Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

He fended off the approaching wall with his oar as they glided towards the wharf at Traitor’s Gate. This was a damned ominous entrance to the Tower. Though it was used by His Majesty when the King boarded the Royal Barge, its other use was the traditional portal to which gentry and lords were brought to be incarcerated for the length of His Majesty’s pleasure. Last year Londoners had crowded the riverside leading to this channel, expecting to see transported hither the disgraced Lord Chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey. To their disappointment, Wolsey had gained a reprieve from the King.

Now Ned was cautiously tying up their wherry on the wharf next to another moored boat. The tide was still high so that the water occasionally lapped the slick timber planks. Very quietly the other three boats joined him, hands outstretched to stop the vessels thudding against the oak piles. A muffled curse reached Ned’s ears. Someone in the second boat had caught their fingers between the jostling timbers. He gave a thankful prayer that they’d left Meg Black behind dealing with the injured. She just couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut.

Tam was the first off and moved his large bulk silently towards the iron gate. Preparing for the worst, he cautiously tried it. It was unlocked and easily swung open. The low squeal of poorly oiled iron echoed up the stairway, but nothing happened-no call or cry.

“Where’re ta’ guards?”

That was a good question. Tam was being very observant tonight. Ned leant past him and peered up the stone stairs. The lantern at the top was sputtering. It was a good question. Where were the guards? This was the heart of the King’s realm. Usually fifty yeoman guards patrolled the walls and the gate, so what had happened?

Master Robinson hobbled along the wharf to join in the inspection, closely followed by a wary Skelton. The royal official sadly shook his head. “I heard Edwards gloating over the opportunity. Blackford had drugged their ale and wine. No guards will be awake. Those rats were looking forward to this night. They’d gathered twenty odd scum from the riverside in preparation for a looting spree.”

That’d be right. He was certain Blackford had made sure everyone in the Tower had a full measure of his generosity, probably claiming his saints day as an excuse or maybe, ironically, the King’s great petition.

Skelton gave an evil chuckle. “Nay need ta worry. My lads looked affer that gang o’ wharf scrapings.”

He growled out a further command to his fellow northerners, and drawing swords, they quietly paced up the stairs. Ned was quite happy to let him lead the way. Norfolk’s man had done a bit of looting of his own earlier that night, and acquired one of the powder sorter’s breech loading wheellock harquebus. With a weapon like that, Ned wanted Skelton in sight all the time.

Whatever the drugs were, they’d worked. Two guards were slumped by the exit of St Thomas’s tower. Ned stooped down and checked them. Well, well. Sergeant Cod Scratcher was one, and he was snoring away like a babe. Ned resisted the urge to kick him. Drugged wine that was a very cunning ploy and helped explain why no one from the Tower had raised any alarm over the affray down by the wharf. He’d been curious about that silence, once he’d had time to think about it after the battle. “Ben, where are the powder stores?”

Master Robinson pointed to his left and swept his arm in a full arc to the far right. It took in most of the inner ward. “They’ll use the ones from Bell Tower around to Bowyer Tower.”

This was looking pretty daunting. Between both groups they only had twenty five men. How were they supposed to cover all that area? He should have insisted that Meg yield those dozen men she’d seized for the ship.

“Why them?”

“Cos I hid all the keys, and only told them where the ones for Lion, Beauchamp and Devereux towers were.”

“What, why do that?”

“Firstly Ned, I wanted to stay alive. Each tower bought me a couple of days.”

Ned shut up. That was a pretty compelling reason. Master Robinson sounded extremely strained. Ned had only seen the results of the powder sorters plots. They’d struck him as particularly evil and callous. Being in their hands for several days would lead to all manner of inventive techniques for ensuring cooperation. At that moment he was glad it was dark. He didn’t want to see how they had persuaded Ben Robinson. He felt guilty enough as it was.

The ordinance official turned to Norfolk’s retainer. “Master Skelton, if you send your men over to the north wall and rip out any slow match cord or powder trails leading to the base of the towers, we’ll scotch these traitors. The quickest path will be along the ramparts from Wakefield Tower.”

Even in this limited light, Ned could see that Skelton wasn’t happy about being given orders. He slowly shook his head. “I’s after that Spanish rat. Where’s the catamite goin’ tabe a hidin’?”

“Beauchamp or Martin on the northern wall has the largest stores. He’ll be there.”

Skelton paused in thought before giving a short nod, and quietly moved off towards the gate of the inner ward.

Ned heaved a sigh of relief. That was one more enemy dealt with, though here in the passage between the inner and outer walls, the silence was eerily disturbing. Ned shivered. Too many ghosts walked here. He’d enough haunting him already. “Excuse me Ben, I’m a bit confused. What’s going on? Why send off half our force?”

The formerly missing royal official lent towards him and whispered. “Do you trust him?”

What kind of question was that? Ned didn’t even have to think about it. “Hell no. I’d trust a weasel or a Frenchman first!”

“Nor do I Ned. Nor do I. Over there he keeps busy while we go deal with Don Juan Sebastian.”

“You know where he is?” Ned wanted Don Juan Sebastian really, really badly. That damned Spaniard had cost him too much pain and humiliation. It was time for recompense.

“After a fashion. The White Tower is where Welkin will be. He’ll know the full plan.”

Ned gave a secret smile of satisfaction. Skelton was going to be furious when he found out he’d been cozened-again.

They kept to the deeper darkness by the walls, following after Skelton’s band, and hoping to avoid detection, Ned had one pistol out with the spring wound in preparation. It may be noisy to use, but he didn’t think it was any more risky than a bout of sword play. More unconscious guards were leaning against the heavy timber gate. The false monks had used them as convenient door props. Ned pushed himself flat against the wall at the last edge of darkness, before the wan light of the gate lanterns. He hoped that Skelton’s lads had cleared any lookouts from above. They should’ve. If the tales were true, northerners had a habit of night time murder and cattle stealing.

He was about to move through the gate when the echo of footsteps and clinking froze him in place. Then there was a loud thud as if someone had dropped a box. “Damn you for an aged measle louse. Pick it up and hurry!”

Ned gave a slow predatory smile and sent a silent pray to Lady Fortuna. Everything did come to those who waited!

As an ambush it was easy. They waited by the wall for the shuffling party to pass by, pretending to be more unconscious guards. After they had passed Ned and company quietly stood up, followed them to Traitors Gate and grabbed them before the water stairs. “Sir Welkin, good to see you again.”

The Master of Ordinance almost screeched with fright. Ned, however, had his left hand over the open mouth, while another shoved a pistol meaningfully into Sir Welkin’s back. His small band of retainers took even less effort to secure. So much for loyalty.