As it transpired, he needn’t have fretted. Lady Fortuna in the guise of his Aunt Elizabeth swept in to remind his ‘honoured’ guardian that he’d promised to take her and the children to the first of the Christmas celebrations at the Mercers Hall. That was just as well. Three hours of enduring Uncle Richard’s disapproving snorts at his efforts had strained the bonds of service. If the old fool had sneered at his transcribing one more time Ned would thrown the pile of papers and the frozen ink pot at him and be damned. However a miracle had happened and the Christmas piety had penetrated his uncle’s hard and flinty heart. Thus he was released. At the news Ned’s oldest cousin, little Henry, some seven years old, had capered, jumped and squealed in excitement. Young Hugh though just chuckled and gurgled at the performance. At barely a year he wriggled and kicked bundled in a warm blanket. Luckily Ned had remembered to plead a prior rendezvous with his friend of last year, Rob Black, over at Williams the Apothecary. So apart from a suspicious glare from Uncle Richard, he was exempted from the chaos of the family jaunt. While Ned still chortled at the mummers’ plays, his more mature seventeen years gave him the desire to seek out the more refined pleasures London had to offer.
Just as well. He had plans for this afternoon to increase his share of festive cheer. And they didn’t involve the Rich clan. Since the conclusion of the Cardinal’s Angels affair two months ago, Ned had done some serious thinking regarding his prospects for the winter. That significant success had improved the weight of his formerly lean and starved purse. If he wanted to be regarded as a gentleman, it behoved him to look the part. Witness the heavy green woollen mantle with fur edging, new black hose and a velvet-edged and lined doublet of the best scarlet cloth. This sartorial splendour, apart from keeping him a great deal warmer, had raised his status amongst the other apprentice lawyers, as did the rumours of his part in Cardinal Wolsey’s fall. The result was the enacting of his Christmas plan. Of long standing custom, come the twelve days of celebration, the apprentice lawyers tended to scatter to their homes, though a few gained lodgings in the city with the relatives and patrons family in the city. This usually left fifty or so lads at a loose end. While it was true that the various Masters of the Inns had made provision for their comfort, it tended to be under a watchful eye, so the festival cheer was usually rather muted.
Ned, being a kind and generous fellow, had commiserated with his companions in misery and suggested a possible solution to their woes. If perhaps several of them pooled their resources, a ‘friend’ with connections might arrange a set of private rooms above a reputable tavern. Then that ‘friend’ could also supply the party with all the necessities of cheer, roasted capons, venison pies, sweet berry subtleties, and of course a goodly quantity of the finest sack. Also to complete the scene of Roman Idylls, a bevy of well disposed maidens skilled in harp and song would be at hand. Also for those wishing to compete in a gentlemanly fashion, there was bowls, or chancing the Hazards at dice or even the friendly card game of Ruff and Honour. In fact for accommodation, diversions, drink or provender, Ned reckoned he had it all covered, unless one of the more bucolic of the students began to pine for the dubious woolly pleasures of the country.
After that pitch, Ned had laid out the final incentive — a spot at this magnificent repast could be had for the modest price of only one angel. The response had been astounding. Some thirty had handed over the required sum, while he’d accepted four shillings and a pledge from three more keen to join. That alone gave him a clear profit of ten angels after the expenses of room, company and provender, though the retention of one of Captaine Gryne’s more presentable retainers had been a little pricy. Despite the fact that his ‘friends’ were gentleman of a sort, the towering presence of Tam Bourke should provide sufficient incentive for a peaceable companionship, no matter how much sack was downed.
“Hey Ned, the first course is here, come on over!”
A flourish of harp strings and a drum roll on the tambour announced their arrival along with a resounding chorus of cheers. Ned turned with a ready smile and breathed deep the rich aroma, as his Christmas company left off their diversions and clustered round the table. The first of several trays appeared, borne by the tavern’s servitors. Ned walked over towards the repast and on the way accepted congratulations from several of his guests. It was only an hour or so in and already the good cheer was spread liberally around.
A pewter cup of sack was thrust into his hand by a large lad with brown tousled hair and blue eyes. The cup bearer towered over most of the gathering and unlike them was dressed in plainer clothes of a dark blue hue, though it wasn’t just his lack of lawyer’s garb that set Rob Black apart. For one thing, his appearance was extremely unlawyerly — at over six foot in height and with broad shoulders that looked strong enough to lift an ox. While Ned had a similar height, his hands only had the calluses’ and ink stains of a clerk. Though he was justifiably proud of his physical skill in a brawl, it couldn’t compete with the heavy craftsman’s trained muscles of his friend. Work with iron and foundry had fleshed out Rob’s build to that of a young Hercules. What’s more he also had a clear honest face, untrammelled by the daily deceits of the courts, as well as a pleasant disposition that had the girls sighing in raptures over his welcoming smile. Ned had found that aspect mildly frustrating when they’d gone drinking in the city taverns. All the girls and punks instantly fell for Rob with his cornflower blue eyes, while Ned Bedwell, handsome, well dressed apprentice lawyer, as his daemon sourly affirmed, was an after thought — though Rob was too good a company so he ignored his daemon’s whining.
A now freed heavy hand thumped him companionably on the shoulder. “Ned, this private Christmas feast is excellent, thanks for inviting me!”
Ned returned the smile. Asking Rob Black to be his business partner in this venture didn’t need any consideration. Lady Fortuna had blessed him last year when he’d been at his most desperate with barely two groats to rub together. Rob had been rescuing a poor abused country goodwife from the rough frolics of some city apprentices, as Ned had been passing by. In that glorious moment Ned had seen the golden gift of opportunity. He’d put across a credible story and immediately enrolled Rob in a cony catching play, all to recoup a hundred angels from the notorious Paris Bear Gardens owner and Southwark gang lord, Canting Michael.
It had worked brilliantly and despite what Rob’s sister, Meg Black, continually claimed, Ned couldn’t be held to blame if the immediate aftermath had involved a number of unforeseen complications. After all, how was he to know they’d be accused of the murder of a Royal official? Or have an urgent need to clear their names of treason by consorting with a supposedly deceased doctor who was a practitioner of the dark arts of divination? It was said that the politics of the Royal Court under their beloved sovereign, King Henry VIII, could be dangerous. That had proved to be an understatement. It was mercilessly vicious with friendship and loyalty only smile deep.
Though that peril was now consigned to the past, here and now was a time of celebration. Ned raised his cup. “My good friends and companions, I give you a toast, on this, the eve of Our Saviour’s birth. Good health, good cheer, good company and may we all be as drunk as bishops by Twelfth Night!”