side of the pond, facing down stream, tied to a tree. Another huge and ancient willow had fallen into the stream at some time. Its crown – branches and all, had been removed, but a section of the trunk had been left in place and the rounded surface of this had been roughly planned into a makeshift jetty. The boat itself looked old, but well maintained, painted black both outside and in – something which I guessed must make it very difficult to see in the distance. I gathered my dark mantle around me, beckoned to Colm to follow me, took my seat, lifted the oars and then a figure appeared from behind the trees. For a moment I feared my watcher had managed to follow me despite my precautions, but the voice was gruff and cracked, a familiar voice.
‘Not so fast, Master Brehon, if you please. I’m coming with you.’
13
My heart lurched unpleasantly and I tasted blood on my tongue as I bit through its tip. For a moment I had thought it to be the king’s serjeant, but it was only this stupid boy.
‘I thought that you were up to something,’ said Tom Seymour breathlessly. ‘Let me in or I’ll tell the king’s sergeant that you are off. He’s been telling Harry Percy that he is keeping an eye on you.’ He grabbed a branch and swung himself into the boat.
‘Get out,’ I said between my teeth. I clenched my fist around the oar. Colm looked at me for instructions.
‘As you please. Should I give the serjeant a message to tell him when you will be back and why you are leaving in the kitchen boat, not going in the barge like a gentleman?’
He had me there. I held the oar as a threat, but he was too clever not to guess that I would not knock a boy of his age insensible. It was not in me. I couldn’t do it to a child. I didn’t want to take him with me, but how could I convince him to let me go without him?
‘Look, Tom,’ I said coaxingly. ‘Just keep your mouth shut about this. You and I are friends, are we not? I did give you an hour’s practice and teach you a lot of tricks on the tennis play, didn’t I? And who knows, the next time I go there I might teach you some more.’ I wished that I could bribe him, but I was going to be short of money for myself if I did.
He wasn’t fooled. ‘You’re going to look for James, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way. I just want to make myself scarce for a couple of hours. The serjeant has threatened to have me beaten and I thought that if I could hide until my brother Edward comes to Hampton Court for supper this evening, then I might escape. Edward is in high favour with the cardinal. He’ll intervene for me. But it would be best of all to go to Westminster and come back with Edward. That way, I can have plenty of time to explain everything to him. It was just a joke, anyway, making that slide in the courtyard. How did I know that he would come down with such a bump?’
‘Well, come on, then, take that oar and make yourself useful,’ I said roughly. I suppressed a smile. It was an ice slide, I supposed, probably cunningly disguised with a scattering of sawdust. Now that he had appeared he just might be useful. Tom had a knack of getting on well with everyone. Also, he had his bow and arrows with him and this would give an excuse for appearing at the riverside, half a mile away from the official Hampton Court jetty. I would tell the boatmen some tale about forgetting the time while we were hunting and this would account for our unscheduled arrival.
‘How much money have you on you?’ he asked casually as we came within sight of the river.
‘What’s that to you?’ I strained my eyes towards the west. It was not dark enough for torches, but the light was fading fast.
‘I was wondering how much you are going to give me to keep my mouth shut about something that I know.’
‘Keep rowing,’ I said roughly. ‘By God, you’ll never make a decent tennis player if your muscles are as puny as that.’
This annoyed him, as I knew it would. He made the water fly behind us as he scooped energetically with his oar.
‘That’s better,’ I said after a minute. I was finding it quite hard to keep up with young Tom. He was certainly an asset to me in the boat. He was looking at me hopefully so I relented. ‘Well, tell me now what you know,’ I said.
‘James, well James and the artist lady, what’s her name, Mistress Horenbout, well they were …’
‘I know all about that,’ I said glancing over my shoulder. ‘Stale news, my boy, stale news.’
‘Not just that.’ He was stung by my assumption of lack of interest.
‘So?’ I made the boat leap with a vigorous sweep.
‘So Master Pace caught them,’ he said in my ear. ‘They were in the archery house. We heard Master Pace shout, myself and Francis Bigod. We thought there was something wrong and we came running in.’ He stopped for a moment to breathe, or perhaps to visualise the scene and I heard him chuckle to himself before he resumed with an energetic sweep of his oars. ‘And then I could see her pulling her shift down over her head. She had nothing on. I could see her … well, you know what. Francis went out – he’s very religious – but I stayed hidden behind that big wooden press.’
I bet you did, I thought grimly, but I said nothing. The less interest I showed now, the cheaper the price later.
‘Master Pace was in a wild temper. He was roaring and yelling at them, threatening all sorts of terrible things. He said that he would get the cardinal to send Mistress Horenbout back to Flanders, that she would be disgraced.’
I was busy prodding a floating branch away from the boat with my oar as the words came to my ears and said nothing. In a cursory glance over my shoulder at the floating piece of timber, I glimpsed his face. Like most boys of his age, he would have stared avidly at the half-naked woman, but that did not prevent a shrewd youngster from correctly estimating the value of his information once Master Edmund Pace was rumoured to have been killed by James Butler. As for James himself, no doubt that the man had made threats against him, also, but the cardinal was a broad-minded man, and the instructor of the wards would probably not have bothered him with such a matter. No, the most serious threat was to Susannah, and James was an earnest and conscientious young fellow. That would have filled him with fury, especially if he had any hint that Master Pace desired Susannah for himself. I remembered the hints dropped by Master Beasley, the cook and was fairly sure that he had been talking about the Flemish girl when we had the conversation about knives. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Master Seymour’s information might be enough to hang James if Dr Augustine persisted in saying that the man had been killed by the arrow with the initials J.B. scratched into it.
‘Five shillings,’ I said after a minute. James and I would be on our way to Calais by this time tomorrow, I hoped, but Susannah was left behind and I owed it to her, for James’s sake, to safeguard her position as much as I could.
‘Make it ten,’ he said.
‘Twenty-four groats and six pennies. And that’s my last word,’ I said.
He considered that. In groats and pennies it probably sounded better to his young ears. The Seymours of Wolf Hall were not rich
. There was a large family of them. His eldest sister was Mistress Jane Seymour, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, and there were, I seemed to remember, another six or seven of them scattered around in various posts at court or among noble families. Edward, the oldest brother, now at court in the household of Princess Mary, had been brought up by the cardinal, as was young Tom now.
‘Done,’ he said. ‘I won’t say a word to the cardinal.’
‘You won’t if you know what’s good for you. And hold your tongue now. When we get on the barge, leave the talking to me. I don’t suppose that you want to be found with a knife between your ribs, do you?’ I purposefully made my voice aggressive. This boy was going to be a nuisance to me. He was sharp and inquisitive and I would have to lose him in London before I went anywhere near to James. And then on the still air I heard the rhythmic sound of oars.
We were now in sight of the wide expanse of the Thames and Tom put all his energy into his strokes. Like most boys of his age, he enjoyed an emergency and I found it difficult enough to keep up with him.
The interesting thing was that, even before I raised a beckoning hand, there was a shout from the man with the tiller and barge had slowed down and begun to steer its way towards us. I allowed Tom to do the work now, while I sorted a piece of silver from my pocket. In theory as a guest of the cardinal I need not pay. In practice, small coins grease the wheels that made life flow easily in this place without ties of clanship and community, such as I was used to back in my homeland.
‘What’s the best way to get from Westminster to Bradstrete in the city of London?’ I put the question to the steersman and saw young Tom turn an interested face towards me. I could see how his lips silently repeated the word. Well, even if he were minded to play the traitor, that piece of information would not do him much good. I wished him luck in exploring the many streets in London City.
‘Bradstrete, Master, well, that’s a tidy way. That’s near to Austin Friars, isn’t it? You could have had a word with Master Cromwell if you had thought of it. He lives by there. He generally takes the ferry from Westminster Steps to the Temple Steps or else you could hire a horse, sir. Very good stables at Charing Cross, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. If there were good stables at Charing Cross, I might be able to purchase a pair of horses there. Much as I regretted my own horse and James’s horse, it would not at the moment be safe to send for them. No, I would have to draw on my master’s credit with Sir Richard Gresham and then buy a couple of horses. In the meantime, I would follow Master Cromwell’s example and get the ferry from Westminster.
I bade a brisk farewell to Tom after ladling out his bribe which he pocketed instantly. And then I and the silent Colm went straight down towards the Westminster steps in order to find a ferry. I did not dare even have a cursory look around to locate ‘Canon’s Row’. Master Seymour was a bright young man and would be alert for any such move on my part. I doubted he would follow me to the city, though. He would have to make contact with his brother or else he would be in double trouble when he returned to Hampton Court.
Nevertheless, I made sure that I was the last one in the queue to board the ferry and that there was no sign of the boy anywhere. And while I was making conversation with Sir Richard Gresham, while I drank a glass of his excellent wine, greeted his wife and admired his three-year-old son Thomas – ‘Sharp as a needle, I do assure you, Master Mac Egan’ – I still made opportunities to go from time to time to the window of his splendid house and look down on the busy street, just to make sure that I had not been followed.
Westminster was even more crowded when we came back. I had thought to suggest to Colm to have a look around the abbey and other sights, but the boy looked terrified of the crowds so in the end I suggested that he waited at the steps until I came back. He could pass the time looking at the boats and barges and I could easily pick him up from there as soon as I made contact with James. I did not want to bother the lad with any extra information in case matters went wrong so told him only that I had an errand for the cardinal. He seemed happy to do this and promised that he would not stir until I returned and so I left him and went in search of James.
I had reckoned that if I could find St Stephen’s Church, then I would be well on my way to finding Canon’s Row. But it wasn’t as easy as that. I seemed to be wandering in circles, always ending up by St Margaret’s Church, every time I followed the sound of chiming bells. Eventually I stopped a priest.
‘Reverend Father.’ I removed my cap at the sight of priest clothed in a floor length surplice.
‘My son!’ His hand automatically rose to bless me, though I caught a sharp look of curiosity from his eyes as he noticed the different accent. I hoped that he would have no contact with the Seymour brothers.
‘I’m looking for the king’s poet.’ That was better than saying the name, but I wasted my time.
‘Master Skelton,’ he said loudly and with a note of commiseration in his voice. ‘I do hope, my son, that you have not come a long distance to see this man.’ He waited for me to explain my business, but I waited also and my silence lasted longer than his. ‘He is very ill,’ he said eventually. ‘By now, indeed, he may well be dead. God bless his soul.’
‘Ill?’ I repeated.
‘A case of the sweating sickness,’ he explained, dropping his voice and he looked around furtively.
‘The sweating sickness,’ I blurted out. ‘But I had a letter from him this very morning.’
‘Ah,’ he said sadly. ‘You are a stranger here, my son, or you would know that they say of the sweat: “Merry at dinner; dead at supper”.’
I had heard of the expression and the tips of my fingers, even inside my warm gloves, grew icy cold. What if James was also ill? I had to see him.
‘I should wish to do honour to his remains,’ I said stiffly. ‘Would you be kind enough to direct me to his house?’
He stared at me as though I were mad, but lifted his hand and pointed to a narrow laneway. ‘Go down there and you will find Bridge Street,’ he said. ‘The unfortunate man lives, or lived in Canon’s Row. You will find another laneway that will bring me you to it.’ He gave a quick glance at me. His face looked as though he had seen enough of me, that he was beginning to be suspicious that I, too, might be bearing an infection and he sketched a cross in the air a few safe cubits away from me and then hurried off. I was glad to see him go. He had a loud, carrying voice and I wished that he had not mentioned Canon’s Row.
It took me some long fifteen minutes or so wandering up and down small laneways until I found the name, ‘Canon’s Row’ etched into the side of the first house on one of them. The houses here were a better quality and from one a trim man servant issued forth on an errand. I was wondering whether to chance using John Skelton’s name again when I saw another of the doors open and a young man thrust an anxious-looking face out from it and look up and down as though waiting for someone.
‘James!’ I exclaimed. In a second I was beside him. ‘Quick!’ I said. ‘Let’s get inside. I may have been followed.’
He did not move, but stayed standing squarely in the doorway. ‘Don’t come in,’ he said. ‘We have sickness in the house.’ Once more he looked down the road. ‘Where the devil has that man gone? The blackguard, the cowardly hound. I bet he has absconded. I sent him for a cooling draught. John Skelton is very sick.’
‘I know. The sweat. I heard it from a priest.’
He snorted. ‘He didn’t offer to hear a dying man’s confession, though, did he? Bet he’s the one I sent the serving girl for. She hasn’t come back either. Hugh, could you go to the apothecary? Down there on Bridge Street. You’ll find it easily. You’ll see bunches of dried herbs in the window.’
‘And then we’ll talk?’
‘Never yet managed to shut you up, have I?’ Suddenly he seemed more like himself. He certainly did not appear ill in any way, though I tried to avert my mind from that fatal phrase of the priest’s. Merry at dinner; dead at supper.
I rushed down the road as quickly as I could. The bell at Westminster Abbey chimed the noon hour and I grimaced with anxiety, blaming myself for agreeing to run this errand. Still I had a good sense of direction and Bridge Street was not large. I could be there, make my purchase, tell James the position, buy a couple of good horses at Charing Cross and then we could be off before, if we were lucky, one o’clock of the afternoon.
‘The sweat, is it? Man or child?’ The apothecary was wearing a strange mask and he sniffed continuously at an orange stuffed with herbs and spices. ‘Drop a groat into that bowl of vinegar,’ he ordered and only when I had done that did he produce a flask from his shelf. ‘Pour two spoonfuls of this down his throat three times a day. If his jaw is clenched, break a tooth or two and open it with a chisel. He’ll thank you if he recovers.’
‘Will he recover?’ I asked, dropping the groat into the pungent liquid and then adding another. ‘Give me two of these,’ I ordered. James, I remembered, had been with this man, Skelton, and might succumb to the illness while we were on our journey. I would take the remedy with me so that I was prepared. I had heard a lot about the sweating sickness in London. It started with a shivering and then sweating. The cardinal had told me how he had had the disease several times but always recovered. James was young and healthy, surely healthier than an overweight, middle-aged man, but I would take no chances. I would insist that he did not go too near the sick man, just leave the medicine within reach.
James was waiting anxiously on the doorstep for me when I came back into Canon’s Row.
‘God’s bones, I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life,’ he said. ‘He was fine. He was having fun slipping lines into that poem of his, and then he walked down to the wharf to send you the note. I needed some money, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered you, Hugh. But when he came back he was shaking from head to toe and his teeth were crashing against each other.’
‘James,’ I said urgently. ‘You have to get out of England before Monday. The cardinal can do no more for you. This affair will be left to his serjeant and Master Rushe is determined to believe that you murdered that man, the instructor of the wards. I’m off to buy a couple of horses at Charing Cross. I’ll be back in less than a quarter of an hour. Be ready for me by then.’