However his easy solution didn’t satisfy his companion. Margaret Black’s consideration of his response looked more like someone who had taken a mouthful of tart verjuice and was too proud to spit it out. “That won’t do.”
Ned sighed. Somehow he expected there to be an added complication. Over the past year he had come to expect as much when dealing with the affairs of Meg Black. “Why not?”
“You saw how they were found.”
He nodded.
“We-ell, the customs officials thought the same as you and are reporting it to a higher authority.”
This was starting to sound very expensive. At this stage most of the lawyers he knew would be escalating their fee. “How much higher?”
Meg Black took a moment to consider her answer. To Ned this pause presaged ominous tidings. “You know the King’s annulment and Wolsey’s replacement have created a stir in the city?”
Ned gave a wry shrug. A stir-that was a very mild way of stating it. Since the savage anti clerical session of Parliament over winter, the repercussions had been felt everywhere in the kingdom, and from what was said at the Inns, overseas as well.
Meg took that as clear consent and continued. “You’ve heard the proclamation expelling suspect foreigners?”
Ned nodded. He’d definitely heard that one. It had been issued, as the Lord Chancellor claimed, to protect the kingdom from the subversive actions of those who would abuse the King’s Majesty and his laws. In theory it was to get rid of any deemed not supportive of the king’s nullity case. This included all Italians, especially any who could be agents of Pope Clement. However it had also been extended to Imperial citizens from the German Lands or the Low Countries, who may have been suspected of Lutheran sympathies. As expected, a large number of merchants petitioned men of influence regarding their sincere loyalty-he heard it cost about two hundred gold angels for that patronage.
“So, what’s that to do with this ‘matter’ Meg?” Ned’s daemon cursed ominously as Meg Black gave a deep sigh of frustration and crossed her arms again before she replied in that annoying rote fashion used to teach children. “It’s a foreign vessel Ned, with murdered Hanse citizens Ned. Add the gruesome scene and the customs men, Ned, and so we have questions of precedence and authority, Ned.”
At this stage of the confession, Meg Black should have looked demure and repentant, shedding remorseful tears like all the best deportment masters advised. No, thought Ned with bitter regret, that wasn’t going to happen. The saints wouldn’t be so kind. ‘Precedence and authority’, that foreboding phrase rose up before him like a cresting wave. By ancient rights and practices, these deaths should be handled by a London inquest empanelled by the Lord Mayor. In more normal times it would be. However these weren’t normal times and this unnatural slaying involved ‘suspect foreigners’. Oh damn, he should have seen it coming! Why was that it that during the normal actions of life they kept on bumping up against the plans and ambitions of the powerful? They really didn’t need this complication. He’d just got over the perils and injuries of the last crisis and those cursed debt petitions! Now with ominous certainty they had attracted the attention of the one man in London it was best to avoid.
With a resigned sigh Ned asked the obvious question. “When can we expect More’s pursuivants?”
Meg Black’s eye’s widened in surprise. She seemed impressed by his reasoning, though Blind Ben would have seen it. Just mix foreigners, murder, heresy and a hint of connection to the Rich family together, then behold. Like a Bartholomew Fair conjurors trick, the figure of the new Lord Chancellor automatically pops into view. He’d salivate over this little conundrum. It was only a few weeks ago that the new Lord Chancellor had sent out a command to all local magistrates to impound all and any heretical books and any person whose possession they were found in. More was pulling all the levers of state in his quest for heretics.
Meg Black gave a brief shrug and a very reluctant answer. “Maybe tonight, more like tomorrow.”
That didn’t leave much time for action. Ned pressed on with an instant solution. “Can you remove your, ahh, cargo?”
Once more Meg shook her head in reply. “No. Jefferys, the customs master, will be watched by now. Not even another bribe would help. More’s men have been sniffing around the docks for the past two months and their attentions have the customs men too terrified to sneeze.”
That sounded about right. Sir Thomas More could rip up their letters of patent in a trice, and unless they were first cousin to the Dukes of Norfolk or Suffolk, they could bid farewell to their not inconsiderable post fee. Worse still, he’d heard rumours that the Lord Chancellor was considering linking the charges of Heresy and Treason together. It was just speculation at the Inns of Court so far, but a very dangerous one.
Ned dismissed the theoretical threat and pushed on with the practical. “How long would it take the pursuivants to find the cargo?”
Meg Black gave a very satisfied smile. “If they’re very smart and diligent, five days at the earliest.”
Right, well that gave just over a week considering the dim witted buffoons More was reputed to have in his service. So that meant back to the business at hand. Ned lent towards the window and took a couple of deep, corpse free breaths, while he had the chance. “I think we need to have another look at the deceased.”
In reply he received a very arched eyebrow and the beginning of one of her famous frowns. Since Ned could see Meg Black was shifting back into verbal affray mode he snapped out a rapid justification. “Not that I like doing it! But, if, as you insist, Joachim couldn’t have done what is before us, then we need to find out what happened!”
That eventually forced a short nod from Meg who then copied his gulps of air, before they both moved carefully back to the incriminating bunk. Ned had his hand on her arm, just in case she fainted. He’d already lost the contents of his guts so it was his duty to pull back the pile of covers.
The older man was about five and a half feet tall and of a heavy, portly build. He lay naked on top of the body of a boy who looked close enough to fourteen. They both had the fair blondish hair that was common with the Germans, along with the leaner features of the northern coast. At the distance of a few feet, it was very evident they were related-the same short nose graced both faces. Now it was a matter of trying to figure out what had happened.
Ned had done some philosophy at Cambridge. It had been strangely interesting, certainly when the professor dealt with Socratic argument and the ideas of St Thomas Aquinas. It held a few interest ideas such as the simplest solution to any problem tended to be the right one. However, as he continued to view this scene, that philosophical concept was turned on its head.
He could see why the officials had leapt to their conclusion. From the position of the bodies, he’d thought the same. The ahh, conjoined-ness, didn’t leave much to the imagination, even his daemon agreed. And a quick view was all you really wanted before the sight and smell made you splatter your last meal on the deck.
Ned forced himself to take more time over the inspection and the closer he looked, the odder the scene appeared. “Meg, how much blood would you say a body has in it?”
It was a good distraction. She was looking distinctly pale and kept on making short swallowing gulps with a cloth pressed to her face. “Dr Caerleon could tell you for sure, but mayhap four or more pints.”
At her mention of Caerleon, the physician and astrologer at the Gryne Dragone, Ned winced. He neither liked nor trusted the old man and the raising of his shadow at this case of suspicious deaths, sent a shiver up his spine. Instead of letting that apprehension seize hold Ned once more pushed into the safe realm of the mundane. “That sounds about right. When we killed pigs about the same size, the blood would fill a small tub. So…where is it?”