Gregory House - A Comfit Of Rogues

As it stood Jemmy felt like he had one of those horns now. The table in front of him groaned with roast beef, capons in almond douce sauce, smothered rabbits and onions, fine white manchet loaves, an array of savoury pottages and the lower half of a sugar plate subtlety of what he thought might have been a castle. All of it fair and free range for his enjoyment.

He took another pull at his tankard then cast a sideways glance at the rest of his escort. Young Will was seated at the next table. For once the lad wasn’t all a tremble and knock-kneed with terror. No, instead he had a perplexed frown on his face and was giving his lower lip a good gnaw as he inspected his hand of Hazard.

Jemmy shook his head and appeared to play closer attention to the feast before him than the card play across the way. Young Will had to learn sometime, and here in the Black Goat on Bride Lane was as good a place as anywhere. For one thing his opponents were unlikely to respect the lad’s kin relationship with Canting Michael, and if the lad got cony catched by One-eyed Cheswick and John Plybone then he deserved the stinging lesson to his purse. And most importantly in all of the Liberties under Earless Nick’s sway, two more ham fisted dicemen or clumsy cozeners were not to be found.

Anyway there was another deeper reason he allowed the current progress of the game with all its obvious flaws of deception and trickery. While they sat at leisure in the heart of Earless Nick’s demesne he wanted the Lord of the Liberties’ followers to think that the envoy party from Southwark were as gormless and naïve as could be possible and still manage to unlace a codpiece for a piss. As Canting had wryly suggested before their departure on this mission, it was better to appear dumber than a bucket of pig’s dribble than to be so. Jemmy fervently hoped that young Will was doing his best to fulfil this requirement because the alternative was too risky to joke about within earshot of Canting.

In the meantime to distract from the trio of woeful gamers Jemmy cast his eye over the common room of the Black Goat. It was a cosy place boasting a decent sized stone-faced fireplace. Five tables filled the common area and from the several wall sconces evening’s light was by thick tallow rushes. Hmm, so Earless was prepared to spend a bit on decent lighting-that was intriguing. The self-proclaimed Lord of the Liberties had a reputation for skill with dice and cards. Maybe he wanted the extra illumination to enhance his chances at the gaming table. All of London had heard the rumours that the source of Master Throckmore’s wealth was via his success at games of chance.

A pair of ornate and expensive painted cloth panels hanging on the walls also hinted of a fellow with spare gilt and pretensions to real lordship. There were of course a few minor smudges to tarnish the gilding or in this case the faux tapestry. At present the yards of cloth were being very carefully sponged to remove the dark charcoal coloured swathes of smoke damage. Jemmy suppressed a knowing grin. Yet one more facet of the recent Bedwell tale clicked into place. To be cozened in his own den must have fair rankled Earless Nick and set off the recent gnawing canker for revenge.

As if these thoughts themselves had summoned the devil himself, Earless Nick stepped into the tavern and shook off the loose flakes of snow clinging to the lapin furred collar of his fine woollen gown. Now Jemmy had his cue, and rising to his feet he leaned across to clip young Will across the back of his head, no doubt saving him from deserved drubbing at Hazard. The rest of his party weren’t as slow and clustered behind Jemmy where, as in unison as could be expected, they bowed to the Lord of the Liberties. It may have been more ragged and clumsy than the polished fellows at court though Earless Nick took it as a sign of due deference and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment as he swept past.

At a guess the Lord of the Liberties had been out surveying his domain, reminding merchants of their ‘fealty and rents’, since his party included Wall-eyed Willis and several other ‘lads’ of similar nasty indisposition. Earless also had that favoured punk of his on his arm. From what Jemmy recalled her name was Anthea and she ‘captained’ the punks of St Paul’s, as right a pack of spitting hellions as could be dredged up from the bowels of Newgate Gaol. To any fellow with the knowing of the habits of the Lords of Mischief, the promenading of this particular ‘escort’ was a curious act.

Continuing to mask his thoughts Jemmy kept up his usual cheeky grin as cap still in hand he approached the now occupied cloth covered chair of state. Anthea had given him a mildly curious passing glance then after a quiet word from her lord disappeared up the stairs at the end of the common room. This left Earless Nick very much enthroned in his domain, as lordly as any bishop and no doubt twice as arrogant.

“M’lord, I’s come with a message fo’ yea from my master Canting Michael.”

His humble deference received a short nod in reply and Earless beckoned him closer with a languid wave of his be ringed fingers. A servitor approached with a small stool and bowing his thanks Jemmy took up the offer seating himself almost opposite Earless Nick. As courtesy stood amongst the gentry of the rogues this was a visible display of honour, nay even an open hint of equality between Lords of Mischief via proxy. A second flicker of those scrupulously clean fingers set another minion scurrying, this time to approach with a platter holding a pair of gilt cups and a silver ewer. Making a nervous effort the scruffy servant mostly managed to pour the blood red wine into the matched cups without too much slopping over, and making much of the act, Earless himself passed one to his guest.

For a change Jemmy took only a shallow sip, and smacked his lips in open appreciation. The Lord of the Liberties must have as fine a cellar as old Cardinal Wolsey. As they both made the accustomed exchange of minor pleasantries Jemmy knew that Earless was sizing up this not quite unexpected presence in his lair. That was fine for he was doing the same.

Similar to the Bear Inn meeting, Earless was making a clear display of his wealth, topped by his usual velvet cap worn fashionably in a rakish tilt over those well combed golden locks, and as per his custom, hiding the scars of a pair of missing ear lugs. Broad shoulders supported a heavy scarlet gown in deep blue over a casually displayed shot silk doublet and white cambric shirt, the collar of which was picked out in fine black thread trace embroidery. Yes indeed, as gaudy as any gentleman at Court. By Jemmy’s estimation the ensemble would be easily worth a few pounds, enough to set any tailor a trembling with anticipation. It was also, Jemmy noticed, a different set from that worn at the Bear Inn the other day, an open statement of position and rank, as if any were needed.

Giving a cleansing and prodigious belch of satisfaction Jemmy casually, if somewhat clumsily, moved onto the meat of his visit. “M’ Master Canting was much impressed with yr’ reasoning an’ argument the tother day in Southwark. He’s had a while ta reflect on yr’ words an’ agrees that tis well past time the city had an Upright Man to stand for us against the puffed and preening cocks of Guildhall.”

Earless smiled pleasantly displaying as fine a set of teeth as any shark could boast. “I’m honoured that Master Canting thought so well of my little speech. He is a gentleman renowned throughout the city for his deep wisdom and clear foresight.”

Jemmy nodded readily at the praise as would any sensible lieutenant keen to keep his position…and unbroken bones, though he’d be prepared to wager that not many in Southwark considered Canting as a ‘bestower of wisdom’. Bruises and cracked heads more like. Jemmy pushed that wry consideration aside, as smiling openly he delivered the second weightier part of his message “Oh aye. Well yr’ see, Canting believes his own pushing for the title could be more a burden than boon. He’s a Southwark lad born and bred an’ the rogues o’ the city would nay be inclined to give him respect. Instead he’d be supping from a bitter cup of tribulations and unending dispute.”