Ned whistled a carefree tune as he took a place by the fire in the revels room of the Sign of the Spread Eagle. The day hadn’t turned out so bad after all. The church bells were ringing what he calculated to be five o’clock. Excellent, that meant an hour until the serving of the evening feasting, though there should be the odd pie or savoury tart to snack on till then. As for the St Paul’s affray, that had worked out for the best. The retreat to Greyfriars originally had him cursing, especially as Meg Black fussed over Walter, like a mother hen over a chick, so much so that Ned’s daemon was chiding him over the serious miscalculation. At this rate it had whispered, Walter and Meg would have a prenuptial contract before the week was out. The most that Ned had been able to do was absolve himself of the blame for the punks. Good old meek as a cony Walter had readily backed him up. He’d smiled at that performance. Oh the irony, being defended by poor little lamb Walter, when Ned been the one with mischief in mind. His daemon had chuckled over it for hours, though of course his better angel had disagreed, reminding him sternly of duty and Christian charity.
Then in the midst of the St Paul’s punks debacle, Meg Black had received an urgent plea for a list of medicines from one of the small chantry hospitals that the Guildhall sponsored. Since her twin cousins and uncle were elsewhere, that left her alone to mix up and prepare the requested remedies. Ned had offered, kindly he thought, to take Walter off her hands, since it was going to be both busy and boring here for some hours. To forestall Meg’s frowning hesitation, he also quietly reminded her of Lady Dellingham’s stricture regarding Walter’s ‘unbalanced humours’ not to mention his usual reaction to the presence of the infirmed. The possibility of having to deal with either a fainting or puking Walter could have been what swayed Meg’s decision. Or perhaps it was his solemn promise that her brother was as good a warden as she could find. Either way Walter was his for the night, a prospect that had him grinning in anticipation. Even better, Gruesome Roger was required as Meg Black’s escort, so he needn’t expect any more inconvenient summons. Yes!
Walter’s introduction to the Christmas Company had gone down well, especially when Ned had mentioned that the lad’s family were acquainted with Councillor Cromwell. You could accuse the juniors at the Inns of many failings, but their take up on court associations was phenomenal, even after hours of carousing. After an initial response of eye bulging amazement, four generous tankards of sack helped Walter the cony to fit right in. Thus, after the travails of the day, Ned had a chance to relax and enjoy the celebrations. He leant back against the panelled wall and took a deep draught from his pewter cup. As promised, the sack was indeed a good drop-sweet, strong and brimming with flavour. That had been a damn fine piece of work hitting Ralph Sadler for the name of a reputable merchant in the wine trade. Councillor Cromwell’s secretary certainly had his ear to the ground, though as Ned had discovered, any man working for the newest Privy Councillor had best ensure that their master was well supplied with only the finest. Cromwell had worked in both law and trade before Cardinal Wolsey had snapped him up as a secretary, so the man knew all the ins and outs of the merchant’s game.
Ned also had no doubt that Councillor Cromwell also brought this same degree of thoroughness to his Royal service. He, himself, had been tasked with several assignments already. Nothing extensive or risky just simple checking up on a number of past members of Parliament regarding their properties, business dealings and marriage relations, more or less the common tasks of the menial apprentice lawyer or clerk in any matter that came before the courts. As to why, well Ned wasn’t stupid enough to ask. He was already vulnerable without playing the nosy pursuivant.
He nibbled on a sugared plum and surveyed the room. As requested they had two large rooms with an adjoining door. The larger main room had a large table flanked by benches where the company sat for the feasting. The north end held a pair of smaller tables each with a spray of stools. On one of these, Reedman had set up his chess board and was challenging all comers at a shilling bet a game. The other, at present, had a two fellows competing over a game of backgammon. It was a casual game so the stakes were usually only a penny. To avoid problems Ned had imposed a set of rules on all games. Firstly he supplied the cards and dice to avoid the possibility of any fullans; dice with lead weighting or gourds which were slightly irregular and tended to come up with the same number when rolled by a skilled cony catcher. On the whole, Ned was trusted as honest, mainly because he was known around the Inns as the most knowledgeable when it came to the cony tricks of crossbiters and diceman in Southwark. Perhaps a left handed compliment, but you took praise were you could. The other proviso was that all disputes had to be brought to Rob Black and his ruling was final. Any further complaints and Tam Bourke would step in. The company had seen Tam throw out a few interlopers already and so they held that promise in high regard.
Then of course they came to the nobility of indoor games — cards. The current favourites around the Inns were Bone Ace and Ruff and Honour. With some humility, Ned considered himself a master of the play. He’d already gained five shillings in a few low bidding games yesterday and was seeking to improve his purse, though that would be later in the night. For now, as the evening dark drew in, Ned considered it a perfect time to teach their honoured guest the pleasantly diverting game of Hazard.
Walter, as he’d seen so far, was fitting right in. He’d taken to venison pies with a passion and had amused himself with a short game of chess with Reedman, which he’d good naturedly lost very quickly. Right now he was taking his ease at the long table, listening gape mouthed to the other clerks as they swapped complicated tales of serial adultery and pre nuptial contracts from recent court cases. Between the judicious application of strong sack, the food and their trio of diaphanously clad musicians, the lad was mellowing out nicely. In fact Walter was getting a real education in the ways of London. Ned had noticed that his charge’s eyes constantly drifted over to the blonde haired lass playing the harp. Anthea had been a blonde as well. Hmm, his daemon slyly suggested a few little scenarios that may prove useful later. In the meanwhile it was time to inculcate Walter into a more convenient sin.
Rising up from his perch by the fire, Ned sauntered over to the long table, and clapped his charge on the shoulder. “Walter, care to join us in a simple game of chance?” Ned put down a horn cup containing two carved dice and gave it the slightest rattle.
Walter looked up at him with those bulging eyes of his and blinked nervously. “Ahh how…how do you play it Ned? Is it complicated?”
“There’s nothing to it Walter. If you can count then you’ve got it.” Ned’s angel chastised him for the lie.
Hazard was not a game for those of poor memory, so the usual ploy for crossbiters and cony-catchers was to ply their marks with brandy wine or distract them with low bloused punks. As it was, Ned quickly outlined the game. You could only have two players, a caster and a fader, though the audience could place side bets on each plays outcome. First, the players of Hazard placed side bets amongst themselves, ‘laying’ and ‘taking’ the odds as to whether the "caster's" or "fader's" point would be thrown first, since the odds against a six being thrown first before a five, were different from those of a five being thrown before a seven or a nine before a ten, and so on.
As Walter still appeared puzzled, Ned played a demonstration game with Brett Harrison, one of his fellows from Gray’s Inn and a passable expert of the game. “Watch this Walter. I place my bet, in this case tuppence, within this circle we’ve drawn in chalk. Now I tap the cup with the pair of dice over at Harrison’s circle and we’ll assume he agrees to the wager. Then I cast the dice.”