Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

“All right Welkin. What’s going on?”

If any man could be said to be a quivering in his boots, then it was be Sir Welkin. He shook and shivered as if he had a severe bout of the palsy.

“I…I…I don’t know. I escaped from that Spaniard and I’m…. I’m… No you can’t…”

At that point his trembling brought a halt to his inventiveness. Ned had bent down and opened one of the iron chests that his men had so clumsily been carrying. Even the dim light was enough to see its golden contents. Well! It appeared Sir Welkin was doing a runner on his companions in treachery.

“Sir Welkin, at a guess this would be the payments for the powder?”

Tam looked down into the chest and then ran his finger appreciatively along the notched edge of his cleaver. “I reckon he gets ta axe.” Tam could be very perceptive when it came to lawful execution.

Master Robinson though shook his head. “No Master Bourke. This is high treason. It will be the full display on Tower Hill.” Then in a voice full of kindly concern, he explained in detail the full measure of punishment for treason-hanging, drawing and quartering. His former superior gibbered in fright, pleading for mercy, until Ned showed him the path of salvation.

Slowly and carefully they rowed the wherry along the moat, oars quietly dipping into the water. After the right incentive, Welkin had been very helpful regarding the full extent of Don Juan Sebastian’s plot. It was very clever. In their passage, Ned had a brief space of quiet to ponder the simple elegance of it. If you wanted to destroy a kingdom why bother with engaging expensive armies to march around in the mud, endlessly besieging forts and cities? Far easier and cheaper in one fell swoop to exhaust their powder supply, destroy their Gonnes, level the mint, wipe out the royal treasury and leave a great ruin as a symbol of English impotency.

So to do all that, the monks were spread throughout the Tower defences, watching for the signal to light their fuses and successively demolish the keystone of London’s defence, section by section ending at Lion Tower. That final bastion would be blown after they’d crossed the last bridge to Tower Street. And here Belsom’s company was supposed to march across London to Whitehall where they’d expected to join and rally with the Queen’s adherents. Ambitious, insane and unless they stopped it, still possible.

Ned tried not to panic. It was difficult to tell what time it was, but Don Juan Sebastian must have had at least an hour or more to set up the final stage of his demolition. Now he could only hope that Skelton and his barbaric crew were hard at work slitting the throats of monks and ruining powder trails. Right now he prayed that their improvised plan worked. They were almost at the bridge. Any moment now…

***

The Tower complex, while being the seat of Royal power was, still at heart, a fortress meant to overawe and defend. The fact that it had rarely ever had to withstand siege or assault was irrelevant. Successive monarchs had incorporated all the new innovations of military architecture as soon as money had permitted, and no where was better than the Tower, where the King’s ‘might’ could be viewed and celebrated by his loyal citizens of London and visiting foreigners, while for the Guilds it gave a certain satisfaction to see where someone else’s taxes were spent. As part of this defensive design, in the past it was considered useful to have a two stage bridge over a moat. The first bridge spanned from the bulwark Petty Wales to Lion and Middle Tower, followed by another bridge to Byward Tower which gave access to the passage between the inner and outer walls. Very clever, very secure and very difficult to sneak through, as long as there was someone keeping watch.

Ned would be the first to damn Don Juan Sebastian as a blackhearted popinjay, but even his daemon readily conceded that the Spaniard knew the Arts of War as well as any captaine. Two men under the gateway lanterns and the faint shadow of another could be seen on the top battlement, as they walked the parapet. There was no way to get across without being seen, as you crossed the bridge.

Which is were Sir Welkin came in. Ned eased the wherry under the span. He could hear the casual conversation of the two guards above. Now he had to depend upon Ben Robinson and Ouze playing their part. A collection of footsteps echoed above him

“Ho fellow, is your master in the tower?’ The quavering voice of Sir Welkin punctured the silence.

“Christ blud sir. Nay so loud. Where’s ye bin anyways? T’ captaine ‘xpected ye back haf a’ hur ago.”

“My varlets here are a damn lazy pack. Took ‘em forever to load.”

“Here watch ut…Arghh.”

Once more a box dropped, followed by an exclamation ending in a gurgle, closely followed by the clatter of a dropped weapon and finally the thud of a body hitting the flagstones. Ned pulled the wherry out from its cover to beside the Middle gate. Ouze dropped a rope over the parapet and Ned, followed by the other four in the vessel, scrambled up and dodged into the shadow of the gate arch. Ben Robinson had a shaky Welkin covered with one of the wheellocks while Ouse, Tam and two more of Gryne’s men scouted the rest of the passage through to Lion Tower. Ned grabbed a lantern off the wall and gave it a couple of waves towards Byward Tower. From deep within the gate tunnel a hooded lantern was opened once. Excellent! The rest of their band was now traversing the western walls. Ned prayed it was enough. Between them and the party Ben Robinson had sent to check the White Tower, he was left with only ten men to take out Don Juan Sebastian and however many retainers. Considering what happened the last time he didn’t like the odds.

Ned recited a quiet prayer.

Pater noster qui es in caelis.

Sanctificetur Nomen tuum.

Adveniat regnum tuum.

By the saints, this was taking for ever. He’d recited it several times already. Another three and up the stairway they’d go. Back at Traitors Gate he’d come up with a rudimentary timing so that they could coordinate their actions. The arrangement was ten slow recitations of the paternoster and then they’d take on Don Juan Sebastian. It’d better be soon. The night wasn’t as quiet as it had been. The sounds of some sort of affray could be heard from beyond Lion Gate bulwark. Ned had the feeling they were running out of time.

He’d say the prayer once more then go for it. The sounds of conflict were getting closer.

Fiat voluntastua.

Sic ut in caeloet in terra.

His pistol and sword were at the ready and his stomach churned as though he had the gripe. He could only guess what was going on across the short bridge. A yell echoed from just past the lower gateway.

Panem nostrum quotidianumdanoblishodie.

Then the door he was standing next to opened.

“Hey Paul, Paul! T’ captaine wants ta know where Welkin’s at …Christus who are you?” A heavily built figure in monk’s robes burst through the opening. He must’ve been almost running down the tower stairs from his speed. He took one surprised look at Ned, and tried two conflicting moves, drawing a blade concealed under his monk’s robes, and at the same time throwing himself backwards. Failing at both, the false monk instead slipped over and crashed onto the steps in flail of arms and legs. Shocked by this dramatic arrival, Ned reacted instinctively. His hand flexed and the pistol discharged with a roar that bounced along the stone passageway until it sounded like a Great Gonne.

As if Don Juan Sebastian needed any further warning that his plan was going awry!