the Crail Caper 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Our trading activities were going very well, including the sale of pantiles to an enterprising mason to replace any that blew off the houses in his neighbourhood in the ensuing autumnal gales and who informed me that,

“There maun often be a gell o’wund and folks needing their roofs for scoog afther getting drookit, for it greets a’ winter and girns a’ summer, eh.”

I think he meant it was likely to blow and folks would need shelter from being rained on as it is wet winter and summer alike.

It is a barbarous tongue.

I smiled a lot as I tried to come to grips with it; as any Flemish Mynvrau must needs have done.

The women were easier to follow as they were more likely to point to what they wanted than expect me to understand the flow of gibberish that accompanied their helpful gestures; and I could follow easily such phrases as

“Enow fer a goonie fer ma dochter,” with that young woman being indicated.  A common gown for an adult woman needs but eight yards of fabric; that is if one assume a normal width not broadcloth and any woman knows the amount of fabric that she need.  These goodwives were purchasing largely from our smallelaken, that is not a broadcloth; and the lengths being around twelve yards that meant each length held enough for a gown and a doublet, or three doublets.  And one goodie noted my own use of skirt and doublet and asked,

“Och, lassie, d’yer style o’ goonie be yer own mak’ing or is it no’ strange tae wear skirt and doolet eh?”

“I have seen such worn in London as well as other countries Mistress, and thought it practical,” I said.

“Weel, Ah’ll no deny it forbye eh,” she said.  “Ah’ve a mind tae mak’ ma oon goonie likewise; it may be a footer tae dae but Ah’m thinking worth the thole fer the ease  fer aye one half get drookit or dirty.”

“So I have found,” I said “For oft times one’s skirt gets soaked when out shopping; or one may drop grease on either it or the bodice over the cooking and changing but half a garment is easier.  Moreover, one may mix with different sleeves too for a variety of looks, seeming to have more gowns than one really has.”

“Ay Iph’m,” said that worthy digesting that.

All women have their vanity after all; it is a part of our original sin that most of us revel in and try merely not to sin too much in that direction rather than avoiding the sin at all.

This customer dickered over two lengths, one  that was something of a medley in predominantly blue and grey with other colours in it at less than regular intervals; and another in a light brown, of the shade called ‘meal’ that had darker and lighter flecks in it and was quite attractive for the same.  These small cloths are not covered by the regulation that most woollens be; indeed they may be made in part of waste wool, lamb’s wool and even the wool from dead or diseased sheep as well as wool from other sources than good English or Spanish wool.  They do not carry any seal for export guaranteeing quality but I had felt them and was satisfied in my own mind that we should not cheat our customers charging sixteen pence a yard.  For two lengths this would cost thirty shillings; and we settled down to a cheerful dickering that led to me selling the both to her for twenty six shillings, but a small profit – Ruud and I had haggled them down to eleven pence a yard from the local weaver we had bought them from – but for shifting quantity worth while, and also because I respected so shrewd and canny an housewife.  She had enough there, an she be clever, for a skirt and two doublets of each fabric, and if she cut her sleeves separate and had but one pair of sleeves to each colour – for sleeves should suffer less from the exigencies of life for being tied back or removed when cooking – she might then use the left-overs to add applique decoration to the opposite coloured garments to tie each together. I saw her covertly viewing mine own use of russet and black and I had no doubt she would be keeping a watch on me to see how else I rang the changes over the next few days.  I would if I were in her shoes; as indeed I had ever watched to see how others dressed to make more stylish garments for Robin when I was his apprentice.

I confess that with the effort to follow the strange local vernacular I was shocked enough to drop a tile when I looked up into the cynical eyes of the last person on earth I expected to see.

Comte Raoul de Beauville sûr Rhône.

“Verfloekte!”  I said, managing to remain in character.

Raoul leaped aboard, clicking his amusement from that horrid nasal scar of his.

I embraced him warmly; and so did Robin.

“Lord above,” muttered Connie “If ‘tis not the Wolf.”

“And indeed it is I, Mistress Connie,” said Raoul amicably. “Are we here working at cross purposes?”

We spoke very quietly of course, and in French; and drew him below for more private conversation.

“Mayhap,” said Robin, cautiously, in answer. “A blunt question that may even see us on our way most expeditiously an the answer be affirmative; did you kill, or have killed, Elwaud Edney?”

“Who the devil is – or rather I suppose was – Elwaud Edney?”  demanded the Wolf “I have not killed, nor caused to have killed, a man of this name, that I assure you; no, not no-one else here either.”

Robin sighed.

“Damn, there was I hoping for the easy answer that I might report to the queen, killed by enemy action.  The fellow was a spy for Her Majesty, as I may without qualm tell you seeing the fellow is dead; and I am told he was stabbed several weeks ago.  And I suppose it behoves us to find out why, an it not be for his paid treachery: for he WAS a dependant of my queen.”

“One of the things I most like about you Robert,” said Raoul, pronouncing it in the French manner, “Is your sense of responsibility to those who you feel are under your aegis.  An I grant you aid in getting to speak to people of authority, will you promise not to interfere with my plans?”

“I will not promise not to use mine eyes and report what I see; nor will I promise not to do what I can to scupper any pirate ships that might prey on the vessels of my friends,” said Robin proudly.

“No less, I suppose, than I expected,” said Raoul dryly “Will you promise to refrain directly from actively trying to find out what I be at here?”

We exchanged looks.

“Actively,” I said “Yes, I think we may make that bargain.  For one thing we have enough to do without spying on thee, old Wolf.  But look to thine own business closely, mon ami, for what we hear, what we see, we will make deduction from and thus make report.”

We were close enough to the Wolf that he and we readily used the affectionate forms of address.

He laughed.

“A battle of wits, forsooth!  Then within the hour I shall have you papers signed, asking a man known to be good at solving mysteries, to unravel an unlawful killing.  What name do you go by – Mynheer?”

“Robert van der Kirche,” said Robin.

“It shall be done, Mynheer van der Kirche.  And will you introduce me to those of thine offspring that I have not yet met? I thought there were two daughters next down from the redoubtable Adam!”

“I am,” said Pernel “But being a boy for a change has its advantages; I’m in charge of the horses and less memorable for being a boy.  Do you still have Jeanne and Thibaud that ma told us about working for you?”

He laughed.

“Yes indeed – and you must be the intrepid Pernel and angel-locks here must be Emma.  Jeanne and Thibaud are most useful to me, but I have not dragged them to a strange land where that mangle the already barbaric syllables of English into incomprehensibility.”

“It is rather mangled, isn’t it?” I said “I have trouble and I have English as my mother tongue.  I can see that the complexities of English be difficult for a foreigner with but a limited vocabulary to express himself, French lacking the richness of our island tongue.”

He grinned appreciatively. 

“Still up to form, thou English shrew,” he said.

“Oh please,” asked Emma, standing on one leg and bored by our by-play “Has Veronique had a baby yet?  We heard all about her and we want to know! And will we meet her an she be helping you?”

Raoul grinned soppily.

“Aye, I have a son, that my fond wife must needs name Félicien.  But she has lately miscarried, and so I would not bring her here.” He added, mostly to me.

I gave a cry of sorrow for her.

“Poor Veronique!  Oh I pray you, Wolf, kiss her for me and pass all our sympathies!  Have you brought the magnificent Marguerite in her stead?”

He shook his head.

“No, my sister stays with my poor Noni.  I was loath to leave her for this…venture; but my king demands,” he smiled sadly.

“Marguerite will cheer her spirits,” I said “And help her with le petit monsieur le vicomte.”

“Lord!” said Adam in disgust “Fancy being born a vicomte!  I swear it’d give me a colic worse than any Godfrey frets into!”

We told Raoul about our babies of course; and he being such a friend, told him the unvarnished truth about Cecily and saw that he, like my Goodsire, thought the more of Pernel for her loyalty to the babe and poor Sidony.  And we introduced Sebastian.

Vicomte Félicien was about the same age as Cecily.

He, however, was not standing yet.

I had to find that out, didn’t I?

Cecily also strings several words together; even if no-one else can understand them.

I wrote out in well rounded script simplified forms of Aesop’s fables and illustrated them to read to the babes, to see how early they might recognise words written down if shown them as naturally as they are introduced to the spoken word.

Seeing lions as overgrown cats Cecily says

“Ah, poor paw!” about the lion with the thorn in its paw and ‘Tan’t bell puddy!” giggling and pointing at Tom when he brings us some rodent offering.

Her favourite phrase is however,

“Me UP, pa-pa!” reaching up to Robin to be cuddled.

Godfrey and Isobel were still monosyllabic.

Scarcely surprising at just seven months and they born prematurely anyway.

 

 

Raoul it transpired was masquerading as one of his lesser titles, back to being M. Le Baron: that his contacts in Scotland not know how important an ambassador they really had.

Which proves how much the King of France trust these Scots too.

It was however a fortunate circumstance; for we both held information about each other, that of courtesy we would withhold but as the same applied to both, then neither of us should be in the other’s debt.  It mattered less between friends; but even so, it was well to have a balance.

 

 

Shortly after Raoul had withdrawn, a soberly dressed fellow approached us, waiting courteously while Pernel explained in careful English to a fine young gentleman exactly why her Friesian colt was worth an hundred shillings and at the same time admonishing him sternly about the care of a young horse.

“Och, awa’ wi ye laddie, I grew up wi’ nags,” the youth said “I’m nae likely tae spoil a fine beastie by over-riding him, and he nae broken the while eh.”

“Away with me?  Why would I go away?” asked Pernel, confused.

“I think it is a figure of speech of Mynheer’s,” I said to her.

Pernel’s face cleared.

“Did he also say he understands horses?” she asked.

“I believe he may have inferred so yes,” I said “He recognised that these beasts are not broken.”

The lad was grinning.

“Whisht, now, I’ll try tae talk fancy English,” he said.

“I’d be obliged Mynheer an you might make it intelligible at least,” said Pernel. “I know English; but I do not speak Scots.”

I liked the look of the young man.

He was a tall youth with startlingly ginger hair and green eyes and a clear skin that was mostly devoid of freckles.  He also had good teeth.  He dressed well in fine dark wools and his jerkin was of olive green camlet lined with fox fur. He did not affect the cut arse style to his hose that I so deplore; at least, I presumed not, for both doublet and jerkin were skirted as well might any sensible man wear them in these climes where his manhood be vulnerable to unmanning shrivelling for the cold.

“I’ll gi’ ye eighty shillings,” he said.

“Make it eighty five and you have a deal,” said Pernel.

“Och, ye drive a hard bargain, laddie, but hoots!  ‘tis a fine beastie,” he said.

That was a fine profit and paid for most of the other horses.

Our customer clicked his fingers and summoned his man, a dark haired sallow fellow who gave me an appreciative eye.  He wore as well as a black woollen skirted jerkin a rough woollen garment that hung from his waist to his knees woven in greens and blacks in some manner of chequer fashion not unlike the Flemish calimancos.  His hose were but short and barely reached the knee themselves. They draggled somewhat and pouched over the rough garter of twine he tied them with, and over the tops of his soft ankle length boots.  I should have thought it a prodigious draughty style of garment myself.  I wondered idly an he had good drawers on or whether he liked to be ready for any woman that he gave the eye to; and if he wore such a garment to make women wonder.  I firmly dismissed the subject; an that were the case I did not wish to give him the satisfaction.

The young man addressed him.

“Tak’ yon beastie tae ma faither’s stables, Tammas Dubh,” said he.  He turned to Pernel. “Ye need not worrit, laddie; The Dubh is a fine hand wi’ nags, for a Heelander.”

“And women too methinks,” said Pernel dryly.

The youth laughed.

“Aye, weel, mebbe so!” he said.

 

 

The man who stood watching came over now business was concluded.

“Master Van der Kirche?” he said to Pernel.

“I am Jungheer Per Van der Kirche,” she said cautiously.

“I’m thinkin’ ye’ll mebbe tak’ me tae you faither eh?” he said.

Pernel looked helplessly at me.

“You want to talk to Mynheer Van der Kirche, mine husband?”  I asked.

“Aye, did I no’ say so?”

It would not take long for those of us who were old hands at travel to absorb the idiom and to learn what they said; but in the meantime it was deuced awkward, especially remembering to maintain our own Flemish accents.

 

 

The fellow turned out to be – so far as I could unravel his explanation – to be the reeve, or whatever the Scots equivalent be, for Crail.

And having a ‘stabbit body’ in his bailiwick was ‘no’ tae his likin’.’

His name was Donal Graeme and he seemed a right honest man.

Pernel’s customer loitered to listen as Graeme spoke to Robin.

“I’m told by the Monseer Baron that ye have a veritable talent for finding out mysteries,” said Graeme “That I’d beg ye tae help wi’ a one that’s beyont me, I doot eh.”

“I can but do my best, Mynheer Graeme,” said Robin, unwontedly humbly.  Wealthy merchants we may be supposed to be; but it becomes a man to be polite to the authorities, especially in a place where he is a stranger.

“Aye, weel, ‘tis owd news, Elwaud Edney being deid near fower weeks but Monseer Baron is thinking you might ask aroond who know him and add up this and that and mak’ a muckle frae mony a mickle.”

“’Tis guid riddance Elwaud Edney is deid and gone,” said our customer.

“Haud yer whisht, Torquil Fitzbruce!” said Master Graeme “And him tae wed your sister forbye!”

“That’s interesting,” I said “That a man should be glad that his sister’s betrothed is deid – er, dead.”

Young Fitzbruce flushed.

“Och, weel, so I be glad!” he said “He wasnae ony kind o’ man at a’ tae be wedding pretty Ishbel.  Why he made me feel dirty, wha’s the way he’d mak’ her feel?”

“Mynheer Fitzbruce, we must speak to you and your sister more closely, but you be the second person I have yet come across and in so short a space of time to be glad of his death,” said Robin “For not knowing all this, I was set to do business with the man and Mynheer Andrew Laing put me right and expressed the same opinion as yourself concerning the deceased.”

Torquil Fitzbruce laughed uneasily.

“Aye, weel, Andra’ Laing’s nae but a pirate wi’ a few connections.  And his brother’s a sair gowk.”

No love lost there then; for whatever a ‘sair gowk’ might be I fancied it was no douce and kindly description of the younger Laing brother.

 

 

We made arrangement to visit the Fitzbruce home later and stay for a meal.

At the low table no doubt.

Or maybe not.  The boy seemed to be fair spoken and courteous enough in his own bizarre vernacular.

Robin looked at me when we got rid of them and all other would be customers and those who had just come to gawk at our wares.

“It would appear,” he said dryly “That Master Elwaud Edney enjoyed women as well as men.”

“Isn’t that rather greedy?” I asked.

Robin gave a shout of laughter.

“Oh how I do love thee, my dearest dear!  ‘Tis not unknown for a man to like both, you know; though generally most do have preferences for one or the other.”

I sniffed.

“Though ‘tis not proven he like both; or even either,” I said “He might like women and Master Laing be mistaken; or he might be seeking a bride to cover up his alternative practices lest he be hied afore the church authorities to answer for it; or he might seek a bride to convince himself that any urges to the contrary he is as other men are.”

Robin nodded.

“Such are possibilities to keep in mind,” he said “That he make Master Fitzbruce feel dirty is suggestive though; even an the man not acknowledged it to himself, especially in light of Master Laing’s comments.”

We should be the open face of the questions we should ask; and Vivian should contact any low criminals as was his talent.  Between us we should cover every possibility.

 

 

I dressed up a little for visiting local gentry, changing my doublet for a black woollen one guarded with russet silk and cheered up with russet and orange embroidery; it had a skirt to match, but I decided to retain my russet wool and wear instead for finery my black woollen cioppa with amber and black beads and silver threads.  On consideration I also wore my mother’s garnets that had enough of an old fashioned setting to be some family piece – as I could claim in all honesty that they were – and not valuable enough to draw too much attention to a wealthy merchant’s wife wearing them. Robin too stayed mostly in the clothes we had arrived in and added his black camlet calf length cioppa that was lined with black wolf fur and decorated with embroidered strips of matching silk.  It was a more sober outer garment than a cloak and he could take it off within the place, were it warm enough.

I wore a cloak as well, of heavy grey Suffolk broadcloth.

 

 

It was the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin; so I had every good hope, with prayer, that the greatest Mother of all would keep my children safe through this adventure.

Thus we left them for the Fitzbruce house without anticipating they get into too much trouble yet.

The walk was cold but there was no rain at the moment and my cloak kept the wind out.  The autumn colours of the bracken at the side of the track to the house we visited and the few stunted trees were lovely and I should have wished to see it in sunlight that would have made the scene almost beautiful for a gilding of light on the rich russets and browns with which my clothing toned to perfectly.  A startled buck faded into a copse as we approached, the dappled shadows on his soft brown coat hiding him utterly.  His horns were magnificent, he was a hart of twelve I judged in the brief glimpse we had, that any huntsman would consider worthy of hunting; and the noble spread of horn ready for next month’s rutting and so noble a beast likely to do well in his noisy and violent jousting with other males for possession of an harem.  An he not be taken by a poacher and be the winter’s eating well salted down in the meantime.  Rafe, who was accompanying us, muttered something about never having a longbow when you wanted one.  I was glad; the beast was magnificent and we needed not meat, so why then kill him?

A brief shaft of sunlight that struggled through the cloud gave a thin promise of how fine the scene would look an the sun actually shine in earnest.

I wonder if it does, here?

 

 

We were met at the door by a tall, dour looking man who gave us the sort of look that suggested that he expected that we had wheedled an invitation purely to steal the pewter and any other valuables the family might have had.

As the house was a fine fortified manor built all of stone that lay on the outskirts of Crail, such as any gentleman might be pleased to occupy, I suppose he had some justification, but it were still an effort not to assume the manner to depress his despite of us with hauteur so easily had it grown to be an habit.

And well to have some humility from time to time to remind us we be but ordinary humans like anyone else; even as the Caesars had a slave to ride in their chariots in Triumphal Processions to whisper ‘remember Caesar, you are only human’.

The door ward, if one might call him that, was a firm-jawed individual with heavy jowls and brown eyes like unto a lymer hound; and I could quite easily see him sniffing at a trail to bring back any miscreants.

I itched to draw him as such; and must needs wait until we had returned to our ship for we were in no wise advertising our artistic skills.

“Aye, weel, ye’ll be the merchant fellow and wifie yon young master be waiting on,” he said, discouragingly. “And ef you want my opeenion aboot the killing o’ yon gleekit body it’s nae further than his man ye should be looking, think on eh.”

“Indeed?” said Robin “What makes you say that?”

“Ay iph’m,” said that worthy “He’s a crabbit body is Sander St Andra’ and I’m aye sure he’s half drookit in heavy half the time eh.”

“Ranald, ‘tis pure jealousy on yer part,” said young Torquil coming to rescue us “Juist because ye cannae fetch up me faither’s velvet sae well as Sander did fer Edney.  Come awa’ ben, Rabbie Fleming, ye and yer wee wifie.”

I’ve rarely been referred to as wee before, being a tall woman; but these folk here were all tall.  Robin was taller than any but not by nearly as much as he was used to.

It must be the Viking blood.

Ranald grunted.

“We’ll speak to you more later, Ranald, an we may,” said Robin “We need everyone’s opinion to get a clear picture.”

Ranald’s dour brow cleared slightly.

That was to say, he looked merely dour, not dour and er, crabbit.

 

 

Torquil’s father Somerled Fitzbruce was a fine looking old gentleman to the first glance, his hair less effulgent than his son’s for the fine grey hairs within it producing the effect they call ‘pepper and salt’.  He wore a velvet robe guarded with silk and decorated with orphrey that suffered somewhat for Ranald’s deficiencies with velvet, for the pile was depressed in places where stains and – most likely – wax had been removed with more enthusiasm than skill.  The old man also had some fine rings; but the moment he opened his mouth the slight slurring of speech and vague manner told us that either he was drunk or had suffered what country folk call an elf-stroke; that was less likely than inebriation since it be not usually accompanied by vagueness nor by faintly sour breath such as my delicate nose detected.

There are those people who are rarely if ever roaring drunk; but who are never sober, and Somerled Fitzbruce struck me as one of those.

And the yellowness of the whites of his eyes told me that he drank enough to make him liverish as well.  I have seen enough habitual drunkards to be fairly certain he would likely ‘drown in a barrel of malmsey wine,” as the saying goes even as is said the Duke of Clarence did; and the old man would be dead within a couple of years.

“M-Master Robert, ‘Tis guid tae meet ye,” he said “Are ye a frien’ o’ puir Elwaud?”

Robin shook his head.

“I had but hoped to do business with him, Mynheer, and because I have a reputation, as Monsier le

Baron knows, I and my wife, we have been asked by Mynheer Donal Graeme to look into his death.”

The old man shook his head sadly.

“It’s a sair shame.  Forbye that he wis sae young and braw, he was tae be ma son ere lang.  And a guid son he’d hae bin, always awfu’ ready tae listen tae an auld man’s tales.”

“Aye,” murmured Torquil cynically “He wis aye one tae be cosying up tae ony body that cuid tell tales o’ the high yins near royalty eh.”

“Naw then Torquil, wha’ for shuid he no’ be interested?” said the youth’s father “Ah ken plenty o’ men at coort, and mony an ane tak’ an interest.”

I wager, an Edney could pump this old man in his cups for something to pass on to the queen.

Torquil frowned.

“It’s ma belief he wis afther something for it.  Him bein’ ane as canna’ see green cheese but his een birl.”

“I pray you, Mynheer, you must translate that last sentence for me,” I said, thoroughly lost.

Torquil blinked.

“Oh – that he wis awfu’ envious anything a body hed that he hadnae,” he said.

That made it clearer although I should have loved a more direct translation of the bizarre phrase.

 

 

Torquil’s sister arrived at this juncture.

She looked like a woman that had received a disappointment but no deep bereavement; either that or she was extraordinarily self controlled.

We exchanged curtseys; and I remembered to curtsey to a social superior.

She was dressed in fine grey wool that I thought might have had soft goatshair in it, a mohair as it is called; but her sleeves were black and white brocade and the hem had a strip of the same fabric about it as purflage.  The brocade had been cut at the edge around the pattern of leaves and the pattern of the brocade carried on to her grey skirts in black couched lines of embroidery to the hem beneath and for several inches, an equivalent distance, above.  It was skilfully done and I wondered an she be the embroideress or whether she had paid to have it done.  The quiet wealth of the household suggested she could afford to have it done; but she might have liked to sew.  It is an expression of personality that is the only one open to many women and thus enjoyed for that reason by those not fortunate to have a good trade even as I have.  And cutting around the leaves and then embroidering out from them would be a good way to make over such worn gowns as I was puzzling how best to use as were in the attic chests at Monkshithe, and also some from Wytch Hall in Dorset.

The sober colours set off to perfection her creamy skin and red hair that was darker and less orange than her brother’s; she had not even so many freckles as he, so either she avoided the sun – which I doubted, since she did not have that unhealthy pallor of one who does – or she treated them assiduously with elderflower, wood sorrel and daisy heads that Ovid recommends; and that is also supposed to lighten a sallow skin but worketh not on such as mine for in my foolish youth I tried it.

Medicamina Faciei Feminaeae describes any number of messes that a young woman may cook up to lard onto their faces, and in mine opinion they had done better to use the lentils and other vegetables so described to make a nourishing pottage for more men may be caught by the belly than by outstandingly good looks; at least if they be tolerably sensible men that realise that all women’s looks fade but a good cook is to be had forever.

“Ma name is Ishbel,” she said in a deep, musical voice “Wha’ can I dae tae help ye find oot who kill’t ma betrothed?  I cannae see why ony man shuid wish tae, for he wis a braw laddie wi’ a birl I’ the ee but nae lack tae his manners forbye.”

I think she was implying he was a dashing fellow with what might be a twinkling eye but who never stepped beyond the mark.

“I pray you, what is this ‘birl’ that people speak of, I think in connection with the eye?” I asked for confirmation.

“Och, it is tae – tae spin aroond; o’ course the een cannae spin aroond it is a figure o’ speech fer a lively look,” said Ishbel. 

“What I would know then as a twinkle to the eye?” I asked; and she nodded confirmation.

So many different opinions of the same man!

And two complimentary and two anything but so far.  We must talk to these people and try to see where the truth lay in between the two extremes; or indeed if Elwaud Edney was enough of a villain to seem one thing to his betrothed and her father and have his true character seen by others.

The mystery about who and what Elwaud Edney was seemed almost as profound as that of who might have killed him.

But then, finding out what manner of man he really was might yet lead us to what manner of man had killed him for oft times, an you know the man, you then also know the manner of his enemies and why he be killed.

Once you have the why, the who becomes almost inevitable to recover.

 

 

 

the Crail Caper 1 [Felicia and Robin]

 very much in draft form but my editor has it to pull about. 

When the queen sends Felicia and Robin to Scotland to find out why her spy is no longer reporting they discover a lot more going on than they had bargained for, run into an old frenemy and come across pirates. 

Chapter 1

 

Various despatches and messages had been reaching us bringing less than encouraging news.

Chel wrote from Florence that Giovanni di’ Medici had entered the city in triumph early in august; which was not bad news per se; but that opponents of the Medici were trying to implicate Niccolo Machiavelli in plots was less welcome.

Machiavelli had always stood for the people of Florence; and had asked Robin to write to Giovanni about that, when we were in Florence and rumours of the Medici return were rife but not yet fact.  Robin having been a friend of Giovanni’s in their equally misspent youth, hence Nicco’s hopes that his word might carry weight; but since one of the supposed Medici agents cited by the Venetian Ambassador when we read his secret dispatches was supposed to be Robin, it might have been that other rumours were as spurious. As it happaned they were not.  But if idiots tried to drag poor Nicco into plots it could only be to his detriment; Giovanni would have to act in a hostile way towards him until he were proven clear of such. And to act against Nicco,who had run Florence well, could only be of detriment to the city too.  We awaited further news.

The other poor news was from Tony Wingfield in France, that the English army was effectively betrayed by the Holy League by being sent as cannon fodder; and that the men had been mutinying over the distress caused by a lack of proper supplies and an overabundance of dysentry as seems to be a disease our armies ever suffer from in France and was doubtless due to the bad water and uncleanly conditions there. There are those who suffer from their bowels by a change of drinking water in any case; and since even the ale in France was likely unfit to drink – at least, when we were there, we saw a brew house just downstream of a sewage conduit – it was no wonder they be ill.

The only good news was that the Holy League was managing to chase the French out of Italy.

So all we needed to really make us cheerful – or perchance not – was an urgent summons from the queen.

Naturally we obeyed, taking ship for speed; in our fine, sprit-rigged hoey the ‘Valkensluft’ that we be in London in just two days.

Pernel, Adam, Jerid, Emma and Oliver came along to start learning the handling of sails from our Flemish crew and Nazano, the golden-skinned, cat-eyed boy from where the Spaniards call the Ma-i Islands, rescued from slavery.

You never know when such extra skills might come in useful.

Rosa came to care for the babes too; for Godfrey was still at breast for his night feed even if Isobel had weaned enthusiastically.  How like a man child.

 

 

The queen was currently lodged in the White Tower which was at least convenient for shipping and we were conducted, with a flip of our warrant and the queen’s letter, through the watergate and up to the queen’s chambers.  There was a lot more austerity in this palace than at Richmond that we had been to before; partly because it was when all was said and done a working fortress and not a palace such as sprawled across half the countryside.  I suspected the queen had picked residence here for the nonce because it was in the heart of the city and was convenient for those of her spies and agents who had access to waterborne transport.  There was a sort of nervousness to this rather martial palace that one did not have at the fine palace at Richmond; for one thing the accommodation was more cramped, and so what courtiers there were lived more on top of each other and I swear that made palace politics worse for the irritations involved increasing the amount of sniping and backbiting.  Some people never changed of course; Ned Howard greeted us most merrily with thanks for the congratulations we had sent and the accompanying gift on his appointment to Lord High Admiral. He was on his way – as he generally was – elsewhere and did not have time to chat, but it was the measure of the man that he made time to acknowledge us and our best wishes to him.  That of course had those who were ready to despise us suddenly wanting to know us; so we ignored them.  I dislike sycophants; and we had not to play palace politics anyway, for we avoided court. 

We ran into Charles Somerset too, lord of Corfe Castle.  Robin knew him, and introduced me.

“Ah! Lady Felicia!  My thanks for your sketch of my castle – very fine work!” he said.  Staying long, de Curtney?” he added to Robin.

Ere we left Dorset I had ridden into Corfe to paint the castle as a gift to help keep Somerset sweet.  Our relations with him were a trifle nervous.

“Not if I can help it,” said Robin in answer to his question “The queen has a need for us; but you know I don’t stay at court.  My bailiff at Wytch Hall spoken to you yet?”

“Yes, sound man,” said Somerset “Found a steward yet?”

“I was training up one of my pages,” said Robin “And with a hope he and young Criseyde might get on.”

“Ha!  Sound plan.  Got room for another page?”

“I can find room an you have a youth you wish to place,” said Robin, politely.  One does not offend powerful men; and we had a rather shaky alliance with Somerset for Robin’s promise to keep it quiet that he had a traitor right under his very walls.

“Well, I have a young relative I hope will meet your approval,” said Somerset “I’ll send him up to you at some point.  Name’s Gregory, known as Grig for the most part; he’s eleven.”

“We look forward to meeting him,” said Robin and I too smiled acquiescence.

A young relative, like nephew, is often a euphemism for a natural son; and doubtless Somerset wanted the boy with someone of integrity to keep him safe.  One more small hellion would make little difference really.  And if Somerset hoped the lad would fix his attentions with the heiress, well if that was what Criseyde wanted it was fine with us; though I doubted she’d consider a boy a year younger than herself as anything but an occassional playmate.

Favours, gifts and their returns.  I hate palace politics.

 

 

The queen looked so tiny and vulnerable when we were taken to her chamber that I forgot all protocol and embraced her warmly, kissing her on both cheeks ere I remembered and dropped a deep curtsey, apologising.

Negotiating her stiffly held Spanish skirts to kiss her had been challenging though; she wore a gown of rich Madonna blue cloth-of-tissue altobasso velvet, the ground was cloth of silver where the pile was voided and there were besides two heights of velvet in a pattern of stars, edged with loops of silver thread.  With the amount of fabric in it, that had to negotiate the stiffening osiers in the skirt that Spanish women seem to find indispensable, and that make such tiny, exquisite figures as the queen look even more vulnerable, I wager the cloth to make it had been half a year in the weaving or more, for weaving multi-pile velvet is prodigiously complex.

Fortunately she took no offence at mine actions; though some of her ladies and pages looked mightily put out.  I do not know why; I had not hugged them.

“Why Felicia, I do love thee well!” she cried, pleased at mine exhuberance.  “Art not bound by convention but natural in thine affection.”

“I love you, Majesty, and admire you,” I said sincerely “Motherless, widowed and then remarried in a strange land, oft-times hard words betwixt your husband and your father, and left while the pair of them go to war to do your duty in running your husband’s lands – you are as brave as a lion and I dare swear even planning to punish the pirates of contumelious Scotland in the king’s absence!  But you look quite distracted and my heart goes out to you!”

She embraced me back.  The pages and ladies looked even more put out at such a sign of favour.

“Art not so isolate from international politics in thy Suffolk fastness then!” said the queen, who unconsciously offended her adjuncts and sycophants even more by waving them out of the room with an imperious little flip of the hand.  “I have summoned the both of you about a very mystery in Scotland that only you and your lord may be likely to unravel!” she added as though presenting a good puppy with a choice piece of meat.

She was good at the flattery, I had to admit.

The only mystery I could bring to mind concerning Scotland was the convenient murder of James IV’s sweetheart Margaret Drummond and her sister at such a time as when Henry VII of England proposed an alliance with his own daughter Margaret.

It is such convenient murders that give me to believe that it was the Tudor who arranged the equally convenient disappearances of the little princes in the Tower, be they legitimate or no, by some means; perchance by murder, perchance by selling pretty boys into slavery; or perchance just by bribing them to disappear.  Taking the crown from Richard and calling him usurper was almost noble looking, unless you recall that Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville may have been adulterous anyway and the princes but bastards; as my grandfather had told me King Richard had proven, for Edward IV was rather amorous and seems to have undergone a kind of marriage ceremony with a girl he desired just to have his will; that then cast doubts on his more public marriage to Elizabeth.  And THAT was something that had been quietly forgotten along with the princes; that Henry might claim to remove an usurper without the inconvenience of York princes, legitimate or otherwise, to call him the same.  One could not blame the current Henry though, for his father’s possible crimes; and one must also admit that Henry of Richmond made a good job of imposing peace that this sad country had not seen long since. And the way he prevented any from querying his claim was quite diabolically clever; declaring himself king retroactively, so any who had fought for their rightful king of the time were suddenly traitors.  Like, in theory, my grandfather; who succeeded in avoiding too much attainder for his theoretical and legal – albeit to my mind by chicanery – treachery, by his pragmatic acceptance of the situation and his battlefield fealty to the new king once Richard were dead, to prevent more bloodshed.

Canny old bugger my grandfather.

Part Bigod of course.

And I did love this queen, Katherine of Castile and Aragon, even though she did know so well how to manipulate people.

She smiled her bright manipulative smile at mine husband.

“You will surely forgive me, Sir Robert for greeting your lady and saying to her ‘you and your lord’?” she said, tilting her head to one side in a charmingly wistful gesture that stemmed, I feared, as much from artifice as from nature.

Robin bowed deeply and with a flourish, appreciating her cleverness, and giving a rueful chuckle.

“Why, My Queen, since I took the naughty wench as mine apprentice, I have ever been henpecked and bullied, I swear.  I’faith, I am quite used to being My Lady’s adjunct.”

“Art a most excellent partnership, I ween,” she said “And is it true that hast brought thine newest offspring?”

“Yes Majesty,” I said “For I have been told that to feed one’s own babies helps to keep the figure; I would not bring them to your presence lest it be tactless.”

“I would see them an it please you,” she said; and at my nod sent a servant running to bring Rosa in with the babes.

I prayed that Godfrey not be as awkward as any man child usually was to leak on her exquisite gown as she lifted him into her arms; for laundering such would be prodigious difficult.

“Why, they are not swaddled!” she exclaimed.

“I have taken excellent advice on that too,” I said “Swaddling is in no wise backed up by the Bible, for in the Greek our Saviour was merely wrapped in linen.  I have seen children who grow straight who were in no wise swaddled, and to my mind a woman who rears nine healthy children without infant death, the youngest being some seven summers and as healthy as a hog in clover, knows what she is talking about.”

The queen blinked.

“Alas, I should not have the freedom to try such an experiment for myself,” she mourned.

Any more than she would be allowed to be active throughout her pregnancy but would be confined for the last three months in her own chamber.

I was scrubbing floors a few days before I birthed; though that was because I could not stand the insalubrious nature of the inn where we were staying any longer even though we would embark shortly on a ship to leave Pisa.

The queen was enchanted by the babes; I consider them enchanting but as their mother I might expect to be somewhat biased.

Their hair had grown now into tight red curls and their skin was a creamy brown, lighter than mine own and a pretty colour withal, like a dessert of cream into which nutmeg had been whipped.

She passed them back to Rosa fairly quickly however.

“Alas that we must come to business,” she said; which was a dismissal to Rosa, who withdrew thankfully.  “I have need of your undoubted skills in partnership for my missing spy,” added the queen.

“Oh no, not again!” I groaned.

Queen Katharine was plainly taken aback.

“Que?” she asked in Spanish.

“I was thinking of the missing Venetian spy Tom Wolsey lost who turned up in a barrel of pickled herrings,” I explained succinctly.

Her brow cleared.

“No, ‘tis not quite like that…. I have a spy in the Kingdom of Fife, in the Port of Crail; it is in Scotland.  And he has ceased to report.  I fear that his activities be found out; and I would that somebody clever enough to dissemble their way in might find out, and mayhap also bear news of pirate ships building there now.”

Robin and I exchanged glances.

Our ship’s master had mentioned trading to Crail.

“Flemish Merchants,” said Robin “And in an unmistakeably Flemish ship,”

“We can go over to the Low Countries to pick up a suitable cargo,” I said “To add some verisimilitude.”

The queen clapped her hands in delight.

“Art so clever to come up with such detailed plans so readily!” she cried.

Detailed?  That was a skeleton of an idea to hang the flesh of our tale on.

Perchance we just had more practice getting into – and out of, that was harder – uncomfortable positions than have most people.

 

 

“The man I have paid for intelligence is one Elwaud Edney,” the queen told us “A man of some small substance that liked having more; a mercenary spy, no man of convictions.”

“Think you he might just have stopped reporting for feeling himself suspect and liking his own skin even more than gold?” I asked.

She frowned.

“It crossed my mind,”  she admitted “And I would know the truth an you can uncover it.  An that be the case one cannot blame a man – especially a mercenary – for saving his own skin, but of course I will not pay him further.   I would also know how many ships there be building – my little fish-smoker told me that they were laying down the keels of large ships, but not how many nor of what type or any such thing.”

Robin brightened.

He well understood the construction of ships.

“It takes a man of some knowledge to answer thus fully an they not be fully built,” he said.

“And you are a man of such knowledge, are you not, Sir Robert?” she asked.

Robin bowed.

“I believe I know a significant amount about shipping,” he said without false modesty.  Some of which he gained by subtle interrogation of one Master Fenton, who was building the ‘Mary Rose’ with her up to date military design when last we saw him.

The queen, however, not knowing this, smiled serenely.

“Then shalt also accept as a gift this little toy,” she picked up a leather-covered tube much like a scroll case.  “It brings things close to.  It is fashioned after the principles described by Francis Bacon.”

Robin clapped the thing to his eye straight away, and proceeded to move it in and out; for it turned out there was one tube that fitted within another; he was making little exclamatory noises as he pointed it out of the window.

He passed it to me ere I poked him to demand possession as would be improper to do before the queen, but oh so tempting!

The far side of the king’s gardens leaped up before me; all upside-down; that took a few minutes to adjust to; and I traversed the end upward, making adjustment by moving it further out and saw people going about their business in the streets of London town, clear enough to see a young foist take a burger’s wife’s purse all the way to just by St Paul’s near on a mile away, and for all the world as though I observed it like Chel or Ranaldo Columba hanging by my heels from some acrobat’s rope, though fortunately without the dizziness afforded by the rush of blood to the head that such would engender.

“Oh my!” I said.

The queen smiled indulgently as we played.

“What is this device called?” I asked.

She shrugged.

“As yet it hath no name.  Wouldst then name it?” she laughed.

Of course, Robin experimented with high falutin’ names for the device, from the clumsy Greek teleskopikus, for seer, to the almost elegant Latin vide-ubique, see everywhere.

“We’ll call it the bring-it-near,” I said firmly.

It is descriptive and to the point.  Why not?

And Robin might play with adding more lenses in another tube to make the image be the right way up an he chose at our leisure later for of such he was muttering; which comments went over the head of the queen and were not germane to this quest anyway.  It was because he hath knowledge of the camera obscura, such as some artists use; and by the addition of a lens one might make such images be the right way up as they are not by nature when cast upon the screen through the small hole within the dark room that is the camera obscura. An the lens be made of good enough quality glass not to make the whole object a waste of time.  As was speculating on such when we had work to do.

 

 

We asked more questions about Master Edney, and asked to read such of his dispatches as were not secret to gain idea of the man, as one might, even through the stilted language of reports.

It turned out that he was a step removed from ‘Crail Capons; as they call the smoked haddock of the eastern portion of Fife; for he owned several smokehouses and was not badly off.  I gained the impression that he had several servants and indeed one he called his page that carried messages for him but who knew not of his spying.  I judged he be one who had between fifty and eighty sovereigns a year, well enough off to be a fairly wealthy man but able to see how much higher was the living of the gentry and richer merchants and to covet more.

Being wealthy has its compensations; but it also brings added responsibilities with lands and dependants to see after.

The secret to true happiness of course is to be content with who you are and where you be and what you have, whatever situation you find yourself in.

We have remained happy despite the responsibilities of wealth and land, as some do not manage even though they had perchance wanted such that we had never looked for or desired, for we accept the same with philosophy even as we accepted with philosophy that we would spend –at the time – our last Florin on a book in a sale instead of on food, for we had cheese and bread and a bone to render down for stock and we might hock Robin’s cloak an we not get paid ere the same ran out.

It would be fun playacting at being a ship owner merchant and his goody for a short while, with an income not dissimilar to Master Edney or slightly higher – that he wish to know us for being good contacts – and as might be expected to be business contacts of his and yet also social equals at least that we might ask nosy questions.

We should have to decide which of the children to take to poke their efficient little noses in, for very few things pass the notice of children.

 

 

Naturally, while we were here, I must needs renew acquaintance with Princess Mary; or rather, she must needs renew hers with me.

“I have been watching people as you suggested,” she said enthusiastically “And I have learned so much!”

I had rather hoped that her whimsical little highness would have forgotten being my puppy who hoped to be an intelligencer.

Evidently not.

I murmured something appropriate along the lines that the more one looked the more one saw.  What else was I supposed to do?  I just prayed that all the more adult Ladies in Waiting whose illicit love affairs the girl had interrupted in her mission to know things not find out it was my fault and pay a Venetian assassin to make clear their disapprobation.

“Are you going to betroth your stepson to one of your wards?” she demanded.

She knew we had wards?  Lord, the girl was nosy.  Or mayhap ‘twas simply that the queen had discussed with her the giving us wardship as a way of remuneration for our services.

“Only an he and she want it when they be grown,” I said “He has no need to chase a fortune.”

“Oh!” said Mary vaguely “I thought you were quite poor, Katharine said the income of your lands be not above four hundred sovereigns a year, so she planned to find you an heiress as well as the income in the meantime.  Charles Brandon is going soon to announce his betrothal to his ward,” she added casually.

“WELL!” I said shocked “And she but eight years old!  I suppose I should expect no less from that horrid venal creature!”

She bridled.

“What do you mean?”

“I do not like men that exploit children,” I said “And our wards shall wed as they choose!”

I din’t like Charles Brandon generally either; but I suppose one should tread carefully.  He was the king’s dearest friend; and it appeared that Mary was enough besotted of him, judging by her body language, to be simultaneously jealous of the incipient betrothal to the little Elizabeth Grey and ready to defend him, poor girl.

“It is a good way to increase his fortunes,” she said.

“And how would you have felt to be betrothed at eight?” I asked.

She shuffled.

And as a royal princess, I suppose she was lucky not to be already married at eight.

I went on.

“We find four hundred sovereigns a year quite sufficient,” I said “For we live within our means, and after we have paid the costs of keeping the demesne there are quite eighty sovereigns a year for our personal wealth, plus anything we make painting that may easily double it, even though we cannot put as much time to painting as we used to.  Though the lands were in such poor heart at first it were as well we DO do well painting to put them back into kilter.  I cannot think that the queen meant it in such a fashion, Princess Mary.  To hold wardship is a helpful filip for those rather run down lands; and will be useful to increase the value of our own holdings by improvements until Burd Criseyde decide to wed.”

Actually by the time we had finished such improvements, our lands would be worth close on double that, with mills and the opening of useless land to grow herbs, and the building of a warren; plus we had the hunting land we had been awarded for sorting out the murder of Jarvis Fiske that was of no value in income as such, but that we were opening somewhat to run swine, for we did not need a rich man’s pleasure park, just land that could support deer for the table.  And Robin had just negotiated the purchase of the heathland that lay between the forest and our original lands that might also be turned over to warren; and Tom Partridge, who liked a challenge to his poaching skills, had borrowed a ferret – I did not ask from where – and stole us three black rabbits from the demesne in Norfolk that specialised in such in the hopes that there would be one of each sex.  He was in a bit of a hurry and it was dark; but he got lucky and brought a buck and two does so earned his pay right well.

Mary pulled a face at my cheerful acceptance of such – to her- penury.

“How come you make me feel profligate and frivolous?” she complained “Why I have gowns worth your yearly income!”

I dare swear she had at that.  The most expensive altobasso cloth-of-tissue fabric came not a penny under twenty shillings a yard – and that at source, without taking into account shipping costs and duty as might easily double it - and fourteen yards or even more to the most extravagant gowns, plus the cost of making them up and embroidery and gold and jewels used to further embellish the sumptuous fabrics might well bring such gowns close on an hundred sovereigns anyway.

And all the opherer’s art will not make a plain woman beautiful; to my mind it is the air with which one wears one’s clothes as much as the sumptuousness of the fabric that lends one distinction.  I smiled at the poor little rich girl.

“You’re a princess, Mary; I think you’re supposed to be profligate and frivolous,” I said “It makes up for being likely to be a political pawn in marriage.  Shouldst consider briefly you brother’s subjects many of whom consider someone who hath eighty sovereigns a year to spend on themselves as living in the lap of luxury; and on those who consider themselves lucky to have a second gown to wear to church on the Sabbath and shoon to wear in the snow.  ‘Twil improve your mind to think on them and offer up prayers for the careful management of those poor goodies who have to feed husband and children on five or six sovereigns a year.”

She was suitably shocked and chastened, enabling me to escape.

Well she would be, wouldn’t she?

Six sovereigns was nothing to her, small change that she might take out for chance purchases.

I do not like princes on principle, even when they be charming and lively; for they are oft times still completely featherheaded about the realities of life.

 

 

It was St Giles’ day, who is patron of cripples, being one himself through a mix of accident and his own stupid fault.

He was shot in the knee accidentally by a hunting nobleman but refused all treatment of it.

Knowing our Silas Warrener, who was shot deliberately in the knee that could not afford or even dared seek treatment at first and who still suffered pain even since the excellent ministrations of Master Visick our physician, I am less than impressed with St Giles.  Myself I should have said that his stubborn refusal to seek treatment demonstrates less Holy asceticism as more unholy stupidity; and even more unholy desires to heap additional and unnecessary remorse on the fellow who shot him, who would suffer remorse anyway an he be decent, and who would still care less an he were not.  If the Good Lord had not intended man to use healing, he had not sent the doctrine of signatures nor permitted men of brains to study medicine.

However, it was a day to give charity to cripples so we spent some time in the less salubrious spots of London ere we sailed home doing just that.

Most who would bring aid would go to St Giles Cripplegate to distribute largesse.

We sought out the cripples of the Southwark side of the river who could not manage to get themselves there.

We had our sailors along for protection and suffered no insult as we made gifts to such unfortunates as had never expected any largess from finely dressed folk save perhaps blows; and heard many sad tales, for it is a comfort to the soul to share a story even as it is a comfort to the body to have enough to eat for a few days.

Many enough were sailors who had been injured during the course of their trade and who might, those who had two strong arms left, make some living rowing folks on the river; and one poor fellow was a Thames Waterman born and bred, who had been shooting the bridge when he was injured.  The piers of the London Bridge mean that the water may be quite as much as six feet in difference upstream as compared to down, depending on the state of the tide, for the Thames is a tidal river.  He had made a minute error of judgement perhaps in the arch he chose; that was hardly his fault, for he could not see that a log had become briefly wedged in the gap ere it was forced through by the force of water and he capsized and was ground between boat and pier.

At that he felt himself lucky; and but lost the use of his right arm that hung withered and useless for the damage to it. As he said, he might have drowned; and as he carried only goods not passengers he had not to feel responsible for the death of any other soul. It argued well for his disposition that he thought that way.

He had some education; so we took him to one of the Bishop of Winchester’s lawyers to set up a fund for such men as he and other sailors that were crippled at sea, and set him up as steward to a fund that would provide pottage and bread daily for a dozen souls and instruction to look for a premises that might do as a place such might stay in their direst need.  It seemed a better solution than merely passing out haphazard monies; and Peter Waterman wept to be given a meaningful job on wage to administer such.

A meal a day might make all the difference to poor fellows willing to do what they could but unable to earn a full wage.  And we suggested that those with less bodily strength might use their skills with knots to learn to make braids to sell to trim garments as a way of earning what they might.  And we promised to pay for any knowledge of any coastline that any had to tell Peter to write down; that we might build up an extensive rutter for our own sailors, and so we provided him with plentiful paper, several pens and a horn of ink.

Once that was sorted we called on the whores we had befriended, those that had not been killed by the traitor Dimmond for the girl Libbe’s knowledge that she brought us; and though Joan be murdered we were able to assure Amya and the others that Libbe did well with us, and her son, and to leave them a gift of gold to help them out, for the sake of being Libbe’s friends.

If Princess Mary had to cope with utter destitution at her age as Libbe had at fourteen she might be less fancy and silly.

But it were a drastic cure methinks.

The girls were pathetically grateful to be remembered; and generous enough in nature to be pleased that Libbe had earned good fortune through having the courage to do what they had warned her against in coming to find us.  We had already sent them some monies for the distress they had been caused, and Libbe had insisted on putting some of the award from the queen into that.  They had spent it well, and had bought decent gowns that they might attract customers of higher estate, and had the sense to have plainer fabric for the gowns with fine fabrics to guard them and to make sleeves from; and they had a couple of little girls about Pernel’s age who were busy cleaning house when we arrived and who regarded us with scared, solemn eyes. I raised a disapproving eyebrow.

“That aint what you think, lidy,” said Amya hastily “Cissie and Kitty clean house for us and cook and see wot’s wot, so they be gwine inter business with their eyes open.”

“Well that makes sense,” I said “And if they hate the idea, then they have had a good training to go into service as maids; as you will I hope let me know an they wish a recommendation so to do.”

“An we had come with Libbe I s’pose we would have been your maids too and that fellow had not tortured Joan,” said Amya.

“Do you want to be my maid?” I asked “I’d permit no moonlighting on your back on the side, you know.”

She thought about it.

“No, Lady, reckon I like London, not some God-forsaken land in the middle o’ nowhere.  I mean, how often do you have entertainments, bear-baiting and the like?”

“Never,” I said “For I disapprove of it heartily as cruel.  Nor cock fighting neither.”

“Cor!” said Amya “Then we do be better where we are, not stuck in some quiet, dead-and-alive hole, if you’ll pardon me.”

I laughed rather sadly.

What kind of life can it be that offers as high jollity the dismemberment of a bear by dogs?

Libbe did not seem to miss such in the least; and had never even mentioned such entertainments.

As for quiet, with the excess of excitement we had had over the mercenaries, not to mention the frequent incursions of Reeve Greengrasse from Beccles to ask aid on this problem or another, or just using such as excuse for sensible conversation and a good meal, I thought we had plenty of diversion.  And it had been anything but quiet when Emma and her band held swine races.

The swine had plenty of time to recover from the unwonted exercise before they be slaughtered so no family would lose out; and in sooth it did them no harm to run some to put on muscle as well as fat.

We whacked the children involved for not asking the owners an they might borrow their swine and mostly too for causing Father Philip to lose dignity by having to leap off the road in a hurry from the onslaught of, as he put it, ‘the Gaderine swine and the demons that rode them’.

They all took being whacked philosophically, even Eglantyne Dimmond; who was losing her corners most excellently.

As Emma says, some things are well worth a slipper across the rump, especially seeing a priest’s legs kicking wildly in a hedge.

Poor Father Philip.

He was a good man and did not deserve to be treated so.

Though to Emma’s credit, she did go back to see an he needed help once the swine had finally given up running for having come face to face with the sea.

 

 

 

We returned to our ship giving thanks that we lived not in so exciting a place as Southwark.

The smells were many and varied and we kept tight hands on our purses for the avoidance of attentions of nips and foists that flocked to the place naturally, for the number of wealthy folk that came across the river for such entertainment as bear baiting, cock fighting, whoring and secular plays.  We stepped around the crowd that watched a dancing bear and neatly dodged the bucketful of nightsoil that descended  - rather late in the day – with a belated call of ‘gardylow!’ and we attracted a tail of urchins shouting and pointing at Jerid and me for our Negro looks and Nazano for his strange Eastern appearance.

I like civilised cities better.

Doubtless my dark skin would attract a great deal of attention in Scotland too, even less civilised than England as it might be.

I asked Ruud, our sailing master since I knew nothing of Scotland.

He shrugged.

“There be a few sailors from other lands in Flemish vessels, Mynvrau,” he said “Are you going then to Scotland?”

I nodded.

“Yes, to find an a man lives or no, and if not, why not,” I said “We spy for my queen.  Would you under such circumstance scruple to sail with us there?”

He shrugged again.

“You and Mynheer Robert be our king and queen, Mynvrau,” he said “What you do is all right by us.  These Scots are oft times pirates anyhow and are a menace to all.  You will be disguised then?”

He caught on main quickly.

“Aye,” I said “As Flemish traders.  We know the tongue well enough to fool all but native speakers.”

He nodded.

“That’s truth,” he said “And Mynheer Robert could fool some Flemings I wager.  He may claim to have found a wife in the Mediterranean when he was trading.  Why not?  We can put that about well enough and vague about where you come from too and you so wish.”

I grinned.

“You’re a good fellow, Ruud,” I said.

In many ways his natural loyalties should lie against England at the moment, for being allied with Spain and the Unholy Roman Entrail.  For the Austrian Netherlands, as the Low Countries are currently known, belong to the Habsburgs, a situation the Flemings not like above half, especially those whose religion is considered heretical.  Any chance to break free of the Habsburg yoke would, I fancy, be welcome.

Ruud appreciates and respects us for leaving a man’s religion between him and his maker; as it should be.