Edward Marston - The Nine Giants

Aubrey Kenyon was the next visitor, cutting a swathe through the dense thickets of the working day with his usual calm efficiency. When they had discussed financial affairs at length, the Chamberlain turned to an area that would normally have been outside his remit had not the Lord Mayor encouraged him to offer opinions on almost every subject of discussion that arose. Kenyon’s sage counsel was its own best advertisement.

‘Have you taken note of next week, Lord Mayor?’

‘Indeed, sir,’ said the other pompously. ‘I am to have another audience with Her Majesty at the Royal Palace. The Queen seeks my advice once more.’

‘I was referring to another event.’

‘Next week?’

‘On Thursday. It is a public holiday.’

‘Ah.’

‘You should be forewarned, Lord Mayor.’

Pugsley nodded importantly. The preservation of peace and the maintenance of law and order were his responsibility and they were arduous duties in a city that was notorious for its unruly behaviour. Crimes and misdeameanors flourished on a daily basis and there were parts of London, feared by the authorities, that hid whole fraternities of thieves, whores, tricksters, beggars and masterless men. Cripples, vagrants and discharged soldiers swelled the ranks of those who lived by criminal means. These denizens of the seedy underworld were a perpetual nuisance but the law-abiding could also present serious problems. Public holidays were seized on by many as occasions for riot and excess when the anonymity of the crowd shielded miscreants from punishment at the same time as it fired them on to grosser breaches of the peace. For hundreds of years, the mayoralty had learnt to rue the days when the city was at play.

Aubrey Kenyon had strong views on the matter.

‘Wild and licentious behaviour must be quashed.’

‘So it shall be, sir.’

‘Apprentices so soon get out of hand.’

‘I know it well,’ said Pugsley with a nostalgic smirk. ‘I was one myself, Aubrey, and felt that stirring of the blood on every high day and holiday. The pranks that we lads got up to!’ He corrected himself at once. ‘But it is a tradition much mocked and abused of late. Harmless pleasure can so easily turn to an affray — and I will not permit that in my city.’

‘Take steps to ward it off then.’

‘You have my word that it shall be done.’ His beady eyes lit up. ‘I take my cue from Geoffrey Boleyn.’

‘He was a brave Mayor indeed, sir.’

‘In 1458, the King in his wisdom ordered a council of reconciliation in St Paul’s between the rival nobility. During the month it took them to arrive, Mayor Boleyn patrolled the streets by day in full armour and he kept three thousand armed men ready by night.’ Pugsley’s chest expanded. ‘ I would ride out at the head of my constables if you think that it is needful.’

‘There are other precautions we may take,’ said Kenyon tactfully. ‘Your bravery does you credit but you do not have to expose yourself to danger.’

‘What are these precautions, Aubrey?’

‘Appoint sufficient men to keep watch on the city.’

‘It shall be done.’

‘Look to the selling of ale that it should not be given to those too young to hold it like a gentleman. Discourage large crowds from gathering. Arrest known troublemakers early in the day before they can work up the apprentices.’ Aubrey Kenyon reserved his deepest contempt for another area of social life. ‘Subdue what entertainment we can, especially the theatres.’

‘Theatres?’

‘That is where corruption breeds,’ said the Chamberlain. ‘If it were left to me, I would close down every playhouse in London.’

Abel Strudwick was ruthless in pursuit of the new career that he now felt awaited him. He was rowing away from a Bankside wharf with two passengers in the stern of his boat when he saw Nicholas Bracewell and Hans Kippel in search of transport. The waterman lost all interest in his current fare and swung the prow of the boat around to head back towards the wharf. His passengers complained bitterly but they were no match for Strudwick. His combination of brawn and bellicosity had them scampering out of the boat and he welcomed Nicholas and the boy instead. All three were soon threading their way through the flotilla of craft that was afloat that day. The waterman was impatient.

‘Have you acquainted Master Firethorn with my ambitions?’ he asked with hirsute eagerness.

‘I mean to speak to him today,’ said Nicholas.

‘Tell him of my quality.’

‘It will not go unremarked, Abel.’

‘I would strut upon the scaffold with him.’

‘That may not be so easy a wish to fulfil.’

‘But I have the trick of it,’ said the other. ‘Let me come out onto the stage before the play begins to woo the audience with my sweet music.’

Nicholas gave a non-committal nod. Hans Kippel, at first alarmed by Strudwick’s grinning ugliness, now took an interest in him.

‘Are you a musician, sir?’ he said.

‘Yes, lad. Would you hear me play?’

‘What is your instrument?’

‘Lie back in the boat and you shall hear it.’

Before Nicholas could stop him, the poet recited a long narrative about his visit to the Queen’s Head and its extraordinary effect on his life. The verse had the same rocking-horse rhythm as usual and it was imprisoned hopelessly in its rhyme scheme. A pun of resounding awfulness brought the saga to a grinding conclusion.

Nicholas manufactured a smile of approval but Hans Kippel was truly impressed. The boy was amazed to hear such fine words coming from such a foul source and he clapped his hands. Abel Strudwick beamed as if he had been given an ovation by a huge audience and he sealed an instant friendship with the Dutch apprentice. The fact was not lost on Nicholas who saw its value at once. He had only brought the boy with him in order to ensure his safety. If Hans Kippel was in danger of attack, he had to be watched over carefully at all times. Taking him away from Southwark had the extra advantage of shifting any threat away from Anne Hendrik. As it was, Nicholas had given Preben van Loew and the other workmen stern orders to be vigilant on her behalf but he did not feel she was now at risk. Unknown to himself, the boy was the target. Friendship with Abel Strudwick meant that there was another safe refuge in the event of an emergency.

They landed, paid their fare and took their leave. The boatman’s tuneless music had served another turn. So mesmerised was Hans Kippel that he did not look once towards the Bridge which held such terrors for him. He was in an inquisitive mood and they picked their way through the busy market in Gracechurch Street.

‘What is the name of the play, Master Bracewell?’

‘Love and Fortune. ’

‘And shall I be able to watch it?’

‘Only during the rehearsal, Hans.’

‘I have never been to a theatre before,’ said the boy. ‘Preben van Loew was not happy that I should come to this one today. I was brought up strictly in Amsterdam and such things are frowned upon. Will it cause me harm?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘Old Preben believes that it will.’

‘Do not pay too much heed to him.’

Nicholas smiled fondly as he remembered an occasion when the Protestant rectitude of the Dutch hatmaker was put to the test by Westfield’s Men. Preben van Loew had been asked to escort Anne Hendrik to a performance of the controversial piece, The Merry Devils, and he had been embarrassed to find just how much he enjoyed it. The book holder was confident that Hans Kippel would get equal pleasure out of the present offering. With a paternal arm around the boy’s shoulders, he guided him in through the main entrance of the Queen’s Head.