Ned had grown up in London and knew its people and quirks as well as any lad. While it was not quite the sink of depravity and whoredom that some market place preachers like the earlier friar had claimed, nor was it an abode of saints. So he had before him a difficult question. There must be hundreds of pounds worth of goods here so having slain the only guards and having most of the night to pilfer the cargo why hadn’t they? Or, had they? Ned frowned at this suspicious consideration. As far as he could tell nothing had been moved. The hold appeared to him packed solid with sacks and barrels. From his experience last year, only a thorough perusal of the bills of lading could prove what, if anything, was missing, that was if those documents could be believed, and considering Meg Black’s hidden trade, forgery was all but guaranteed. Ned considered that it was well past time for a long talk with Meg Black over the ‘common practices’ of trade.
This thought got pushed to the side as the echoing sound of an argument above drew everyone’s attention. Ned frowned at the distraction, and wiping his hands on a nearby pile of sacks, made his way up to the deck, closely followed by the search party bearing the grisly trophies. His arrival was opportune since the deck was now crowded with a new contingent of visitors. Lord Chancellor More’s men had arrived, led by short squat fellow with all the finer aspects of a toad topped by a helmet replete with scarlet plumes while the two nervous customs men stood behind him, whether as support for Master Scarlet Plumes, or shielded by the same, it was difficult to say. Their most recent guest, Master Scarlet Plumes was puffed up to a dominating magnificence of about five feet, maybe a tad more if the towering helm was included and was currently arguing with Mistress Black. Ned smiled and shook his head. It was a fine performance in the best traditions of London street theatre, full of spark and fury, fine stuff and damned entertaining.
Finally with a certain amount of regret, Ned stepped in. “Sir, if I may have the honour?” He deliberately pushed in front of Meg Black. From her glower it was an unappreciated rescue.
Master Scarlet Plumes spluttered a bit at the interruption and switched targets. “Who the hell are you boy?”
Ned doffed his cap and gave a very respectful bow, as if to an equal. “Edward Bedwell, sir. I have the privileged of serving Thomas Cromwell of the Privy Council in this matter.”
That introduction had Scarlet Plumes turning as red as his feathers. His eyes seemed to bulge at the insinuation of any prior claim. “By the devil’s black arse you are! This vessel is impounded by the order of the Lord Chancellor and Bishop Stokesley! There has been a report of foul vice and unnatural murder and the suggestion of heresy!” For such a short, round body, the voice squeaked like an outraged mouse. It could have been amusing if not for the hovering menace of the highest royal official.
Ned gave another slight bow and smiled. “I fear sir, that the Lord Chancellor and the Bishop of London may have to wait. I’ve already made claim to this investigation for the Privy Council, since my good lord, Councillor Cromwell, believes it impinges on high matters of state.”
Now this was a very risky course to take. Ned wasn’t sure if anything in this concerned the King or Cromwell. However he felt that the statement of intent would serve to delay the interference of More’s pursuivants until they found some firmer ground. And if it didn’t, Ned was certain Mistress Black had enough contacts to quietly and speedily get them to France. Considering her prior slight of hand with that damned satchel, it was always possible that Meg had another boat hidden somewhere, hopefully larger and less encumbered with bodies.
More’s minion, however, took this claim as a personal slur and loudly called upon all the rights and provisions of his master’s position. Ned was secretly very amused since this declaration obviously held more bluster than substance. The fool made a hash of his claim, confusedly mixing common and canon law. Ned’s as yet unhoned legal instinct hinted that someone higher up felt unsure of their ground. Otherwise a writ with the Lord Chancellor’s royal seal would have seen them bundled off to cool their heels at the Fleete until a more leisurely appraisal was possible.
Patiently he waited until Master Scarlet Plumes gave him the opening he needed, then indicated behind him at the audience. “Sirrah! These gentlemen are here to stand witness, in accordance with the laws of the kingdom and this city, and see that justice is done!”
Master Scarlet Plumes glared at the gathering behind Ned, and his face lost some of that choleric colour. No doubt it was the abundant glint of gold and silver braid that caught Master Scarlet Plumes’ eye. Well dressed witnesses meant the Guilds and Inns were watching.
Now Ned had the advantage, he pushed on with his next ploy. “Sirrah, do you claim to know the King’s mind in this affair?” This was decried with sufficient volume to attract the attention of all, and Master Scarlet Plumes turned pale and gulped like a landed fish. Ned flashed him a very edgy smile any courtier would have been proud of and pushed on into the spluttering silence. “Sirrah! Need I remind you what happened to the last Royal official who made such an error?”
That created a distinct murmur in the crowd and Master Scarlet Plumes swallowed nervously. Everyone recalled what happened to Wolsey. As a symbol the cardinal’s fall was proving useful. The Wheel of Fortuna had turned shedding his long built up power, and all those who hung on to his train scattered, bereft of protection and patronage. Master Scarlet Plumes may have served the Lord Chancellor. However the ink was still wet on his writ and it took only a slight nudge to make him feel his orders required further ‘consultation’.
Master Scarlet Plumes thumped one hand into the other and made another short round of blustering threats, then after promising an imminent return, stomped off the ship leading his disappointed band into the darkening streets of the city. Despite this abrupt retreat in the face of Ned’s bluff and bluster, Master Scarlet Plumes wasn’t a total fool. He left a pair of men at the end of the dock, along with the forlornly abandoned customs men. It was getting quite crowded down at the end of the wharf, what with the usual London audience keen for any show.
Ned pursed his lips and shook his head. This was just the first round. Time for some more answers. He turned to face the still angry features of Meg Black. “Who was More’s odious minion?” In all that bluster and phlegm, the Scarlet feathered buffoon had singularly failed in manners and Ned still didn’t know his name.
His newly discovered business partner, Margaret Black, finally left off her glowering towards the lit windows of the Customs House and gave a reluctant shrug. “Jefferys introduced him as Sir Roderick Belsom. He didn’t impress me, but the two customs men fawned all over him as if he was the Second Coming.”
Ned considered her reply. That name was familiar. It was possible that he’d heard it mentioned before at the Inns. If memory served him it was in connection to an illegally seized inheritance somewhere past Chelsea. Details were elusive and he doubted if it had any connection to their current problem. “Well Meg, I’ve delayed the scarlet plumed toad for the next day or so. No doubt he’ll return soon enough with a warrant so we’d better have a more solid defence. What about guarding the ship and the crew?”