Actually the mood at the Inns went a good deal past discontent. Hate and loathing were more appropriate descriptions, and all because of a play. A few years past, the Cardinal had been invited to the Christmas celebrations at Gray’s Inn. They always put on a very impressive series of plays and entertainments, usually with a moral message amongst the usual prat falls and jokes. That particular year the theme was ‘Ambition and Greed displacing Lady Public Weal’. The Cardinal was not impressed with the allegory and sent the master of the play, John Roos, and one of the clerks, Thomas Moyle, to the Fleet prison for an indefinite stay. He’d seen Roos hobbling around the Courts. The time spent in prison had broken his health and he looked nearer sixty than forty. That made Ned burn with an indignant righteous anger that the Lord Chancellor, the overall authority of law in the Kingdom, could treat a respected man so poorly, leaving him without recourse to the laws of the land. Another of the players had been Simon Fish, who had prudently fled to the Low Countries where he had produced a book, ‘A Supplication of Beggars’ slamming the practices of Wolsey and the clergy. Ned had seen some smuggled copies around the Inns just a few weeks ago. From the few parts he’d read the work was very clever, claiming that the Church was the leech draining the commonwealth of its lifeblood, and pleading with the sovereign to rein in its greedy practices. So this was added fuel to his ‘bonfire of vanities’. If one of those secret, despised Lutherans had walked up right now, Ned would have embraced him as a brother and begged for enlightenment. He couldn’t do any worse considering the circumstances.
Ned was roused from his fierce reverie when his companions turned into the open yard of the Inn, led by the wary Roger, who cast a cautious eye at the motley selection of patrons drinking, eating or checking horses. Their escort bypassed the usual courtyard clutter, and spoke quietly to one of the lamed veterans sitting at a bench basking in the last of the autumn sun, and then soon beckoned them inside. It appeared to be a familiar haunt, for all the group received was a discrete nod from the innkeeper as they walked up the stairs to the private rooms in the second storey. Gruesome Roger paused outside the fourth door at the end of a narrow corridor, and lightly tapped the timber panels in a simple staccato rhythm. A moment later the door swung open, and led by Mistress Black they filed in, their menacing looking escort last.
It was a very typical room for an inn-not very large with a sturdy timber framed bed set against the wall, flanked by a narrow bench that ran along the wall under a small window. A couple of stools scattered around the periphery completed the main inventory of furniture. It was not luxurious, but could be considered modestly comfortable depending on how well the exterior stone wall kept out drafts on a cold night.
But that was all background to the man who dominated the room. He was young, probably only a little older than Ned, maybe just hitting eighteen years of age. In any market crowd this lad would stand out. Cheery smile and cornflower blue eyes not withstanding, his sheer height and bulk would dominate any gathering. The lad must have been well over six and a half feet tall, with heavily built shoulders to match. Now Ned himself was an inch above six foot and he always found his handsome features and fine nose set the girls a sighing, but if he walked in after this young Adonis, none would notice him as the new Hercules blotted out the sun. This fellow was a giant. Whereas Gruesome Roger put one in mind of a rangy wolf of nasty disposition and burning hunger, this lad was his opposite, an oak of a man with a winning smile and open friendly blue grey eyes.
No wonder Bethany preferred him. That fleeting sour thought was soon swept away as the dam of memories cracked, releasing a tumultuous cascade of recollections. Ned shook his head and staggered. A tree limb sized arm held him upright as his mind sort to arrange the returning memories. The lifting up of a dray, the deposit of a heavy bag of gold into his hand, the flash of white teeth and a broad grin over a firkin of ale. Then Ned looked from this young Adonis to his recent escort. Why hadn’t he seen it before? She’d been the reason they’d gone to the Cardinal’s Cap. All this damned effort just to catch up with family. Mistress Margaret Black, apprentice apothecary, was young Adonis’s sister!
Gruesome Roger shut the door and locked it with a timber crossbeam. Ned’s wits must still have been dulled from his various injuries. It took more than a moment for him to notice. That was an interesting addition to the internal hardware, heavy enough to halt even a battering ram. Usually in a tavern you were lucky to have even the most rudimentary lock. Ned’s daemon gibbered in panic warning of a trap. He took a deep, steadying breath and tried not to panic. Escape was now impossible-out of one prison into another.
While he was mired in indecision and returning memories, a pair of strong arms lifted him clear off the ground, and wrapped him in a chest squeezing bear hug. Arrgh…Oh, no, an ambush! His first instinct was to fight back, the second to curse Mistress Black, while the third was the urgent need to breath.
“Put him down you brainless puttock! I’ve only just bandaged his ribs!”
That sharp admonishment came from an unlikely source of rescue, but Ned took it gratefully as he collapsed onto one of the stools, dragging in a revivifying lungful of air. By the Saints, how had he managed to offend Mistress Black’s brother? Did he try for a quick fumble at the Cardinals Cap? Not likely. Considering her prior slaps he would have remembered that! After the black spots had cleared from his eyes, he looked at his assailant. It may be that Ned had misread his reception, for the young man was grinning broadly, fair to split his face. Those fine teeth were more prominent now, not one missing, lucky fellow!
Oh no…thud. He only had a moment to brace before a welcoming buffet stuck his shoulder. What did Master Black do for strength, wrestle bulls or tow barges up the Thames using only his teeth?
“Red Ned Bedwell! Tis good to see you praise the Lord! You had us worried.”
“I did?” It was all the answer he could make and unfortunately came out more as a cathartic wheeze, but that crushing welcome had been enough to trigger a few more memories of that same loud friendly voice raised in song and laughter.
And suddenly he was back at the brawl outside the Cardinal’s Cap as a cudgel descended towards his unprotected side only to be deflected at the last moment by the Mistress Black’s brother. “Ahh, I seem to owe you for saving my head from being caved in but I confess that I can’t seem to remember your name.”
The smile slipped from Adonis’s face and he glanced towards his sister. She shrugged and answered. “There’s a lump the size of a goose egg on his head. Such a blow has been known to stall a man’s memory. He claims he remembers little of that night.”