Gregory House - A Comfit Of Rogues

Thus in his estimation the offer from the Beggar master to support Flaunty over Earless wasn’t one to baulk at. So within the hour he’d rallied his lads for the rendezvous at Newgate, wherein the newly forged alliance would deal with the Bedwell brat once and for all.

So as the grey towers of Newgate crested the skyline to the east, Phil smiled. He could almost taste that victory feast now. Between his lads and the best o’ the beggars, Bedwell and any that stood with him would fall like scythed grass. By St Anthony, today was a most excellent day and if his eyes played him aright, his allies were assembling at the top of the hill to cheer on his venture. By tonight Flaunty Phil would be the one to wear the silver crown of the Upright Man!

At the first round of cheers Hugh tried to hide behind the cover of the barrel. A firm hand on his doublet collar dragged him upright then hugged him around the shoulder in a parody of comradeship. Damn but that hurt. “Now, now, my little rat we wants yr’ friends downhill to see y’ plain and clear.”

Hugh still tried to flinch away but Hawks’ strong arm had him locked in place. He shivered and whether in fright or chill it didn’t matter. Hugh fervently prayed to be well away from the feral grin of Hawks. He’d heard some strange stories about the Liberties knife man. Bloody handed deeds were to be had in a fair swag of them, though others hinted at Hawks’ involvement with Lollards, alchemists and dark necromancers over Southwark way. More tales talked of strange disappearances of young minchins and morts from the streets on nights of the dark of the moon. Gone and never seen again, not even floating in the Thames.

Now he couldn’t actually prove any connection, not at least one that’d stand up at the Court of the King’s Bench but the stories of Hawks’ recent activities coincided with the blackest of nights. Hugh most certainly didn’t want to suddenly vanish from his accustomed haunts, lost to all his friends and companions. Thus, as bidden he stood tall and waved and cheered like all the rest. Not even the hot breath of Kut Karl on his neck could’ve swayed Hugh from his present urgent task of keeping Hawks happy and appreciative of the service of this, his most reluctant recruit.

*

The vocal crowd must’ve been having a buoying effect on the party down the hill. Clearly pleased with their reception the company of the Wool’s Fleece headed by the gaudy, colourful figure of their master of rogues waved back at their cheering audience. Even from some thirty yards away Hugh could see the satisfied grin on the face of Flaunty Phil. It was almost like the celebration around the procession of the Misrule boy bishop. Behind them the windows were open and full of figures leaning over to catch a glimpse of the reason for the raucous cheering. More than a few joined in for no better reason than their neighbour was shouting as well. So by the time Flaunty Phil had travelled a dozen more paces up the hill over a hundred spectators had gathered in the spontaneous manner of London crowds. Usually these instant crowds were a boon for the begging fraternity since they provided a bountiful opportunity for scattered coins or cut purses. However unlike every other crowd in the city this one was totally lacking any beggars at all, save Hugh. If he’d had time to mull that fact over it might have worried him. However as it stood he was too terrified of his present company to consider the subtly ominous portents of the near future.

*

Like Hugh, Flaunty Phil was too taken up with the present moment to look any way ahead with clear vision. In contrast though his main emotions were bursting pride and satisfaction rather that codpiece drenching terror. He’d never have credited the commons of the Liberties with such an enthusiastic welcome. More commonly when the Fleecers came out of the tavern for roistering and affray the reaction of the Liberties populous was to bolt the doors and windows and hide in their houses until the screaming and moans had passed. Yet here they were in their hundreds all waving and cheering his arrival. It was then that Flaunty Phil knew his destiny lay in wearing the gold ring and silver circlet of the Upright Man. With so much acclaim and visible support both Earless Nick and Canting Michael would have to yield to his claim or face the wrath of the city.

What pleased him the most was the rank of barrels at the top of the hill, each attended by a tapster with a leather firkin at the ready. It swelled his heart near to bursting to see the loyalty of the inns and taverns of Snow Hill to his cause. Flaunty surreptitiously checked his purse for a suitable spread of pence. It always paid to be seen as generous and lordly. Also a display of munificence would make it so much easier when his lads visited later for a ‘rightful contribution’ to the Upright Man’s coffer chest. Best of all in the midst of these right worthy tapsters was Old Bent Bart’s most recent messenger, the crippled lad Hobblin’ Hugh.

If possible Flaunty Phil’s smile grew broader since the meaning of the ale was as obvious a signal as a great Gonne from the Tower. The Master of Beggars was pledging his support with this display of fealty. Once more lost in his delightful golden dreams of coming lordship Flaunty Phil’s usually sharp perception of the gritty here and now of the London streets was blurred. So it was perfectly understandable that the change in the cries of the crowd didn’t set him off to the upcoming turd in his pottage.

One moment there was Flaunty grinning and waving to the cheers. The next his bruised and broken nose was inches deep in the sloshing mire of the road. It seemed that a spring had burst forth and had drenched the road in a sudden flood and washed away his footing, tumbling him into the muddy onrush. In a suspended moment before his mind could readjust to his sudden lack of a cheering crowd, Flaunty was caught in a terrible dilemma. His body made two instantaneous demands-the first for breath, and the second the need to cradle the sharp throbbing pain of his once more flattened nose. Luckily for him at least part of his brain moved faster and instantly opted for shoving his hands into the stream of street filth and water and thus pushing himself halfway up to gulp a lungful of unmuddied air.

Phil shook his head, staggered upright and gasped as the pain roared out. “By Satan’s flaming arse wha…?”

It was probably for the best that his vision was blurred by mud and blood-he wouldn’t have been able to dodge the empty barrel bouncing its way down the hill that laid him out flat on his back. Thus Flaunty Phil was spared the final indignity of realising that the last wave of water had set him afloat in the piss channel ditch down Snow Hill.

*

Hugh, like the rest of the apprentices gained with the aid of Hawks’ silver, had helped tip up the line of water butts as Flaunty Phil approached. Half-heartedly Hugh joined in the sudden barrage of stone weighted snowballs raining down upon the drenched and tumbling Fleecers. Between the sudden flood and the missiles the rogues and roisters were completely routed either falling due to the now slippery cobbles or the wearing of a rock around the earhole. In true London fashion the crowd now switched from cheers to jeers in between the peals of raucous laughter at the staggering attempts of the Fleecer rogues to stay upright.

Beside him Hawks was the very picture of the gleeful Lord of Misrule as the Liberties knifeman aimed and launched his treacherously deceptive snowballs. At each strike he’d cry out a hurrah and then almost under his breath mutter some strange phrase. “Tumbled another pin! If’n only that were Bedwell I’d be a truly happy man.”

Hugh shivered at each downed Fleecer. That fearsome gleam in Hawks’ eye wasn’t diminished at the smiting of his foes, but rather stoked and puffed like the fire in a blacksmith’s forge. The felling of the Fleecers continued as if it were a Misrule game of bowls. Hugh fervently prayed to all and any saint who chanced to be listening that if they kept this poor soul safe till nightfall he’d swear off stealing church candles for life, as he truly didn’t want to know what cheery diversion Hawks had in mind when this game was ended.