Master Robinson pointed to his left and swept his arm in a full arc to the far right. It took in most of the inner ward. “They’ll use the ones from Bell Tower around to Bowyer Tower.”
This was looking pretty daunting. Between both groups they only had twenty five men. How were they supposed to cover all that area? He should have insisted that Meg yield those dozen men she’d seized for the ship.
“Why them?”
“Cos I hid all the keys, and only told them where the ones for Lion, Beauchamp and Devereux towers were.”
“What, why do that?”
“Firstly Ned, I wanted to stay alive. Each tower bought me a couple of days.”
Ned shut up. That was a pretty compelling reason. Master Robinson sounded extremely strained. Ned had only seen the results of the powder sorters plots. They’d struck him as particularly evil and callous. Being in their hands for several days would lead to all manner of inventive techniques for ensuring cooperation. At that moment he was glad it was dark. He didn’t want to see how they had persuaded Ben Robinson. He felt guilty enough as it was.
The ordinance official turned to Norfolk’s retainer. “Master Skelton, if you send your men over to the north wall and rip out any slow match cord or powder trails leading to the base of the towers, we’ll scotch these traitors. The quickest path will be along the ramparts from Wakefield Tower.”
Even in this limited light, Ned could see that Skelton wasn’t happy about being given orders. He slowly shook his head. “I’s after that Spanish rat. Where’s the catamite goin’ tabe a hidin’?”
“Beauchamp or Martin on the northern wall has the largest stores. He’ll be there.”
Skelton paused in thought before giving a short nod, and quietly moved off towards the gate of the inner ward.
Ned heaved a sigh of relief. That was one more enemy dealt with, though here in the passage between the inner and outer walls, the silence was eerily disturbing. Ned shivered. Too many ghosts walked here. He’d enough haunting him already. “Excuse me Ben, I’m a bit confused. What’s going on? Why send off half our force?”
The formerly missing royal official lent towards him and whispered. “Do you trust him?”
What kind of question was that? Ned didn’t even have to think about it. “Hell no. I’d trust a weasel or a Frenchman first!”
“Nor do I Ned. Nor do I. Over there he keeps busy while we go deal with Don Juan Sebastian.”
“You know where he is?” Ned wanted Don Juan Sebastian really, really badly. That damned Spaniard had cost him too much pain and humiliation. It was time for recompense.
“After a fashion. The White Tower is where Welkin will be. He’ll know the full plan.”
Ned gave a secret smile of satisfaction. Skelton was going to be furious when he found out he’d been cozened-again.
They kept to the deeper darkness by the walls, following after Skelton’s band, and hoping to avoid detection, Ned had one pistol out with the spring wound in preparation. It may be noisy to use, but he didn’t think it was any more risky than a bout of sword play. More unconscious guards were leaning against the heavy timber gate. The false monks had used them as convenient door props. Ned pushed himself flat against the wall at the last edge of darkness, before the wan light of the gate lanterns. He hoped that Skelton’s lads had cleared any lookouts from above. They should’ve. If the tales were true, northerners had a habit of night time murder and cattle stealing.
He was about to move through the gate when the echo of footsteps and clinking froze him in place. Then there was a loud thud as if someone had dropped a box. “Damn you for an aged measle louse. Pick it up and hurry!”
Ned gave a slow predatory smile and sent a silent pray to Lady Fortuna. Everything did come to those who waited!
As an ambush it was easy. They waited by the wall for the shuffling party to pass by, pretending to be more unconscious guards. After they had passed Ned and company quietly stood up, followed them to Traitors Gate and grabbed them before the water stairs. “Sir Welkin, good to see you again.”
The Master of Ordinance almost screeched with fright. Ned, however, had his left hand over the open mouth, while another shoved a pistol meaningfully into Sir Welkin’s back. His small band of retainers took even less effort to secure. So much for loyalty.
“All right Welkin. What’s going on?”
If any man could be said to be a quivering in his boots, then it was be Sir Welkin. He shook and shivered as if he had a severe bout of the palsy.
“I…I…I don’t know. I escaped from that Spaniard and I’m…. I’m… No you can’t…”
At that point his trembling brought a halt to his inventiveness. Ned had bent down and opened one of the iron chests that his men had so clumsily been carrying. Even the dim light was enough to see its golden contents. Well! It appeared Sir Welkin was doing a runner on his companions in treachery.
“Sir Welkin, at a guess this would be the payments for the powder?”
Tam looked down into the chest and then ran his finger appreciatively along the notched edge of his cleaver. “I reckon he gets ta axe.” Tam could be very perceptive when it came to lawful execution.
Master Robinson though shook his head. “No Master Bourke. This is high treason. It will be the full display on Tower Hill.” Then in a voice full of kindly concern, he explained in detail the full measure of punishment for treason-hanging, drawing and quartering. His former superior gibbered in fright, pleading for mercy, until Ned showed him the path of salvation.
Slowly and carefully they rowed the wherry along the moat, oars quietly dipping into the water. After the right incentive, Welkin had been very helpful regarding the full extent of Don Juan Sebastian’s plot. It was very clever. In their passage, Ned had a brief space of quiet to ponder the simple elegance of it. If you wanted to destroy a kingdom why bother with engaging expensive armies to march around in the mud, endlessly besieging forts and cities? Far easier and cheaper in one fell swoop to exhaust their powder supply, destroy their Gonnes, level the mint, wipe out the royal treasury and leave a great ruin as a symbol of English impotency.
So to do all that, the monks were spread throughout the Tower defences, watching for the signal to light their fuses and successively demolish the keystone of London’s defence, section by section ending at Lion Tower. That final bastion would be blown after they’d crossed the last bridge to Tower Street. And here Belsom’s company was supposed to march across London to Whitehall where they’d expected to join and rally with the Queen’s adherents. Ambitious, insane and unless they stopped it, still possible.
Ned tried not to panic. It was difficult to tell what time it was, but Don Juan Sebastian must have had at least an hour or more to set up the final stage of his demolition. Now he could only hope that Skelton and his barbaric crew were hard at work slitting the throats of monks and ruining powder trails. Right now he prayed that their improvised plan worked. They were almost at the bridge. Any moment now…
***
Chapter 34. The Lion’s Roar, The Lion Tower, Night-time, 10th June 1
The Tower complex, while being the seat of Royal power was, still at heart, a fortress meant to overawe and defend. The fact that it had rarely ever had to withstand siege or assault was irrelevant. Successive monarchs had incorporated all the new innovations of military architecture as soon as money had permitted, and no where was better than the Tower, where the King’s ‘might’ could be viewed and celebrated by his loyal citizens of London and visiting foreigners, while for the Guilds it gave a certain satisfaction to see where someone else’s taxes were spent. As part of this defensive design, in the past it was considered useful to have a two stage bridge over a moat. The first bridge spanned from the bulwark Petty Wales to Lion and Middle Tower, followed by another bridge to Byward Tower which gave access to the passage between the inner and outer walls. Very clever, very secure and very difficult to sneak through, as long as there was someone keeping watch.