Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Now, as his better angel reminded him, in all of this treachery, double dealing and shadowed cony tricks, where exactly did his understanding of justice and law fit? Was it actually compatible with the survival of his earthly body in these decayed, modern times?

According to the strict interpretation of the law as decreed by the King’s Majesty in his suppression of heretical books, both More and Belsom could be said to have correctly obeyed. As far as Ned was concerned, the pursuit was neither just nor honourable. He may be cynical as his daemon said, but he’d witnessed the laws of the realm in action in the suits and petitions at the Court’s of Common Pleas and the King’s Bench. There he’d witnessed cases decided more on the personal biases of His Majesty’s Councillors and their friends, not the good of the commonweal or the plaintiff. As for the enactment of statute, it came down to a matter of interpretation of the King’s writ by lower minions, each with an eye to their personal advantage.

So where did Ned stand in all of this? He was just a man, not a saint, so common foibles and flaws were his lot. So how did he, Ned Bedwell, apprentice lawyer and servant to Thomas Cromwell, deal with all that he’d learned this week and most importantly of all, what action should he take?

As far as Ned was concerned, despite the pretentious claims of Meg Black, there was only one leader of the Companie of the Cardinal’s Angels. As the ancient philosophers wrote, it was his task, nay his bound duty and responsibility to protect those who claimed his patronage. After all he was almost a gentleman.

First to the Hanse. Well Albrecht did betray Meg, and apart from the time he would undoubtedly spend in the possession of demons, paying for his sins, there was the matter of earthly justice. It was difficult to tell how much of his fall was from simple greed and how much from the fear and the pressure Belsom and Welkin had put on him. A mitigating factor may have been the loss of his friends, who had been dragged off to the Lollard tower for months of long questioning. Such sights had been known to erode a man’s resolve. No matter. If Albrecht was being threatened, the Hanse merchant knew he could have warned Meg, and she would have moved all of London to aid him. So for his act of betrayal there was a matter of compensation for injury to the insufferable Meg Black.

And then to the slaying of Joachim and his nephew Pieter. Whether they were in on Albrecht’s act of treachery was impossible to ascertain so Ned was inclined to err on the side of Christian compassion. Their slaying was murder, no other word for it. How they were placed was an act of gross indecency and to Ned displayed the cankerous perversity of the murder’s soul. Their slayers had to be dealt with and if possible those above who orchestrated the outrage as well. To Ned it was becoming obvious that the hands that held the slaying blades obeyed a higher command-two royal officials at least. Anyway once that was solved they needn’t fear the threats of the Lord Chancellor, for without that double death his writ crumbled, and both Meg Black and the vessel were free. Then as if a bright light pierced his thoughts, Ned felt the intercession of an angel. A vision was forming and figures standing together. Demons with long pointed teeth grinned mirthlessly and spread a welcoming hand to their gathered minions as the scene unfolded to reveal…

“Ned!” A hand on his shoulder was shaking him. Ned Bedwell pulled out of his entranced vision and blinking, shook his head. He was on the deck of the ship, not the burning plains of hell, and Rob Black was tugging at him.

“What…what’s going on?”

“Ned, you looked so strange. I thought you were ill!” Rob had turned him around and was peering intently at him, concern writ clear in his furrowed brows.

“No it’s all right, I was just ahh…well I was, ahh… Don’t worry, I’m just tired.” Ned couldn’t find the words to describe what he’d seen. It had felt so strange, a mixture of both angelic and demonic. He shoved the feeling aside, waving away the fussing and instead pulled Rob to one side. “My thanks for keeping our guests occupied. Ahh, but the Gonnes, do you think that was necessary?”

Rob adopted a very hurt expression and then gave a familiar shrug. “Why not? They enjoyed the tour and the lesson. Anyway it was my Christian duty.”

Ned wasn’t sure if he was still in the lingering hold of the vision. Teaching girls how to unleash the demons of Gonne powder didn’t strike him as a Christianly act.

Rob must have sensed his doubt, for his friend straightened up and adopted that almost haughty self righteousness Ned had seen so frequently in his friend’s sister. “Lizzie said the girls on the riverside are terrified of being taken by slavers. So I showed them what to do, if ever that happened, how you could take the ship if you knew how to use the Falconet.”

Ned rubbed his face wearily before answering. He swore this day was getting stranger by the minute. “What! You taught women how to load and fire the Gonne? Rob, my friend, I know that St Barbara is the patron saint of Gonners, but isn’t that a bit extreme?”

The young artificer frowned and shook his head emphatically. “No. they were attentive and learned quickly, better than many lads I’ve seen. What did Sir Belsom want?”

This rapid change in the conversation caught Ned by surprise. “Well, ahh, the usual slanders and blandishments.”

He hadn’t meant to lie to Rob or mislead him, and it wasn’t the five hundred gold coins tying his tongue, no matter what his angel insinuated. It was just, at this present moment, the less Rob who knew, the safer he would be. After all, what he didn’t know couldn’t be dragged out of him.

To avoid more difficult questions Ned quickly tried to shepherd the girls towards the cabin. Lizzie, the ravishingly blonde one, refused to budge unless Rob came along. Great, another chaperone dictated by a punk’s infatuation. Ned gave a regretful sigh. No chance of a discreet tumble now.

Ned could have groaned in despair and frustration. Here again! When would he be able to leave this cursed room? He took his stance resting against the table, while waving the girls over towards the bunk. Rob pulled the door closed and grabbed one of the stools. Perhaps he should have considered this more carefully for once on the bunk both girls began to loosen their bodices.

Normally, without any extra encouragement from his daemon, Ned would have cheered this on. However now there were other pressing concerns vying for his attention. “Ahh, ladies, that’s not necessary. Please, you can keep your dresses on!”

That earned a frown from Mary and a disappointed sigh from Lizzie, as well as a long lingering pout towards Rob Black which turned him an interesting shade of embarrassed.

Once more Mary spoke up in defence of her still raging suspicions. “Wot’s this? We’ve already told y’ we’re not the sort t’ play the trick wot they ‘ave at the Biddle. That be just un-nacharal.”

Ned shook his head. The gilt coin should have allayed most of their fears, but apparently not enough. This was not an act he would normally consider. After all it was damned dangerous. Ned pulled out the brace of pistols from his doublet and placed them on the table. “This is like the Gonne Robert showed you how to use, but you wind this and pull back this hammer to cock it.”

So imitating his friend, Ned took them through another arcane art of war. If this pattern kept up they’d be real Amazons before they left the ship. Ned shuddered to think what warlike skill Captaine Gryne’s men might contribute to their education. He refrained from mentioning that the weapons were unloaded before he placed them in the hands of the amazed pair. Maybe it was that display of trust that finally got through. However Ned was beginning to suspect that Rob could probably get all the answers he ever wanted from Lizzie, and a great deal more.