Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

After the usual social niceties had been exchanged Ned launched straight into it. “I’ve heard many glowing reports of your business skills and wise judgement, uhh, Albrecht.”

Ned made a play at clumsy familiarity with the use of the Hanse merchant’s first name. It worked. The Hanse visibly relaxed as if he’d gained the measure of Ned’s uncertainty. “You are too kind Meister Bedwell. I am just a humble merchant with some small skill.”

The self deprecation was prefect. Ned’s daemon suggested this fellow would make a first rate pleader in the courts. “Why, hmm, Albrecht you underrate yourself! Margaret Black always said you’re the most renowned merchant at the Steelyards, with a keen sense for the customs of trade.”

This was definitely the right tack-flattery will always get you further than truth. The Hanse returned a small bow at the compliment. “I have some small mastery in London trade, Meister Bedwell, though I can name several men far more worthy than myself.”

Ned waved his hand in dismissal of the Hanse’s attempt at modesty. “Certainly not Albrecht. Frequently Margaret has told me that of all the men in trade of the city, you’re the only one she trusts. She said you were as kind and as wise as even her own Uncle Williams, and if I had any questions of business I couldn’t do better than ask you.”

At the repeated mention of Meg Black’s more formal first name, Margaret, the Hanse merchant’s eyelids flickered and Ned suspect a guilty conscience was tugging at the soul. Hopefully it reminded the merchant of Ned’s more legal position in the relationship, though the ‘honest’ smile didn’t waver. “Hmm. Albrecht, I find myself in a very difficult position with no one to turn to for assistance in a very delicate matter. I beg you to extend to me the kind regard that has so assisted our sweet Margaret in the past.”

Now Albrecht’s eyebrows quivered, but the merchant lent forward and put his hand on Ned’s arm in a fatherly manner. “By the love of God and the regard I have for our dear Margaret, Meister Bedwell I will.”

At that confirmation Ned gave a great sigh of relief and clutched at the hand like drowning man. “I thank you Albrecht. That is great weight off me. Anyway call me Ned since I feel we will be good and close friends to each other.”

If anything the Hanse’s smile grew broader as he continued in his role of kindly uncle.

“Firstly it is of Margaret’s well being that I’m most concerned. You know of the writ I received from my good lord, Thomas Cromwell?”

After a slight pause the Hanse returned a nod.

“I have had word from a concerned friend at court, that it would be advantageous if Mistress Black visited friends abroad for a while.”

At that, Albrecht’s eyebrows shot up like a pair of startled caterpillars. Ned hadn’t named names, but it was common knowledge around the Inns that his master’s rescue from the wreck of Cardinal Wolsey was owed in no small measure to Lady Anne Boleyn. So Ned just floated the supposition and let intuition and rumour do the rest. The Hanse reached up and twisted one of the forks of his beard in thought, while Ned maintained his friendly, concerned and hopefully slightly naive expression. Honestly, he didn’t know how experienced lawyers did this. You’d have to practice in the mirror for hours!

“Ned, I am most glad you sought my assistance. I’m one of her guardians, according to the will of her father. I could not see her harmed!”

Ned adopted a very grave, concerned demeanour and made a pious triangle of his fingers. “Nor would I Albrecht.Nor would I. However I see no way out of this for her or us, unless Margaret’s true friends disregard her wilful tantrums and see her safely to Antwerp. Once out of the way, my lord and our courtly ‘friend’ can arrange for Chancellor More to…well, to loose interest.”

The Hanse considered the options. Ned could see that it held his attention. It certainly did for him. Albrecht heaved a great sigh and slowly shook his head. “It may be so, but she won’t go willingly.”

Almost there, his daemon whispered encouragingly. “I know. That’s why I’ve arranged to have her seized this evening. Tonight she’ll be trussed up in Southwark and in the Low Countries by the week’s end. Tis time for godly men to act decisively or we lose our honour and the enterprise falters.”

The Hanse merchant once more lent back on the stool and stroked his beard as he considered the ‘option’. Ned thought it was a good play at solicitude, though he was particularly proud of his hints that he’d acted as a knowledgeable participant amongst the secret church reform faction. “Hmm, I fear you are right in this difficulty, Ned. Pledge me her safety and you have my blessing.”

“I give you my oath before God and my hope of salvation that while I live, none shall harm Margaret Black.” To prove his reform credentials Ned forbore signing himself with the cross, instead offering his hand as surety.

Albrecht gave a slow, satisfied nod and strongly grasped the proffered hand, his eyes now damp and blinking. To an outsider it would seem a solemn pact between two men, one older and weeping, the other much younger and bravely resolute.

Ned’s daemon, if it had a voice, would’ve instantly asked the witness for a friendly game of dice, if it wasn’t berating him for a foolish pledge. “Now Albrecht, we have one more serious matter, the ownership of the Ruyter.”

Having moved onto the firmer ground of trade, Albrecht wiped his eyes, and his face returned to its more pleasant opacity.

“I realise that Margaret arranged for the vessel and trade to be in my name, as we agreed for reasons of law.” Actually his daemon reminded him, he didn’t even know he owned a boat until a few days ago, but he was sure Albrecht did, maybe also providing some useful assistance in skirting the paperwork and arranging seals. It was of long standing in the book of statutes that women, unless widows, could not own property. You’d think that the restriction would put a crimp on their ambitions. Not so. Like Meg Black they used guardians and proxies as fronts for their ventures, though Ned did have to wonder why she’d chosen ‘Master Edward Bedwell’ of St Lawrence Poor Jewry as the mark.

“Since ownership is no longer a question and the other distraction solved, my master wishes to invest in ‘a solution to this affair.”

Ned flipped open the lid of a small heavy, iron-strapped chest sitting on the table beside him. Four hundred golden angels refracted the morning into a shattering shimmer of wealth. Albrecht gave a small gasp of surprise. So he should. That was one hundred and fifty pounds in unclipped royal currency! It would be fair to say that he viewed Ned in a new light from that moment on. For Ned the chest was a triumph of effort and heartbreak. He’d made an offer to a close friend of his uncle’s, a Master Rogerson Goldsmith of the city, and lover of fine horseflesh. Ned had arranged a loan of the money in the chest for his beautiful chestnut, Don Juan Sebastian. He hoped and prayed that it was only a temporary remedy, though at the least he could say farewell to any stud fees this year. Anyway, as his daemon frequently muttered, just in case of disaster by Sunday, there was enough coin aside to flee overseas.

As if the thought summoned the author of all ills into being, Albrecht cleared his throat. “Meister Bed…ah, Ned. What is that…that for?”

“Why Albrecht, it’s an ‘investment’ in rescuing this venture from peril, with my master’s best wishes. I believe he said something about arranging for the correct licences and that this would help secure the vessel and its load after the customs officer’s seizure.”

At the news Albrecht positively glowed with anticipation. Every merchant in London knew of Cromwell’s reputation as a trader and his skill at evading customs and the law in favour of his old lord, Cardinal Wolsey, while the debts affair and the grain crisis of autumn had also ensured that Cromwell stayed high in the city’s regard.