D. Wilson - The First Horseman

‘That is all absurd!’ I protested.

‘Of course it is but false rumours like these undermine business confidence — and business confidence is an exceeding fragile flower.’

I gazed despondently into my tankard. ‘How can I put a stop to all these stories?’

‘Two things.’ Robert pointed his knife at me. ‘Start behaving like your father’s son. These slanders could not gain credence if there was not some truth in them. You have grieved long and hard for your double loss but the time has come to put an end to it. You cannot think that either Jane or your father would want you to continue your eccentric behaviour.’

‘Eccentric?’

‘Spending days in a haunt south of the river so notorious that you are ashamed to tell me about it is certainly something I call eccentric. Getting so drunk that you cannot — ’

I held a hand up. ‘Yes, yes, don’t rub my nose in it, Robert. What is the second thing you want me to do?’

‘Find out who is behind these stories. Such rumours do not spread themselves unaided. I have not the slightest doubt that someone wants to put you out of business. Can you think who it might be? Is there someone who bears you a special grudge?’

‘Well, there is a member of the Company who may consider himself slighted by me but I don’t think he would denounce me to the Council.’ I told Robert about my clash with Simon Leyland.

He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I do not know the man but I will make enquiries.’

We addressed ourselves to our simple meal. It was a couple of minutes before Robert spoke again.

‘Will you suffer a further word of advice?’

I nodded.

‘The fact that you have inherited a flourishing business makes you particularly vulnerable to rumour and innuendo.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Simply this: younger freemen of your company look at you and see someone of their own age who has had success handed to him on a platter, while they have to wait for their fathers to die or work hard to establish their own business from nothing. That may well breed jealousy. Older freemen of your company look at you and see a junior craft member who has none of their experience but yet rivals them in wealth and prestige. That may breed resentment. Anyone who wishes you ill will not lack for associates.’

‘I see. What about you, Robert? When you look at me, what do you see?’

He scrutinised me keenly across the table. ‘I see a man who cannot yet see himself; who is sensitive to his shortcomings, which daily accuse him, but who has yet to discover all his strengths. Such a man should look into the mirror of Holy Scripture.’ He lowered his voice, although there was no one close enough to overhear our conversation. ‘Have you yet read Master Tyndale’s translation?’

‘I have sampled it,’ I replied mendaciously.

‘Look deeper,’ he urged with an earnest gleam in his eye. ‘It is God’s very own truth. I especially recommend the fifteenth of Saint Luke.’ After a pause, he continued in a normal voice. ‘Now we must consider how best to handle your examination.’

That Robert was a secret Bible lover disconcerted me, but I was too preoccupied with my own trouble to give it much thought.

‘What do you think the Council will do?’ I asked nervously.

‘You know that as well as I. It could be a fine or a spell in the Counter Prison. If they are really annoyed, they may suspend your freeman status for a while.’

‘Is there nothing I can do?’

‘There may be something I can do, though it will not be easy. Your Prime Warden is a friend of mine. We sit together on the Common Council of the City. I will have a word with him.’

I felt like a shipwrecked sailor who sights a floating spar.

‘You are very kind, Robert — more, perhaps, than I deserve. Anything you can do…’

He waved my thanks aside. ‘It is you who will have the more difficult task of convincing your seniors. Your immediate responsibility is to make sure you give no one any opportunity to blacken your name. Your conduct must be beyond reproach. Above all, avoid bad company.’ Again he fixed me with his penetrating gaze. ‘I think you know what I mean.’

I knew only too well. Robert was telling me to restrict my movements to the north side of the Thames. But this I could not do. I had to pay another visit to St Swithun’s House.

As the fog in my brain gradually lifted, I remembered the details of the hideous party: the drunken courtier’s insult of Lizzie, the ensuing fight, Lizzie dragging me away. Anxiety hovered in my mind like a menacing hawk. I was worried about Lizzie and needed to know that she was safe. But it was fear of the still unknown whose talons I felt most sharply. I saw myself standing over a man in a blue doublet, his face distorted with pain. In my hand was a dagger dripping with blood. I had to go back to Southwark to find an answer to the question that would not be silenced — was I a murderer?

For my visit I chose Sunday morning, when many citizens would be at mass and the streets less crowded. The sound of the priory bells filled the air as I turned Dickon into the courtyard of the Sign of St Swithun. It was almost eerily quiet. When I had dismounted I had to knock on a couple of doors before I could rouse anyone.

Young Jed eventually peered out. He seemed genuinely startled to see me and hesitant when asked if I might come in. Hurriedly he closed the door behind me and stood to one side, barefoot and in his shirt, as though just out of bed.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,’ I mumbled.

‘What is it, Master Treviot? What do you want here?’

‘I’ve come to find out exactly what happened on my last visit. I know I got into a fight but after that my mind is a blank. Tell me, Jed, I have to know, did I kill someone?’

He seemed relieved at the explanation. ‘No, you passed out. Me and a couple of friends took you home. We was told you had to get back specially.’

‘Thank you so much.’ I leaned back against the door, my body sagging with relief.

The young man was now shuffling nervously from foot to foot. ‘We was happy to help, Master Treviot.’ He reached out his hand towards the latch.

‘So the other man is all right? Thank God.’

Jed was trying to pull the door open, obviously anxious to be rid of me.

‘Best you were not here, Master Treviot,’ he whispered.

‘Who’s there, Jed?’ I heard Ned’s voice as an inner door opened.

I turned and saw the ex-monk standing in the doorway, tucking his shirt inside his breeches. He, too, seemed disturbed to see me but quickly recovered his composure. ‘Ah, Master Thomas, how good of you to call. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’ He went back into the inner room and reappeared moments later, fastening the points of his doublet. He extended a hand. ‘I hope you are more yourself now than when you left us last.’

‘I fear your hospitality overwhelmed me. I must have put Jed and others to a lot of trouble.’

‘It was a troubled evening.’ He paused, as though deciding whether to say more. ‘But come in. Come in. We’ve some violet cordial here that will slake your thirst and restore your spirits.’

I followed him into the room. It was a crowded chamber, obviously with many purposes. A wide bed stood in one corner. A large carved coffer beside it had an ecclesiastical look to it — salvaged from the monastery, perhaps. Three joined stools stood beside a table spread with books, bottles, jars and the other necessities of Ned’s apothecary activities. He poured intense pink liquid into pewter mugs and we seated ourselves by the table. Jed perched on the edge of the bed.

It was I who broke the awkward silence that followed. ‘As I told Jed, I came simply to find out what happened to the man I fought with. How badly was he injured?’