A rousing cheer rang through the feasting room and the assorted apprentice lawyers and clerks hammered the table in a drum roll as the rest of the trays were laid out. The loudest cry came as the roasted pig made its way through the door. Ned had planned the revels to begin with a well laid feast of some fifteen courses, including poached salmon, venison pies and a march pane, almond sugar centre piece in the manner of the gate house of Gray’s Inn. That had been particularly difficult to organise. However Meg Black surprisingly offered to solve the problem. No doubt in her position as an apprentice apothecary she’d have sugar and spices by the pound, as well as access to more extensive kitchens. As the three foot tall subtlety was carefully displayed on the two tier buffet table Ned consoled himself that Rob’s annoying sister had come through and without levering an invitation. That was convenient. He didn’t know how he would have explained the diaphanously clad maidens playing the harp, shawm and tambour in the corner. She wasn’t the kind of lass who’d accepted the excuse of a Christmas tableaux in the manner of Ancient Romans.
Since he was host, Ned had taken a seat at the head of the table and after one of their number intoned an appropriate pray for the day, began to tuck into the first course, the venison pies. It was one of the specialties of the Spread Eagle Tavern. Henry Simkins, the taverner, was known to supply the Barber Surgeon’s Hall at Muggle Street. As all the lads at the Chancery knew the provender at their celebrations was almost as fine as the Mercers Guild, the wealthiest of the London guilds.
Ned was happily swapping the latest tale of Cardinal Wolsey’s woes with John Reedman, one the Chancery clerks, when Tam Bourke, their intimidating door warden, lumbered over to him and bending down, whispering loudly in his ear. “Ned there’s a’ messenger fo’ yea at the stairs.”
“Do you know him? Who’s he from?”
“Oh aye. He’s that grim faced livery man o’ the apothecary lass yea sweet on.”
Ned stifled an immediate retort denying the fact. Any rumours of his affairs of the heart or otherwise were not something he wanted bandied about amongst the gossips of the Inns. By the description, that could only be one person, Meg Black’s looming henchman, Roger Hawkins or as Ned preferred to think of him, Gruesome Roger.
“Tam, is it a tall, scar faced fellow with an iron shod cudgel hanging from his belt?”
“Aye that be him.”
Ned pursed his lips in thought. When he’d called around earlier, Meg Black had been busy with her common apothecary duties mixing herbs and the like. She hadn’t expressed any need for his company and apart from a brief snippy jibe at his propensity for including her brother in dubious enterprises, she’d been passably friendly for a change.
Ned leant across the table and asked Reedman to play the host while he dealt with his caller. His fellow clerk from Gray’s was reasonably dependable and had a good reputation at the Inns for solving arguments of precedence.
He’d left Tam on the landing as he made his way down to the bottom of the stairs. The Blacks’ retainer was standing on his own by the fire, giving the tavern’s customers a quizzical scowl. The recent snow melted and steamed off his cloak giving him the appearance of a visitor from the nether regions, an image not improved by the scar that ran across his face half closing his right eye. That was Hawkins all right. No one else in London could match that cynical visage, not even the leering grotesque carvings in the parish churches.
The retainer’s roving eye quickly caught sight of Ned and he strode over to the foot of the stairs and growled out his message. “Hey Bedwell. Y’re wanted at the apothecaries immediately, so stop guzzling wine and stuffing your face.”
Ned stepped off the last tread and consciously straightened up. They were of similar height, though Gruesome Roger had the lean and rangy appearance of wolf. In Ned’s opinions the lupine cousin had more manners. “I do not come or go at the beckoning of Mistress Black! I have business here this evening. Kindly give her my regrets.” Ned made an effort to put all the disdain he felt into that rebuff, though the answer didn’t appear to sit well with Meg her retainer.
Gruesome Roger frowned and shook his head. “Y’ right, of course Bedwell. What am I saying? Y’r y’r own master o’course. By the way y’r cods are unlaced.”
Instinctively Ned glanced down to check. The evil cackle of Gruesome Roger told him he’d been cony catched.
“So yea haven’t started with the bevy o’ punks y’ got up there? Just as well Mistress Margaret told me to fetch y’. Whether you got your hose on or around your ankles makes no difference ta me.”
Ned’s temper, never on much of a tight rein, spurred him to lash out with his own retort. “You loathsome lewdster, Hawkins. That’s a gathering of gentlemen up there, not some tumbledown ale house, like you inhabit where they hump poxed punks against the wall ‘cause they can’t find any sheep that’ll have them!”
Gruesome Roger was still for a moment, then his sneering grin returned. “Oh Bedwell, by God’s Blood, afore the weeks out, y’ goin’ to rue those words. Y’ll be wading through a river o’shit to beg my forgiveness.”
“If wishes were fishes, Hawkins, your net’d still be empty.” Ned turned his back on the unwanted messenger and began to head back up the stairs. A hand grabbed his sleeve pulling him backwards.
Ned spun around put a hand on his dagger and snarled. “Unhand me Hawkins. The Blacks may treat you as family, but damned if I don’t know you for a common foister!”
“Y’know Bedwell, any time you want, it take only a moment to tumble y’ in a ditch. Anyway enough cosseting, are y’ coming or do I tell Cromwell you refused his summons?”
Ned froze. Cromwell was involved? Silently he cursed Gruesome Roger. The cozener had played him and he’d fallen for it. Ned ground his teeth in suppressed anger. By all the damned saints and cursed devils! Gruesome Roger gave him one of his gloating grins and nodded at the unasked questioned. Damn, damn, damn! That cunning trickster had trapped him. Ned knew he had no choice. Uncle Richard may have been his master, but Thomas Cromwell, newest member of King Henry VIII’s Privy Council, was his patron and good lord. From what Ned had learnt of his new lord’s habits, Councillor Cromwell didn’t like tardy servants.
***
Chapter Two: An Unwanted Task
The snow had looked so pleasant from inside the tavern. Trudging through it though reduced Ned to a string of damply chilled bitter complaints about his lords and masters. And that gloating bastard Gruesome Roger! What was so damned urgent that that foolish herb dabbler sent her looming minion out to menace and threaten his attendance? It was warm and comfortable back at the Spread Eagle Tavern. Good company, plenty of sweet sack and they’d just begun to serve the first feast! He’d barely even started that venison pie and it had smelt so delightful. Just to rub salt in the wound, his daemon incautiously reminded him of the lost opportunity of cards and dice. Damn that summons! He’d planned to reap a dozen angels or more from the Christmas games of chance. Worst of all, he’d been forced to leave Rob Black in charge. Now the feasting would be fine, but the lad had too open and honest a face to deal with the practiced deceivers of the law courts in a round of Ruff and Honour. Despite that mounting frustration, Ned steeled himself and strode grimly on in the wake of the long legged Roger.
As the world currently stood, it behoved Ned not to upset Cromwell. The former secretary to Cardinal Wolsey was now a rising star of the Royal Court. He’d even spoken in defence of his cast aside lord and master in the recent Parliament. Now considering that to the Commons, Wolsey was as popular as a visitation of the ‘sweats’, that was either extremely brave or the height of folly. Only a man certain of Royal favour dared take the chance. Ned, it seemed, wasn’t the only one to profit from the Cardinal’s Angels. Cromwell, for his minuscule efforts, had reaped the richer rewards of Royal patronage, while he aided by Rob Black, his troublesome sister Meg and of course Gruesome Roger, took all the risks of solving the combination of treason and murder.