“Aye the lads do.”
“Do you know who owns the Cardinal’s Cap?”
Gryne gave a short nod of assent, and Ned pulled out a few more of the Cardinal’s Angels and carefully placed them before his host. Gryne picked one up and scrutinized it closely. He then bit it, seemed pleasantly surprised, and slipped the coins into his purse. “Lord o’ Norfolk. His town palace is o’ by Lambeth ‘nd his strong arm gillie is Skelton. He’s the man who sees ta the weekly bite o’ gilt.”
Ned had clasped his hands together. By the saints it was so simple. The answer lay in Southwark all the time! He spun another coin across the table and asked his most important question. “What’s he look like, this Skelton?”
Master Gryne made a few stretching motions with his hand indicating a very decent breadth and height. That sizing twitched a couple of memories up for comparison. Was it familiar?
“He’s a black beard thick enou’ for’ a beastie, an’ likes fancy blue worked doublets. A northerner I reckon fro’ his speech.”
This definitely sounded like Blue Brocade. The link to Norfolk was conclusive and fitted in with the warning from their friend at the Tower. At last a name to a face, the seeker of Smeaton’s secrets. Ben Robinson was proving astute again. Ned idly spun across a few more of the Cardinal’s angels. He could get used to spending like this, and he’d thought of a way where the good Cardinal could assist them with the next stage in this venture. “Your lads, would they be up for a bit guarding if the pay was right?”
Gryne grinned displaying a couple of his broken teeth, flipped one of the golden coins in the air and deftly caught it. “If’n there are more like this ‘un, yea’.”
Ned had the stirrings of a plan and the addition of Gryne’s men would ensure they all lived long enough to complete it.
The messenger returned from his errand a couple of hours later and happily received his reward. Despite the continued complaints and sniping of Mistress Black, the rest of the company prepared for their venture back across to the city. It had been a gratifying experience to Ned that both Rob and Gruesome Roger had deferred to his plan. Maybe his daemon hinted they’d suffered once too often from someone’s overweening hubris.
As predicted the Cardinal’s Angels ensured a very safe journey to the wharf at St Mary Overie’s stairs. After securing a large two rower wherry, the company and their protectors headed upstream past the walls of the city to the wharf at Ivy Bridge Lane close by Savoy Palace. In Ned’s opinion it was time for a different tack so he led them via the Strand to Charing Cross in search of a stable. He was damned tired of running and hiding through the warrens and back lanes of the city. To do so again was a foolish invitation to ambush. So his plan was to skirt the northern edge of the city and ride through the surrounding countryside then enter at Moorgate which was about a hundred paces from the White Lamb Inn. Simple, fast and safe.
Anyway from what he’d heard from Gryne, Cavendish for one was still mired at Southwark’s High Street Cross, trying to find out where the Watch and one very helpful master Thomas Fischer of Rotherhithe had vanished to. The short missive he’d penned that morning and sent off probably muddied the waters. In the guise of the every helpful Master Thomas, he’d claimed to be searching the marshlands past Lambeth Palace after a suspicious report of the known rogue, Red Ned. In the meantime no doubt the Cardinal’s vessels still plied the lower Thames in their vain search. As for Canting, not even Suffolk could pay him enough to cross Captaine Gryne. Two foes down cheered his daemon!
Once they’d found a decent ostler Rob Black came into his own for he proved an excellent judge of horseflesh. Much to the stable master’s disgust, Rob failed to fall for the usual tricks of chivvying up a horse on their last legs or disguising the brands and features of a stolen beast. The fellow became even more disgruntled when he saw the gold coins being paid over. With loud mutters of “old copper noses”, he squinted to take a closer look. Then in sudden and startling act of generosity he offered them sets of good quality harness at a ‘reasonable’ price so long as it was paid with more of ‘those angels’. Ned’s happy mood took a turn upwards as he witnessed Master Black, the bane of market hucksters, set the stable master to right and routed out the hidden decent sets of harness. It must have almost broken the ostler’s heart to have the worn and decayed saddles thrown back in his face.
The first hurdle of his leadership had been passed, no pursuit and now an easy ride. Ned was satisfied he’d foreseen the pitfalls and so he could plan ahead with confidence. The Royal Court was on progress somewhere out in the country and he’d prefer to get horses now rather than during the desperate rush that tended to accompany their peregrinations.
The afternoon’s passage turned out to be a very pleasant ride via St Martin in the Fields then swinging around to the open land of St Giles. The autumn weather still had the lingering glow of summer’s warmth and the colours of the leaves, brown and golden, gave the copses and orchards a dappled appearance. Even Mistress Black had dropped her accustomed scowling glare towards him and occasionally laughed at some tale one of Gryne’s men was swapping with Gruesome Roger. However Ned in the main ignored her and she likewise returned the compliment. Despite the island of smouldering isolation, the journey around the city lifted Ned’s spirits. He felt that under his skilled direction the venture may have a chance after all. Thus buoyed up he rode with a jaunty air. He was proving his uncle amongst others mistaken and the satisfaction was exhilarating. The party had easily yielded to his natural superiority, as was his right and privilege as a man of learning and position. When this affair was concluded and they’d acquired the errant gold, he Edward Bedwell would have all the qualifications of a gentleman. Thus he could begin his rise according to the natural grace of Lady Fortuna.
In the meantime Ned took the opportunity and chatted with Rob Black as they trotted along the damp road. His judgment on that glorious day about young Samson had been correct, and now he was discovering the true value of Rob Black’s skills, one of which was his knowledge of the arcane arts of ‘Great Gonnes’.
As it happened, Robert Black was a journeyman artificer or smith who was apprenticed at the Gonne foundry at Houndsditch, past Aldergate, a mile east of Moorgate where they were heading. An uncle on his father’s side was the master there and they worked on the great ordinance at the Tower, as well as other weapons of war such as the new harquebus and hand weapons that Rob swore could punch through the best plate armour at about thirty paces. Ned also learnt in the next couple of hours all he had ever wanted to know about the more personal weapons of maiming, from daggers through to the latest advances in sword designs from Italy and France. His friend’s extensive knowledge of the implements of battle left him more than a bit stunned and overwhelmed. After all, like most other youths of his position, he had done the expected training with the longbow and sword and he’d heard the modern theories of combat discussed and weighed by some of the more militant members of the Inns of Court. But his friend’s natural understanding of the new technologies left them behind as bumbling amateurs.
It was a diverting trip and to a far measure had restored youthful optimism. The sun was dropping towards the west and approaching dusk by the time they dismounted at a small inn immediately outside Moorgate. With some relief Ned left Rob to engage in the usual complex negotiations for accommodation and stabling with the Innkeeper. As with other parts of the city, the demand for building had burst past the old walls, and houses now spread out into the soggy land of Moorfield along the road to the north. To Ned’s eye it wasn’t an inviting place and he wondered how long it would be before some enterprising Londoner figured out how to drain the marshy ground and divide the land for the city’s expansion. He pulled his doublet closer around his throat to ward off the spreading chill damp. For him the future was a step closer. The Cardinal’s Angels whispered to him, just follow our promise.