Firedrake's Eye, page 23
“Who was Cut-the-Rope? Did I know him?”
“No. There were the three of us, friends of old from Gray’s Inn, Fant, your brother, myself – Ralph had gone to the Court by then. Cut-the-Rope Johnstone was a Scots Borderer, with his brother Black Will, and they were there because they had more foul bills waiting for them in Carlisle than need serve to hang them and there was famine in Scotland. We were five to a sled, nine hundred in all, with scouts and forerunners and rearguard.”
“And the siege?”
“Where would be the profit in speaking of it, Agnes? It was a weary sorry time. We fought and starved our best and in the end it all came to naught. The Spaniards spoke discourteously of the Dutch, saying they were fat peasants jumped up to be burghers, but they were valiant men and woman all. Even the women fought which was something I never thought to see.”
Agnes stayed quiet and watched as Becket gathered himself internally.
“Well, it was I that brought all their labour to nothing, you know that I think. Myself and your brother, Adam. With him… if we had opened our eyes, we might have seen it coming: he was angry so much of the time we were besieged: he could not abide to see what the Iconoclasts had done to the churches, nor the way we piled broken saints and carvings and bulwarks to strengthen the walls against cannonfire. When we made a few little japes with vestments and Mass things upon the walls to annoy the Spaniards, he was not to be entertained for he called it blasphemy. The Johnstones and he had a great bitter argument about it that lasted the better part of a day and he brooded for a week after. Then we made another night attack for food and he never came back with us. We thought him dead, we mourned him, said prayers for him, and forgot him, as we had others of our friends that died.
“Then the weather warmed and the ice thinned and melted and still the Prince had not been able to relieve us. The Spanish ships took control of the Haarlemmermeer and the rations were halved and halved again. Men began to drop and die from simple hunger, not requiring a wound or sickness to bear them off, and the children… Jesu, I will not tell you of the children, Agnes, it would make you weep to hear it.
“And then Balfour asked me to go a message to the Prince of Orange to tell him that if no relief came, we would yield to the Spaniards and hope for a little mercy. That was in summer. I had learnt some Dutch, you see, enough to pass.
“And so I went out upon a raid and hid behind a wagon and took a red Hapsburg sash and a Spanish-cut jerkin from a man I killed, and when morning came before they mustered, I slipped away southwards.”
Agnes had clasped her hands. She admires him, thought Ames inwardly, and felt the ugly sting in his chest deepen to a burn.
“No doubt it was half in hope of feeding I went,” Becket said, unwilling to be admired. “Haarlem was become a city of the dead, all populated with skeletons like an old image of the Dance of Death, save for those that swelled up in a kind of hunger-sickness and looked well-enough fed until they died suddenly of it. I was tired of dreaming of food – God knows, I dreamt of every meal I ever had, so even stockfish made my mouth flood. I dreamed of comfits of Seville oranges and dates glistening with gold and pounded pearls and I dreamed of hot puddings and good plain white meats of cheese and eggs and butter and bread, which all were swallowed by birds in Spanish ruffs before my eyes. To dream of food and to awaken with your belly clinging tight to your backbone, I am no saint to rejoice therein. It was the thought of food that pushed me on, I tell you now, lest you think me some hero, but the Spaniards had few enough rations themselves and no livestock left I could steal. The country round about Haarlem was eaten bare.
“I talked my way past the Spanish and Walloon pickets and when I was out beyond the siegeworks, the mud and the stinking trenches, I found the road south and swung along it boldly. Balfour had told me that to skulk and hide is to attract attention and it was good advice. It took me two days to escape from the ravaged lands, like walking from famine into plenty, from Tartarus to Arcadia. For the Netherlands is a very Arcadia: where the marshes have been drained and farmed, they are green and fair and the cattle… Agnes, you would not believe the cattle, for they are twice the size of any English beast and give twice the milk, as much as a gallon and a half per day. Yes, in very truth they do, I have seen it with mine own eyes.
“I met a little girl on the road who was driving two great fat cows and she cried out upon how I was a poor man that was sick to death, and she milked one of her kine there on the road and gave me half her loaf of bread as well.”
“Was she frightened?” asked Agnes, frowning.
“No, I was afeared of her. After Haarlem it seemed unnatural to see a child with pink cheeks and plump arms and a loud voice and no swollen belly. And why should she be afraid of me? I was a shambling poor creature that she could have outrun with ease or set her giant cows on me if she wanted. But she was kind and gentle to me and would take none of the store of gold I had for the journey, and she gave me God-speed.”
“But you came to Sassenheim in the end?”
“Oh yes, I came to the Prince. I saw his troops and thought them raw but that they might be sufficient, given how weak the Spaniards were themselves, if we sallied out of Haarlem to help them. I showed his Grace by mine own person how desperate was our case. He was kind to me also and had his doctors examine me and gave me meat but alas it was too tough for my poor teeth which were loosened by the scurvy, and I lost an eyetooth in a piece of pork.”
Becket showed the empty place, Agnes tutted, then he sighed and ducked his head, as if bracing himself against a heavy weight he must lift.
“If I had been wise I would have stayed in Sassenheim where I was safe. But I could not, so Prince William told me his answer to Balfour. I loaded up a packhorse with food and thought if I were brazen enough I might slip through and gain the meer’s shore and swim across by night, perhaps . . . Well, it was foolishness, I was a half-witted zany to believe it. Perhaps feeding made me less cunning or I had used up all my store of luck for that month. Or perhaps Balfour was right when he hinted that he did not trust those about the Prince. I know not, only I told the pickets that the food was for the Capitano del Campo, and the packhorse had the Prince of Orange’s brand on him, and Christ forgive me, I never saw it.”
“They caught you?”
“Ay, and I was still too weak to fight them. I wounded only one and they would have killed me, which was my desire, only the Capitano Romero saw us and ordered them to stop.”
And there were Becket’s great square hands gripped tight upon each other.
“They put you to the question?” Agnes had her hand to her mouth.
“They made a few attempts but none so bad I…”
“They hung him up from a gibbet by his wrists with weights on his feet,” said Simon calmly. “When that failed, they flogged him.”
“How the devil do you know what they did?” snarled Becket.
“I read the signs on your body when Senor Eraso was strapping your ribs. After you had saved my life. And this is material to your tale, that Mrs Fant should know…”
“Whose tale is it, Ames, Mine or yours?”
“Yours, of course, Mr Becket.” Ames thought: and nor will he be pitied.
“I could have done it, Agnes, I would have held out for the few days before Count Batenburg was appointed to come, I was counting them for all the time passed so slowly, it was not that I was weak, in truth it was not…”
“David, I would never think you weak.”
“But they tricked me. And I was too much of a fool to see it, too innocent…”
“And weary,” said Simon to himself, but neither heard him.
“After the second day they cut me down again, in the evening, I think. They said they would try fire next. They locked me in a storeroom, and late that night one came to the little window that I… knew. The chain was long enough so I could… get close enough to hear him. He whispered to me for an hour, he said he could not save me, but if I gave him whatever message I was bringing to Balfour, he would see that it reached him.” Becket swallowed. “And I told him.”
And here was silence, only the fire speaking to itself quietly, Agnes’s hands folded on her stomach, Becket uncomfortable on his stool, shifting, looking up at her.
“He was Adam,” she said calmly.
Becket nodded.
“And after?” she asked. “Why did the Spaniards not kill you when they had what they wanted?”
“Too busy at first. And then your brother again, perhaps he felt some pricking of his conscience. He fed me while they dickered over Haarlem. And then, two weeks after they marched into the city, the Spanish troops mutinied for they had not been paid in over two years and were not permitted to recoup themselves by sacking the place. The burghers had made their bargain well: they had Alva give his word as a gentleman of honour upon it and not even a Spaniard will break that.
“Romero was shut up in his tent while the soldiers’ council talked with the Prince of Alva and by that time I was healed enough to walk, and so I broke away. I remained in the Netherlands a few years, fighting the Spaniards and living however I could, trying to run Romero and Strangways to earth. But I lost track of Strangways and then Romero died in a fall from his horse, may he rot, and so at last I came back to England, and here I am.”
Agnes put her cheek on her hand, her eyes were shut.
“I… thank you for telling me your tale, David, for all its heaviness.”
“Will you tell them where Strangways…”
Her eyes opened, blazing with anger. “From you at least, Mr Becket, I expect no inquisition.”
David shrank back from her as if she had struck him. She shook her head wearily. “I must think on it now.” Becket rose, went to the door.
“I have done what I came to do,” he said with a few remaining shreds of dignity. “God be with you, Agnes.”
“And with you.”
Ames began to hurry after him, but then minded him of an important thing.
“This is the Indulgence I spoke of, Mrs Fant,” he said, turning to her and taking it out of his penner. “I recall I promised you a sight of it. Did your brother not show it to you?”
“No.” She spoke abstractedly. “He said I was a woman and could not understand it, although I had a good tutor and I read Latin well enough…” She frowned at the writing. “This cannot be right. Have you forged this, Mr Ames?”
“No madam,” said Ames, annoyed, “I have no need to stoop to such tricks. This was found in a box within the second hiding hole, the one within another hidden place. In the hall. Can you not see the Pope’s seal on it?”
“But it does not name him priest, it names him plain Adam Strangways.”
“Yes, it does. I have never believed he is a priest.”
Agnes pressed her lips tight together, handed the paper back to Simon.
“It was our mother’s especial desire, even I know it that was so young when she died. It was why he went overseas in the first place. Work upon this again, Mr Ames, to be sure you can do better.”
“Madam, I swear to you by… by the Bible, this is no forgery. Can you not see the Vatican’s watermark in the paper?”
She held it to the daylight, squinted, and gave it into his hand again. Then she turned her back on him, went to the chair and sat slowly down upon it, picked up her work and began to embroider a baby’s biggin.
Simon sighed and followed Becket on to the stairway, Kinsley shut the door again and locked it.
Chapter XLII – Tom O’Bedlam
In all this time, where was poor Tom lying in his privy trough of despair? I think it was Simple Neddy found him, for once I looked up and found his odd China-man’s eyes and thick lips hanging as it were a suspended moon above me, his smooth brow all cluttered up with concern.
Somehow he must have brought me to Blackfriars from Temple Bar to my little leaking room there, and made a fire out of more rotten wood broken from the far end of the cloister and perhaps some secret store of his own. He put dried woundwort on my sliced cheek and scattered sweet-smelling leaves, and then because I was still unseeing and lost, he brought and put in my arms his own true treasure, which was a ragbaby wrapped in motheaten wool, its face crudely sewn and worn thin with kissing. Alas, it could not mend me and so I lay like a post that day with it in the crook of my arm, the blood drying and clotting on my cheek and my ears burning with Ralph’s last cry to me.
When Simple Neddy came back and sat by me helplessly stroking my matted hair, I could muster enough sense to say, “Find Becket for me, you know him?” He nodded with a frown slowly forming on his face. “Find him. He might find the boy.”
It was a hard thing to put upon his few wits, but he nodded his grey head again and left with determination on his face, and I lapsed back into darkness.
As it happened, Simon Ames was himself bearing David back to Whitefriars Steps, having an appointment with Sir Philip Sidney for the inspection of his dragon. Besides there was nothing more he could do at the Tower in unravelling the plot. He would come back to study his reports and papers and begrudged the time spent in Hanging Sword Yard but saw no help for it if he would please Walsingham and his beloved daughter Frances.
Becket was morose and at the steps turned at once to the red lattices of a poor boozing ken at the corner of Water Lane. While dragons of danger leapt out of the foggy air about my dreams, the thing itself was growing in Hanging Sword Court, of wood and metal formed to a beast from the old stories of King Arthur. Perhaps the Queen Moon rides upon such a dragon on the days when she fares forth to battle; it would seem a fitting mount for her.
Ames came into the yard a little breathless with hurrying and made his apologies to Sir Philip who was already there.
Sir Philip waved a hand nonchalantly. “My father-in-law told me what you are about. Now here are some horses of the Queen’s own stables – hush, Titan, steady, when did a harness ever bite you, eh? – and better-experienced wiser horses are there none in the Kingdom.” He slapped the broad brown neck beside him familiarly while Simon sidled back and away from its vast yellow teeth. He had no quarrel with the general run of horses, though often they had a quarrel with him, but the vast creatures that pulled the Queen’s progress and triumphal floats seemed unnatural to him somehow. But they were well-used to crowds and noise and cheering and Latin speeches and the smell of fireworks.
Dragons with carved and gilded heads they had not encountered before, however, although there had been giants for their parents at Kenilworth. Yet they were peaceable enough and allowed their grooms to lead them up to Master Broom’s masterwork to be introduced. None did worse than sidle and snort. Then they were hitched to the traces, which they liked not because the leather was new, and all eight made essay to try if they could pull the weight of the dragon, which they could.
Adam was there, observing, wearing a workman’s suit of clothes and his hands scrubbed clean. At a nod from Sidney, he slid within the scaled barrel body of the dragon and lifted up the head and blew the horn mounted within and flashed the mirror eyes and even lit some slowmatch for the beast’s breath.
Then must all come to a halt before they could rehearse, for the wings had been altered to fit past Temple Bar and now one broke its internal rigging and flapped brokenly to the sawdust. Mr Broom climbed up to see the cause of it and found a place where the rope chafed a pulley and so must the pulley be replaced and all about was that bustle and smell of panic that men make in the days before a great procession, when all know that nothing can be ready in time. They were still painting the tail and the gilders had not come for the reason that the leaves of beaten gold for the gilding that they needed were not come either. And then Juno took a dislike to Minerva and so all the horses must be unhitched and moved about to separate them and rehitched.
Through all of which, Sir Philip stood at his ease in his second-best suit of armour. He was wearing it to see if his appointed seat could be reached while it was on or if the weight was too great. And also because he was intent on defeating Fulke Greville squarely and was wearing his armour to accustom himself to its weight of eighty pounds.
Ames had gone upon an urgent errand and came hurrying back to say he had found a goldsmith on Ludgate Hill who could supply beaten gold the next day and Sir Philip clapped him on the narrow shoulder and bade him sit down before he fell, and have some sack, and not to be concerned for all was well forward of Sir Philip’s expectation, being long experienced in these matters.
“I trust your attending on me does not prevent you from working about Sir Frances’s business. He hath told me that it is a matter of great moment. Mr Phelippes is making another search of the city for Throgmorton’s friends this very night.”
“And for our man,” said Simon. “At least we have his name and his looks.” He was in fact near frantic to be dealing with foolishness such as tilting dragons at this time. “With God’s help we will find him.”
“Still London is a mighty antheap. I had heard there was a woman in it, a fair lady.”
“Ay sir, very close to her time to have her babe so we dare not press her. Nor Throgmorton who may die of it.”
“Hm. What of the Accession Day Tilts, will the madman make his trial then, think you?”
“I have been over the plans with Sir Francis and Mr Ralegh and for all the times when Her Majesty is in danger for the reason she is abroad among crowds, there is least danger then. She goes not upon the ground at all but sees all the sport from her gallery and the only ones about her are her own folk, with the crowds well back. My lord of Leicester will see to it that her bower is well-searched and her food and drink twice tested.
“No, we think he must mean to come as a petitioner to her, not caring whether he live or die and so kill her from close by.”
“Therefore they have been annoying petitioners at Court by searching them.” Sir Philip nodded. “Good. And how is your swordplay progressing? Will you try a passado or two with me?”
