His response seemed to silence the vocal opposition. She ‘humphed’ quite loudly and turned around again showing them her stiffly set shoulders. Ned hoped that was the last effort to usurp his newfound leadership. The ploy with Norfolk and Suffolk appeared to work, drawing out her real connections to the Boleyn household. Now in normal times that link would prove very useful and profitable. However this week was as far from normal as possible without being in the land of Faerie. He’d got the firm impression from Cavendish that his master the Cardinal was pulling on all the levers of power, and as Lord Chancellor only the King could countermand him. Their one chance was, as far as he could see, gain the royal ear. If Will Coverdale was correct in his assessment of Wolsey’s position, his ‘loving master’ the King was cooling in his ardour and respect for his first minister. So their choices narrowed to one and he couldn’t see any other way.
Ned loathed what he was about to do, but then nothing else offered a chance, so he spoke up. “I have a way into the royal household.”
An instant later Ned had gained their complete attention. Even Mistress Black unbent to scowl curiously over her shoulder. “My uncle could get us in. He just needs convincing.”
For some reason Ned’s revelation didn’t have the effect he’d expected. His companions stared at him as if he’d been dancing in the moonlight. Then the argument really started.
The discussion continued though that was probably a mild term for the ‘robust’ debate that followed. For the next hour frequent intervention by Rob Black halted the escalation to blows, while Gruesome Roger sat back watching the performance with what was plainly an amused grin. The final grudging concession was mainly acquired through Rob’s calm negotiation. Ned was beginning to see him as the most sensible member of the Black clan, perhaps the only one.
Anyway the consensus was that a message should to be sent to Master Richard Rich to meet his nephew at the White Lamb by dusk as per the prior arrangement. Five of the Cardinal’s angels were included, wrapped and sealed in a small folded package, as both an incentive and indication of the gravity of the matter. From sheer common sense, Ned had made the letter extremely brief and vague, while the messenger, one of Gryne’s men was impressed with the importance of his venture. Though Ned thought the fellow’s attention was more held by the promise of two angels for his service.
After that hard won argument Ned felt it would be much safer if he waited in the tavern commons, away from the still seething Mistress Black who’d taken a grumpy set against the decision. So Ned took a seat at one of the tavern benches and slowly worked his way through bowl of pease pottage and a small jug of ale. Whoever the brew master was he should be commended. It was damned good, light in taste but full of a golden honey flavour with the aroma of new cut spring grass.
While he was taking one more lingering pull at the firkin Redbeard sauntered over and pulled up a bench opposite. “Dr Agryppa reckon’d we sh’d talk.”
Ned pulled up a spare tankard and poured a full measure of ale for his new bench companion. Redbeard’s broken smile flashed as he accepted the offering. In one long draught he casually emptied it without drawing breath. Ned hid a grin. Gulping Jimmy would have been impressed at that feat. Of all their party probably only Gruesome Roger understood the full implications of being sheltered here. Ned had seen it last night, when the Black’s retainer had relaxed his wary guard after the meeting with Caerleon. Ned, no stranger to Southwark, had a partial understanding of the undercurrents that dominated the south bank of the Thames. Since this area was split between the jurisdictions of several ecclesiastical lords, it was in effect subject to an ‘absence’ of law. Gryne’s Men filled that void and lapped out. Ned had heard rumours about a ‘tavern’ where a gentleman could hire men experienced in affray to bulk up a retinue or perform an unspecified ‘task’ involving menace like debt collection or to avenge an insult. The sight last night of the tavern’s clientele and their wall decorations confirmed for Ned that rumours fell far short of the truth. The Gryne Dragone was London’s version of a mercenary guild hall such as was to be had in the German lands. Now the Lord Chancellor may believe he retained these men for guards, possibly via Smeaton. However the truth was Wolsey’s gold didn’t count as much as the debts and respect. This companie held for Caerleon. That was a fact that Ned planned to use to his advantage.
Redbeard dropped the empty firkin to the table with a satisfied sigh and wiped the froth from his great forked beard. Now that Ned wasn’t convulsed with fright he could see the similarities between father and daughter, same eyes for one. His daemon sagely suggested flirting with Nerys might not be a good idea. He tended to agree. Her lithe figure and long hair wasn’t worth a pounding by Captaine Gryne. Caerleon hadn’t mentioned the name of his protector-that was let slip by Nerys. Gryne was renowned as the commander of the mercenary companie, the ‘Krekers. In the past wars in France he’d saved Suffolk during an ambush by grabbing one of the duke’s assailants, had broken the Frenchman’s neck and swinging the body around him, had used the body as a weapon of convenience. Having met the real figure of legend he’d believe the man capable of that and more.
“Thankee lad.Tis a fair draught, an’ a friendly act.” The voice came out once more as a rumble but it was less threatening in the morning. Captaine Gryne’s eyes glowed with a speculative humour. “Yo’ know lad? I’ve heard tell of yea, Red Ned, the master o’ the’ pit! Purr Mick Cantin’s in a rit’ stir ov’r yea feat.”
Captaine Gryne tugged at the ends of his forked beard and his tone held a fair degree of inquisitiveness. “Noowr,Cantin’ he’s nout a lad to cross. Best if’n yea kept away fro’ his parts o’ town. Since ye’r friends o’ the Doctor, yea hav’ the safety o’ my lads, the bond o’ Gryne on that.”
For Ned that was much more reassuring to hear than the doom laden interpretations of Caerleon. Over his meal Ned had been considering this island refuge in the rowdy streets of Southwark and how it must worked. Curious he posed a question to his host. “You control the bull baiting past Dead Man’s Place don’t you?”
Redbeard broke into a wide grin. Somehow it made his features even more disturbing. The jagged broken teeth lent an added menace. “Aye I do, fro’ there back ta Long Southwark an’ all o’ New Rents. The bishop o’ Winchester pays me ta guard his palace, while yon prelate o’er at Lambeth gives silver ta upset his neighbours, while that butcher’s brat, the Cardinal, is ever ready to hear o’ the mischief o’ his fellows.”
No wonder Gryne was so relaxed. He was receiving payment from everyone as well as controlling a reasonable patch of the Liberties. Except for…“Canting Michael has the Bear Gardens next to the bull baiting and Paris Gardens. That’s odd, since he has the eastern part between Southwark Road and Gully Hole. Why?”
Redbeard chuckled deeply and gave Ned a thump on his shoulder. “Doctor said you’re sharp. Tis simple lad! Came ta an understandin wit Mick. He’s can ‘ave those parts o’ the west, but he pays a toll.”
Ned winced at the friendly blow and nodded in comprehension. That made a lot of sense. Captaine Gryne was clever. He had the lucrative paths of Southwark under his rule. Canting Michael cleared a generous amount of gilt at the Bear baiting, but to get back to his ‘domain’ on the other side of the ‘Liberties’, Gryne levied a fee for ‘protection’ and so kept a very close eye on his rival.
“You look after all the taverns, inns and stews here don’t you?” It was more in the way of a confirmation than question. If Gryne controlled access to the Bear Garden then only a fool wouldn’t look after the other assets as well.