Gregory House - A Comfit Of Rogues
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- Название:A Comfit Of Rogues
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This Misrule procession and its cheering reception must have put Earless Nick in a generous mood, or maybe it was the plentiful donations of tankards of fine Rhenish. Either way as they approached the bustle of Newgate along the tight confines of Warwick Lane the Lord of the Liberties waved Jemmy closer, gave him a firm buffet on the shoulder and passed across a full firkin. “Gulping, I’s much appreciate your company and the friendship of Canting. Tis the best Yuletide gift any man can receive.”
Gulping gave a self-deprecating shrug and living up to his nickname downed the wine in one long gulp.
Earless nodded and smiled at the demonstration, then arm around Jemmy’s shoulder continued to walk along in a companionable fashion. “I’ve heard that your Canting’s faithful bailiff, collects all his rents and earnings-a veritable paragon of rogues.”
Even under the rack Jemmy couldn’t have said what a paragon was. Maybe it was some kind of fish or bird, but he did understand that Earless was giving out praise. Not that his honesty was all that it was cracked up to be. You’d have to be completely taken in brandywine and keen on suicide to steal off Canting.
“Y’ knows Jemmy, when I’m the Upright Man I’ll need a few steady lads as bailiffs and reeves to do the rounds and see that the beggars, nips and hookmen of the city understand the way of the world.” The friendly hand gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and a hearty slap before Earless Nick moved off quickly towards the front of his festive band.
Jemmy raised his eyes above the common grime and slush of the street, and looked back over his shoulder. The grey horizon was punctured by the spire of St Paul’s standing tall and gleaming in its sheath of ice like the tower of some faerie palace. Jemmy knew that despite the season and imaginings he wasn’t in any other realm than that of his Sovereign Majesty King Henry the Eighth and even with the pretension of the most ambitious gang lord, it was wise not to come to royal attention.
Now this Misrule parade had some hundred yards to run till Newgate. That was fine for Jemmy. He needed a bit of room to mull over the last comment, so unconsciously he slipped back and slowly rounded up his slightly soused crew.
Earless’ last comment had been most intriguing. Jemmy uncharacteristically waved off a jug of ale, and hands tucked into his belt strolled along flogging his mind into action. Yes, he was Canting’s bailiff and had he felt eased the souls of many a worried merchant in Southwark when rents were due by his easy and understanding manner of the difficulties of business. However when a debt fell past due he was also the same bailiff who ensured an easy payment scheme without the bother of the County Assizes, messy legal quibbles or too many broken bones. So he knew his own worth. However by that last hint it was obvious to even Blind Pew that Earless Nick had more on his mind than acquiring the Rogue’s Misrule crown. Such as the imminent replacement of certain gang lords and masters. If a clever lad considered the import of the words of Earless Nick then an ambitious and insightful Gulping could take his pick from a London or Southwark lieutenancy.
Now that was a dangerous ambition for any canny fellow. The question was how was he to deal with it? Newgate Market lay just ahead. With a relaxed smile Jemmy sauntered along, his mind a whirl with possibilities and perils. And all the while his hand lay close to his dagger, because in Misrule’s reign one never knew what lurked around the corner.
Chapter Fifteen. A Meeting at Newgate
The slow chimes of St Paul’s bells rang out in the winter air with a stately solemnity tolling the hour of the day. At each clear peel Old Bent Bart gave an unconscious twitch. The hour was right, as was the place, and all his lads, minchins and morts were at his back ready for their master’s call. As if summoned the hundreds of parish bells rang out in reply telling even the deafest mute the hour had arrived. Despite the sweet crystal clarity the sound echoed in his heart as if it were his mourning dirge. He may cheat, cony catch, thieve and put the odd soul to a sharp, abrupt and sometimes bloody end but essentially Old Bent Bart saw himself as a peaceful man. He attended his parish church every Sunday and saint’s day. Parishioners were always more generous then. He lit candles and paid for masses for his mother and nameless father, as well as giving over gold to his special and most privy charity. Thus the prospect of affray wasn’t one he was either used to or anticipating with any amount of glee. If differences could be talked over he’d be happy enough, though any negotiation needed backing hence his large retinue. If only he didn’t have one remaining nagging worry. Who exactly could he count on as an ally?
The sound of cheering and laughter snapped him out of his reverie of worry and his sight flickered over past the array of moderately crowded market stalls to the junction of Warwick Lane. What was going on? Old Bent Bart’s jaw dropped and he blinked like an owl in shock. Earless Nick was here with all his gang and by the blessed saints and the love of Lord God, the whole party of rogues, punks, roisters and nips were beribboned and gilded up like a Liberties parody of Misrule’s Boy Bishop! Bart shook his head in clear disbelief, during the reign of Misrule the commons could get away with many a prank to the gentry and the church but this lewdness within sight of St Paul’s. Was Earless Nick’s Bedlamite crazed to insult the bishop of London on his own doorstep?
*
Still undecided on his action Jemmy strode into Newgate closely followed by a wilting Will. The lad was a touch unsteady due to a taverner’s generosity and thus was held close at hand and upright by Thomas Weldon, Canting’s trusted knifeman.
Earless had planned well and his colourful procession was led by the infernal squeal and beat of a drum and shawm, not that they kept to any particular rhythm or tune, but it none the less attracted the attention of the crowded market. Waiting ahead was the largest collection of beggars he’d seen outside of the wine drenched celebrations at the slaying of the last White Rose claimant four years ago. At his estimation there must be two hundred at least and in front stood the hunched figure of Old Bent Bart.
To Jemmy’s view the Beggar master appeared stunned at the apparition of Earless Nick’s Misrule procession. At a shouted command the Liberties band came to a shuffling halt. Wall-eyed Wallis made some play of buffoonery at his hobby horse, bucking, stamping and cavorting in the space between the two parties of rogues. The act drew hearty applause from the market crowd and giggles from a clutch of serving girls. Jemmy shook his head in wry amusement and chuckled quietly. If only the fair maids knew what fearsome weapon lurked beneath the ribbons! So both parties stood at each end of the Newgate Shambles, the tinkle of bells and shrill squeak of shawm competing with the cries of the butcher’s lads touting their array of fresh carcase carvings.
In the midst of this silent standoff an unexpected figure casually strolled out from the nearest tavern, then pinching a large lip casually tilted his head back peering up at the grey mass of clouds as if taking in a view of the weather. And so appeared at Newgate market, as if demon summoned the tall, cadaverous, lanky and unexpected figure of Canting Michael. Jemmy was stunned, but unlike the Beggar master he didn’t gape in amazement though only his patron angel knew how he kept up his mask of affable composure.
He had in a way been telling the truth to Earless Nick when he said that Canting was afeared that crossing the river to London would give him too much grief. More honestly it was a matter of several fouled bills that’d see him locked in Newgate Gaol or Bread Street Compter if any constable was brave enough to serve them. Of course it could be that matter of religious dispute betwixt Canting and Bishop Stokesley that made him shy of the city. Either way to cross the Thames for the gang lord of Southwark was unheard of…that was until now.
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