Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

However for kingdoms such an event was a calamity. As a man was naturally expected to lead the family, the King was the father of the kingdom and so he must have a male heir to succeed. The other perilous solution left few options.

If you had a daughter like young Princess Mary, then she could be married off to an eligible suitor. However, according to the laws and customs of the realm, her husband became King and that temptation was a heady tonic for any of the kingdom’s nobles. So it was best if the suitor was of royal lineage from across the water and if that were so, only one family came to mind-the Hapsburgs.

According to some learned men at the Inns, opportune marriages made the Hapsburgs the modern power of our world. Emperor Charles would naturally advance the suit of any of his family so that by rights, in the fullness of time, the Kingdom of England would be added as an inheritance to his already vast domains. That was worrying. Of course a worse fate beckoned. The Princess Royal could be married to a Valois of France, as had been bruited about a few years ago.

That was a very chilling thought and upset the natural order of the past. The link with the House of Hapsburg was a generation strong, not always to the advantage of England, but it had served as the usual counter to the French. This base treachery now changed that, for only a fool would not see that it was to the Emperor’s advantage to frustrate the moves of their most mighty and puissant Sovereign. The longer the annulment was dragged out then the better chance that Princess Mary would be the only legitimate heir, and when you considered the evidence, the Queen obviously now felt her duty towards her Hapsburg kin was stronger than her anointed pledge as consort.

Ned stilled another quiver of fear and apprehension. It would be best not to let Emma see how terrified this scrap of parchment made him. Its treacherous import was almost too great to handle. This was the sort of conspiracy that men like Norfolk and Cromwell consorted with every day, so why couldn’t he just pass it on? Wasn’t this the sort of situation that you would expect reported by their coteries of informers and pursuivants?

For a brief span of time, as Ned sat there staring blankly at the incriminating scrap, he really considered racing over to Westminster and throwing it into the lap of his good lord. For a while he wavered, until he recalled the session with his uncle this morning. Realistically that was the sort of reception he could expect-a written report, then only watchful anticipation as the calculation of advantage began. Thus worked the practiced court habits of the Privy Council. Ned quailed at the prospect, but as his angel reminded him, this was his city and no matter which way this projected mayhem worked out, it was certain that he and his friends would suffer.

That certain knowledge transformed his wavering into a swelling anger and drove him to the decision. If the great wouldn’t act to halt this, then he would! His daemon twitched an idea out of the shadows of his thoughts. Yes…yes…it was a possible plan. It could be made to work. Letting it coalesce into a solid form he seized another parchment, and with quill clutched purposefully, he began a series of messages. Yes he was certain. A deliberate spirit had seized his hand as the quill raced across the page and he remembered a doggerel line his nurse used to hum-‘When Adam delved and Eve span, who then was the gentleman?’

He would show Queen Katherine and the treacherous Staffords what loyalty lay in the hearts of Englishmen!

***

Ned strode purposefully through the busy streets of the city with his impromptu retinue stomping and growling along behind. Menace was no longer just hinted at. Ned gave a savage grin at the clatter caused by his wake. He’d abruptly dragged his reluctant retainers from their repast of pease pudding and beef, roasted in bacon fat, and it made for an ill mood. Ouze had kept them at their business with a few meaningful nudges from his cudgel. The last complaints had disappeared when Ned had promised to pay for an evening’s carousel and feast at the Bee Skep after this Sunday. He wanted them at their best for his journey to Smarts Key even at the price of further draining of his famished purse. At the end of this dismal affair the treasurer of the Company of the Cardinal’s Angels had better be forthcoming, or he would have a serious falling out with her.

Except for his passage, it was a very quiet and subdued traverse to the river. Despite the crowds and the influx for the law term, the city was in a sombre mood and the sweat of anxiety spread through alley and lane. Whether it was caused by the agitation of the friars, the raids of More’s pursuivants or the constant fear of a summer outbreak of pestilence, he couldn’t tell but the city was in a breathless pause of nervous anticipation.

And he’d done his bit in stirring it up. His retinue’s score stood at eight friars set upon and roughed up before they’d hit St Katherine’s Coleman by Seething Lane. After that the word was spreading and friars suddenly became scarce. Ned had smiled grimly as they traversed Beer Lane, nary a friar in sight for a whole parish-excellent!

His quill cramped fingers felt satisfied at their labour. Since his masters had accorded him little respect for his talents and no honour for his position, he’d decided to play on the ground of his choosing. An hour’s effort at Mistress Emma’s table had a dozen letters drawn up, each addressed to the parish constables scattered across London, ‘ bidding them in the Lord Chancellor’s name to seize and secure forthwith any lewd and mischievous friars who were preaching without a writ from the Bishop of London ’. To speed up compliance he had made a fair imitation of Sir Fredrick Belsom’s signature. Normally he wouldn’t have been so brazen about forgery. However with the threat of more severe punishment if he failed, and the chance of losing a hand paled into insignificance, compared to say a head. As for another set of notes, well ‘Red Ned Bedwell’ did have standing and honour amongst the lower denizens of the city. Thus it was an simple task to pen a promissory note for several men of darker reputation, offering four golden angels if they kept their parish, friar free till Sunday. Either one method or the other would clear the streets.

So it was a satisfied Ned that arrived at Smarts Key at the three of the clock chimes. The usual scattered crowd of paid watchers and the naturally curious greeted him as he stepped onto the wharf. No great change, except that they all kept a respectful distance from the vessel. Ned’s smile widened with mirthless pleasure. Excellent, word of the previous night’s end to the affray must have been spread along the riverfront. Maybe they’d be left alone now. It was amazing how the whiff of brimstone could quell a mob.

Ned had the whole of the city to transverse before he got here and in that time his temper had edged towards the breaking point. Tumbling friars was only a partial balm. His rage had been stoked by days of disdainful treatment. Once more he was trapped into being a pawn of the powerful. He hadn’t asked for this perilous challenge. All he had wanted was to finish his legal apprenticeship at Gray’s Inn and find honourable employment. The way things were going that was a diminishing prospect. What noble family would engage him and not suspect he was a spy set to betray them? He was already marked as a servant of Cromwell and now he had the dubious distinction of attracting the interest of the Duke of Norfolk. That combination was dangerous enough thank you, without adding the possible taint of heresy. He gave a frown as he paced up the gangplank. By all the saints, association with Meg Black came at a stiff price!