Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

Ned frowned pensively and gave a short nod. Yes that would be true. Apprentice lawyers would run over their own mothers to get to a free feast. There was nothing so ravenous as a pack of lawyers in a feasting frenzy. Sourly he moved onto the question he was dreading to ask. “How many did she get?”

“Oh Ned, I think there must a couple of thousand. Not a soul can move, its so packed.”

Ned could see any profits from this venture fast disappearing. He shuddered to estimate what Meg Black’s exercise in generosity was going to cost, all to bottle up a couple of Stafford women and their baskets of oranges. It was just possible that Ned could be hauled off to debtor’s prison before he was grabbed by the Lord Chancellor. He could almost see the thousands of Cardinal’s Angels they’d salvaged last year trickling away like the most expensive sack gushing out of a breached barrel.

Feeling poorer and even more despondent as well as bruised, Ned tried to salvage something from this disaster. “What of that friar I asked you to watch?”

Emma smiled and waved her hand southwards. “Easy, he kept on watching the party from an alleyway down towards Temple Bar, until a short while ago, maybe a quarter hour from the chimes. Then he stalked off going into the Imperial Ambassador’s courtyard off Milford Lane.”

Ned almost leapt in pleasure. At last one of his hunches had been proven correct. And then he stopped. “That residence it has its own water gate, doesn’t it?”

Emma had to think for a moment, and then slowly nodded. Ned swore, strode across to Skelton and grabbed him by the doublet. Possibly not the best move, a sudden thicket of edged steel leapt into view. “If you want the Spaniard so much then you better get a move on. He’s heading for the river!”

For a brief second Skelton looked bemused. Then a savage snarl crossed his face and he let out some sort of rousing cry in that heathen northern tongue. His retainers sheathed their blades and made for the door. Skelton caught hold of Ned and dragged him along in the wake of the flood onto the street before he had even thought of slipping off in the confusion. “Right Ned lad, the hunt’s on. What’s the best route t’ catch us a Spaniard?”

To Ned this was home ground. The Inns of Chancery weren’t that far away, may be a hefty stones throw. He turned southward toward the riverside and tried to peer past the steeple of St Clement Dane. There was a small decayed alley that ran down to the river between the inhabited and derelict mansions of the powerful. It was sometimes used as a short cut to get a boat for the Bear baiting at Paris Gardens in Southwark. Once at the old wharf there was a chance to catch a wherry, so it was a matter of speed and luck. Ned had a few suspicions as to what the Queen’s servant was up to, but they had to move or labour forever to get past Mistress Black’s merry throng.

Now it was his turn to drag Skelton along by his sleeve. The Norfolk retainers formed a solid knot behind and used their mass and momentum to cut through the boisterous crowd.

The entrance to the alley was only just wider than a man’s shoulders and the ground was choked with dark mounds, some groaning in drunken excess, others just mouldering and releasing a whiff of putrid air if you stepped on them. After the first thirty paces and a great deal of prodigious swearing from the Norfolk retainers, unaccustomed to difficult city terrain, they came across a further obstacle.

Fashions and favour in the city changed with the flow of time. Once great houses of the lords and bishops decayed and fell into ruin as their masters slowly slid from power or had their benefits abruptly terminated by the edge of the axe. So it was in this block between the ancient church of St Clement Dane and the riverside. Deserted monasteries and small churches were accorded changing uses. Some were transformed into hospitals, while others acquired a different sort of parishioner.

Ned could tell they were getting close from the gasped cries that echoed up the alley. A couple of the northerners loosened their blades at the sounds till Skelton gave a harsh laugh and bid them hold up.

The interesting situation about London that provided so much work for lawyers was that it was a patchwork of different ownerships and responsibilities. Here was a good example. The church about fifty paces in front of them hadn’t been used for parish service for nay on a hundred years. Nor had it been designated as a hospital or priory. It hung in limbo, jealously guarded by bickering church officials, as each fought to maintain their rights according to which ancient legacy or donation they wheeled out in court. If the building had been in a more privileged patch then the lords temporal may also have put their claim upon it, either for the site or the worked stone. So as it stood, the ruinous structure was accorded the privilege of church supervision, and as such it lay within the bounds of the Liberties, a stubbornly held and much abused right.

The result was an island of refuge like the Liberties of London, free from the supervision of city officials and the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, formerly Sir Thomas More. So given the absence of lawful supervision, it became the haunt of those escaping the constraints of London’s laws-cutpurses, cozeners, debtors, forgers, murderers and of course whores and punks by the dozen.

It was the echoes of this latter trade that had so alarmed a few of Skelton’s men. The plying of their avocation also made the passage of the small alley that much more difficult, as they had to squeeze past couples locked in the passion of the beast with two backs.

Ned wouldn’t have thought it possible from such a barbaric bunch who took part in the lord knew what dubious pursuits back home, quite possibly involving sheep or cattle, but several of the northerners growled disapprovingly at these open displays of lewdness. Well the practicalities of price dictated the necessity. A hump on a pallet was twice the price of one against the wall.

Ned turned to Skelton who was sneering at the engaged couples. “I can see that you didn’t introduce your lads to all the available diversions of the city.”

Norfolk’s man shrugged and waved his hand in the direction of the trade. “I’ll nay ‘avethem tainted by southern vices, nay that I’m agin the practice o’ a bit of rumpy, but nay like this. In all this muck, it cramps a man’s skill.”

Now that was a surprise. Skelton had scruples, and here was Ned thinking Norfolk’s man was just an unprincipled murderer and sheep futterer, who’d commit any act for his own benefit.

The congested nature of the alley delayed their progress, but they managed to reach the wharf still with maybe an hour of light to spare though not much more from the waning orange glow to the west. Ned had a feeling that Don Juan Sebastian was improvising this move. The Spaniard couldn’t have been happy when the first dispatch of oranges had been abruptly halted, and then when the rescue mission was bogged down by delay and distraction, his temper must have risen alarmingly. Finally Meg Black’s impromptu street party probably pushed the Spaniard into an absolute rage. And recognising who was orchestrating the event, well that would have edged his temper into the incandescent, especially since Meg helped tumble him into a muddy ditch last year. So now the Queen’s servant was watching his mistress’s carefully laid plans fall apart.

So what part of the plot was Don Juan Sebastian de Alva keen to implement now? And what was he planning to do? Ned had a suspicion that a final part of the conspiracy was yet to lock into place, and it had something to do with the illicit cargo of the Ruyter and More’s pursuivant Sir Frederick Belsom. And somewhere in the tangles of the scheme were two murderous minions, Watkins and Edwards. If he could pin down the two elusive powder sorters, perhaps with a few of Gryne’s Men, he was sure to get answers to that puzzle and maybe some others as well.