Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Ned felt the warm gold slip across his skin as it tinkled and glittered in the summer light, and thought furiously. As much as he would dearly like to give Mistress I know better than thee Black her overdue comeuppance for the insults and arrogance of this past week, this attractively glittering pile of coins was well in excess of the humiliation he was longing to inflict. His daemon was eagerly reminding him of a host of thwarted ambitions it could fund-the gold was desperately tempting to an aspiring lad. For one thing, he could be free of both his uncle and Cromwell, a man of independent means and status, with a reputation for cleverness and success. That…that was damn persuasive. Images of his own London great house, like the Lord Chancellor’s old mansion of Bucklesbury, flitted across his imagination, soon followed by a train of servants and livery men at his beck and call. Then there was the fine gowns and doublets. He could replace his splendid gold ring given over at Christmas to redeem the worthless Walter. In fact, the more he allowed the glitter of the coins to en-trance him, the more possibilities opened up-advancement at the Royal Court, a title, Sir Edward Bedwell, a country manor, the prospect of a wealthy heiress. Oh by the saints, it was the very mother load of temptation! And it held him lost in speculation for…for as his angel pointed out entire too long, as the prospects of wealth and fame paraded before his eyes.

It was perhaps these stern words of his better angel or maybe the strident warnings of his daemon that pulled him back from the golden path. Both of them pointed him to the same difficulty. Trust, it all revolved around trust, and Sir Roderick Belsom was absolutely and utterly untrustworthy. Well you could trust him to find some very convenient way to recover his gold, preferably with Ned too dead to worry about disputing the finer points of the arrangement. The Lord Chancellor’s pursuivant was too ready and eager to show the gilt. Anyway, as Ned regretfully agreed, saying farewell to his promise of prosperity, Sir Thomas More would turn heretic before he would admit to any error to a scion of the Rich clan.

On many matters Ned differed sharply with his Uncle Richard. However their one point of common ground was the unreasoning hatred of Sir Thomas More towards any of their kith or kin. These were only a few of the difficulties raised by the offer of five hundred pounds, though to many fellows he knew at the Inns of Court, half this or less would cancel any conflicts of duty, honour, friendship or family. Now, if any in this affair, was the time for measured reason not base lust. Ned carefully arranged several of the coins into a short stack, as he prodded his thinking towards survival, not gold. Damn difficult that!

There weren’t many choices. To refuse the offer was a foolish move and would probably set Sir Belsom on his guard and then the cunning riverside rat would find another scheme not quite so transparent. So Ned had to tread very carefully. Perhaps if he played up being a greedy youth? It was exactly what Sir Belsom seemed to expect.

“Your gift, Sir Belsom, is extremely generous. I…I don’t know what to say!” Ned kept his eyes fixed on the gold as if it would disappear.

That was a good start. Sir Toad beamed benignly and rubbed his hands. Ned was after all a Rich by blood, and as they say, blood will tell. “Edward, it’s only right that loyalty be rewarded. Sir Thomas is a generous lord, caring and solicitous to those who serve him and His Majesty.”

Oh and here was the expected upping of the bid. As a bonus there was an offer of a position in the retinue of Sir Thomas More.

Ned kept his eye firmly riveted on the coins as if fascinated. He was of course. Only a saint would fail to be moved by five hundred pounds! The problem however was still trust. As of now, even his better angel screamed caution and rectitude, warning that Belsom had marked him for death. Sir Toad had used his first name to lull him into a trap.

Ignoring these repeated warnings, he gave a startled cough, clearing his throat and made his counter offer. “The friendship of the Lord Chancellor is an offer beyond price. However there, hmm, are costs I must discharge to join his service. If, Sir Belsom, I had five hundred companions to these…” Ned lifted a handful of gold and let it dribble through his fingers, with his sight locked on the golden rain “…that would more than meet them.”

Stealing the slightest glance out of the corner of his eye he could see the attempted nonchalant benevolence of Sir Belsom. The fellow was very keen to keep a mark on his stake. His voice betrayed the outward calm and quavered in an endeavour to stop the falsetto of panic at the raised price of bargaining. “Ahh Edward, my, my lad.Ahhm, ahh, an…an increase could be arranged. However the Lord Chancellor would expect to receive immediate assistance in his current duties for His Majesty.”

Ned twitched a slight smile. That agreement was too fast. Sir Belsom should have gone through three more rounds of polite bargaining. Though Ned did understand the subtext, his daemon still whimpered at the neat columns of gold. They were a difficult prompt to ignore. He appeared to hesitate, or at least made a play at hesitation. The problem with temptation was, as his both his daemon and angel frequently said, it so damned tempting! “I see…well Sir Belsom, in that case I may be able to let you have the vessel, and its cargo.”

The light of greedy eagerness burned bright in Sir Belsom’s face. Ned could feel it scorching him. His angel screamed in dismay and he continued, the flickering glint of gold gleaming and sparkling before him in a hypnotic manner, whispering of wealth and power and privilege. He really wasn’t succumbing. It was a sham, a cozener’s play. It was, it was just so real. His fingers ached and twitched to scoop up the coins and let them slide through his fingers once more.

“In return I…I have a gift for the Lord Chancellor. I believe I know where Mistress Black is hiding her Hanse friend. Both of them could be yours before Sunday.”

At that Sir Belsom let out a long breath and burst into a full smile, his toad like eyes glowing. “Excellent Edward, excellent! I believe we have an understanding. My clerk will have the bills drawn up by Monday next. Here’s my hand as bond. I’ll warrant a lad like you will go far in the Lord Chancellor’s service.”

With that Sir Frederick bounced onto his feet and shook Ned firmly by the hand, all the time continuing to grin like a fiend. Ned didn’t have to act. The stupid smile plastered on his face was real. Sir Belsom actually thought he had the better of the cozening!

They parted as old friends after a long separation right up to the doorway where the pursuivant paused to add two further stipulations. “Edward my friend, there is one final task. Could you have the vessel moored by the Tower wharves by Saturday evening? After nightfall would be best. I, oh I mean our Lord requires…you know, privacy from the prying eyes of the city and the like. Of course I will have the balance of your fee. In fact, for your extra services my Lord will add a further fifty pounds for the heretics!”

Ned still grinning, swore upon his departed father’s soul and his uncle’s honour that it would be as the Lord Chancellor wished, and escorted his new best friend and patron to the dockside. “Sir Frederick, I have just one question. You told me of the two honest men who will stand witness for Albrecht Hagan’s heinous act. Will they appear at the inquest?”

At this the pursuivant paused in thought, with a distinct look of nervous concern. Obviously his planning hadn’t got that far.

“It’s just that I hear many stories at the Inns of Court about how poorly some decent fellows can be treated before the Justices, unless that is, they have some suitable instruction. After all, there may be some facts regarding the affair that may need clarification and Justices can sometimes be so unreasonable in their questioning.” Ned gave what he thought would be interpreted as an attempt at a sly smile.