D. Wilson - The First Horseman

Ned waved a hand airily. ‘It was nothing. A flesh wound. You scarcely drew blood.’

‘That is welcome news, indeed. I’ve been worried. You spoke of a troubled evening — was there more violence later?’

The two men exchanged glances. Then Ned said, ‘It would probably be better for you not to be involved.’

‘You speak in riddles. If whatever happened concerns me in some way, then, of course, I should know.’

He sighed. ‘Very well. While you were in a stupor upstairs, your would-be assailant continued to make himself unpleasant. He was shouting all manner of threats and determined to come and find you. Jed and a couple of other burly lads got you out a back way and made sure you reached home. When she was sure you were safely off the premises, Lizzie came down and foolishly thought she could calm the troublemaker.’ He shook his head. ‘She has always been too headstrong, poor child.’

‘What happened?’ I almost shouted.

‘The fellow drew a knife. It was very sudden.’

‘You mean he stabbed her, killed her?’

‘No, no, no — nothing so dreadful. Although — ’

‘Ned, in Jesu’s name, tell me!’

‘He went for her face.’

The shock silenced me.

Ned continued. ‘I tended her immediately… in here. Wine to clean the wound, warm oil to ease the pain. Fortunately the cut was not deep; there was little bleeding. She bore it all very bravely — more concerned about how she would look than the possibility of some poisonous infection of the air. It is that that concerns me. I cannot tell if putrefaction has set in until I remove the bandages. I considered the possibility of suture… I have seen it done by a brother who spent some years as a military chirurgeon… but she feared the needle would cause more scarring and, of course, she was right. So I have drawn the flesh together as tight as I can and we must wait to see… we must wait to see.’ He drained his mug and fell silent.

‘And what of her attacker?’ I demanded. ‘Who is he? Have you had him charged?’

Jed gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid! A gentleman of the king’s court accused of wounding a whore. It would never come before the judges. If it did what would their verdict be? We have better ways of seeing justice done.’

Ned nodded. ‘I cannot approve but what Jed says is true. Master Nathaniel Seagrave has paid for his crime. We wait to hear news from the waterfront that his body has washed up downriver.’

I gasped. ‘The man is dead — murdered?’

‘No less than he deserved,’ Jed muttered.

Ned said, ‘When you came knocking Jed thought it might be someone reporting the discovery of the corpse… or bringing less welcome news.’

‘What might that be?’

Ned turned away with a deep sigh. ‘Master Seagrave has friends — powerful friends. Some were with him that evening. They have vowed not to let his death go unavenged.’

‘Seagrave?’ The name seemed familiar. I felt sure I had seen it in one of my business ledgers. ‘Was he not a server in the king’s privy chamber?’

‘Aye, that he was, and typical of the preening halfwits who are drawn to the court like maggots to dead meat. He came here mainly for the gambling.’

Then I remembered. The name Nathaniel Seagrave featured on my blacklist of customers whose credit had run out. ‘You do well to be cautious,’ I suggested. ‘The young members of the royal household are a proud and tight band.’

‘So are we,’ Jed muttered. ‘If it comes to a fight we can take care of ourselves.’

‘No doubt.’ Ned ran a hand wearily through his fringe of white hair. ‘But what of the women?’

‘Do you really think Seagrave’s friends are so cowardly as to vent their anger on them?’ I asked.

‘Why not? To such hypocrites whores are not really women at all. When they’ve had their fill of them they look on them as vagabonds, clapperdudgeon beggars, cony-catching card-sharps, highway robbers and general gallows fodder. A man like Seagrave would boast of what he did to Lizzie and think of it as sport.’

‘Then Lizzie is especially in danger,’ I said.

‘I fear she may well be.’

‘Then she should not be here.’

‘Where could she go?’ Ned shrugged. ‘To the best of my knowledge she has no family now. A mother and sister died in the last outbreak of the sweat.’

‘May I see her?’

‘Why?’

‘What has befallen her is my fault. I must see if there is something I can do.’

‘She is greatly shocked. Indeed, I think she has suffered more in mind than body. She shuns all company.’

‘At least I must try.’

Ned shook his head. ‘We can go up to her room but I doubt…’

He led the way out of the chamber, up the staircase and along the narrow passageway. We passed two chambers, including the one in which I had been kept in January, before reaching a door on which Ned knocked, then entered. By the light of half-opened shutters I could see that there had been some attempt to make this room attractive. It boasted a wide cushioned chair that must have been expensive. There was a worn tapestry covering one wall that could only have come originally from a fine house and another wall had erotic woodcuts pinned to it. The bed was of a good size and canopied. Lizzie lay under a coloured coverlet, her face turned away from us. I could see that some of her hair had been shorn and her head swathed with bandages. The air was thick with a pungent aroma, presumably from the herbal ointment Ned had used to dress the wound.

‘How bad is the cut?’ I whispered to Ned.

With his finger he drew a line across his own left cheek from ear to mouth. ‘God be praised it missed her eye,’ he said softly.

‘Who’s there?’ Lizzie muttered without turning over.

‘It’s Ned.’ He moved across to the bed. ‘Let me look at your bandages.’

She groaned and turned over. Only her eyes and mouth were visible through slits in the dressings. ‘There’s someone else there,’ she said, as Ned bent over her.

‘Master Treviot has been good enough to call,’ Ned explained.

‘Treviot!’ Lizzie sat up suddenly as though stung. ‘Tell that smug, canting, posturing, self-satisfied moneybags to get his fat arse out of here!’

I stepped forward. ‘Lizzie, I — ’

‘Out! Out!’ she screeched, her eyes glaring at me through the visor of her cloths. ‘You damned slack-brained clodpole! Look what you’ve done to me! You’ve killed me!’

‘Not so, Lizzie — ’

‘Yes. Look at me. I was only good for one thing! Who will want to bed me now?’

Ned tried to calm her. ‘The scar may not be that bad. We shan’t know until — ’

‘Damn your lukewarm lies, monk! I’m as good as starved to death and you know it. Why did you ever bring your merchant friend here? Everything has gone wrong since then.’

I tried again. ‘Lizzie, please listen. I can help. Perhaps take you somewhere where you can recover properly; where you’ll be safer.’

It was no use. ‘Do you think I’d go anywhere with you? Jolthead!’ She lay down again and turned away from us.

We retreated to Ned’s chamber.

‘She’s right, of course,’ he observed mournfully. ‘We’re a tight, supportive community here but if she can no longer pay her way…’

‘That’s why I think I should take her into my own household.’

Ned’s thick brows rose in an incredulous stare. ‘Master Thomas. I commend your compassion, but to take a whore under your roof. The scandal!’ He shook his head. ‘Even if Lizzie agreed, I cannot think it would do either of you any good.’

‘No one need know about her past,’ I said.

Ned’s laugh was mirthless. ‘I doubt you could keep that secret from prying neighbours and gossiping servants.’