Gregory House - The Queen's Oranges

It would also seem that Norfolk was going to back up his promise, for now Skelton also took a step forward. “It’s as the clerk says m’ lord. They wer’ slain when the powder went. Tis nay a good way fo’ a man to go.” Skelton shrugged with evident regret at such an unmanly demise. It was a safe and bland statement of fact.

More was a skilled player at Court. He could read volumes into the vast omissions in Skelton’s claim, but he only allowed himself a brief question. “I was not aware that my lord of Norfolk had an interest in this affair.”

“My lord does nay keep with any who try an’ sully his family name with the call o’ treason. The duke ‘ad trade aboard that ship.An wants nay part o’ this.” Skelton gave a brusque wave, and Rob Black stepped forward, depositing a sack of books in front of the Lord Chancellor.

That single pile of books had almost cost Ned more pain than the rest of the affair. They were translated bibles pried off Meg Black. True, they were broken, battered and in some cases rejected due to serious flaws in printing. Even so, despite the fact that they could never be sold or used, Ned had been forced to argue well into the early morning that they had to have something to give to the Lord Chancellor. Reason or exhaustion had prevailed.

“This were got out o’ the shipmaster’s cabin. Seems the Hanse merchant, Hagan, were into a bit o’ smugglin’ along with the powder. There’s another pair or so o’ barrels out with ye men.”

The Lord Chancellor’s eyes burned with a fierce longing as he beheld the gathered collection of heretical works. His reputation as an unforgiving enemy of any writings contradictory to the writ of Holy Mother Church was already infamous. This offering was bound to whet his interest, and from what Ned had found out, equalled the last three seizures.

“What of the Hanse who trafficked in such blasphemies?”

Ned spoke up before Skelton could ruin their tale. “My Lord Chancellor, the Hanse, Albrecht Hagan, has already paid the ultimate price for his treachery. He was amongst the slain last night.”

Sir Thomas fixed Ned with an especially keen glare. “This unfortunate accident with the King’s powder seems to have removed a remarkably convenient number of people, Master Bedwell.”

“Over twenty we think, my lord, though it’s a bit difficult to tell, what with the few pieces we have been able to find.” That handy piece of information came from Rob Black, and the Lord Chancellor switched his fascinated attention to the apprentice artificer.

“Pieces?” The tone of surprise was unfeigned

“Aye my lord. We think there were four or five barrels that went up, taking out the building and one of the wharfs. Not much left after that.”

Perhaps honesty from a man like Rob was outside of Sir Thomas’s experience, for the Lord Chancellor just frowned and tapped the arm of his chair distractedly. Or maybe it was the ‘bits and pieces’ concept that was difficult to encompass. Whichever it was, Ned was very relieved. The disposal of the remains of the affray had been a cause of concern, until Gruesome Roger had suggested an appropriate and simple solution.

Ned had originally been aghast at such a method, until he considered the elegant symmetry and the fact that the people along the riverside who had suffered under the sustained abuse would see it as a fitting revenge. When he had seen the results of just five barrels, he was doubly glad they’d foiled the plot. If the traitors had set off the six thousand barrels, as originally planned, it would have truly devastated the city. Such an awesome power of destruction should only be the preserve of an almighty and forgiving God, rather than the fallible hands of man.

The Lord Chancellor, having been deflected from the affair of the Gonne powder and smuggling, was left with only two avenues of approach. Somehow it seemed appropriate for him to start with the one closest to his passion. Anyway it was past time that Meg Black had a serving of the Lord Chancellor’s interest. That was, after all, just and fair.

“Mistress Black, during the investigation of heresies your name has come to my attention. My pursuivants…” The Lord Chancellor halted there. Obviously he had recalled the fate of his most recent servant, and paused in distasteful thought. No doubt the word ‘pieces’ wafted into consideration

“There have been rumours that you are involved in the subversion of His Majesty’s explicit command regarding the import of heretical texts.” Sir Thomas had regained his accustomed stride, and while not prosecuting in the courtroom, he made it seem that Mistress Black was indeed on trial.

The lass under scrutiny gave a very deep curtsy, as one would to a respected elder, and clutched her hands in an attitude of beseeching prayer. “My lord, I can assure you upon my very soul that I had no knowledge of the heinous smuggling of Albrecht Hagan or any part in his treasonous plot. These gentlemen here are my witnesses that when I found out about the nefarious plan, I rallied as many good citizens of the city as I could, and went to their aid.”

It was as good a piece of acting as anything seen at the Inns, though at no point did Meg Black actually lie. She just took an interesting walk around the truth, stopping for occasional visits with prevarication and misdirection.

“Aye, the lass certainly was there in the thick. It would ‘ave been a rough time with’ut her help.” Skelton growled out his valediction of her action. The northerner reckoned he liked a girl with spirit, and visibly mourned the lack of any reciprocal regard from the apprentice apothecary.

In the byplay of the Royal Court, Sir Thomas More was no fool having survived well over a decade. You could accuse him of many abiding sins like arrogance and pride, but he knew that Margaret Black was, for this time, out of reach. The mounting acclaim of her impromptu street party had touched a royal nerve. Open displays of loyalty were appreciated by His Majesty and had been brought to his attention by her patron Lady Anne.

So frowning in thwarted ambition, the Lord Chancellor tried for his last play. “Master Bedwell, in the missive from Sir Thomas Cromwell, he informed me that you had been given the task of investigating the Royal household at Richmond. Did you find anything?”

Such a casually asked question and so loaded with traps and mazes. A year or so ago Ned would have been paralysed with fear and trepidation. Now he faced the Lord Chancellor with all the accustomed veneer and circumspection of a courtier. “My lord, as I said to Sir Frederick Belsom, I was unable to find anything unexpected in Her Majesty the Queen’s household. All was as I had been lead to believe. It was, I must say, a perfect model of the decorum and behaviour we have come to expect from the wife of our beloved sovereign and aunt of his Imperial Majesty.”

Ned loved the use of language. It could be so expressive, revealing and concealing at one and the same time. He of course failed to mention exactly what he had expected to find. That was already fixed in the mind of the hearer.

To Ned it was evident that, for the Lord Chancellor, this interview was not going according to plan. He’d been expecting a different set of conclusions or even a completely different audience. Whether that was to be a grateful sovereign, thankful for the saving of his throne from a catastrophe, or a reinstated Queen, was difficult to say. Neither Belsom nor Blackford had been overly forthcoming with information in that sphere before their demise, so all Ned really had to go on was conjecture.

In the meantime it was worth pushing a bit. “My lord, since the affair of the murdered Hanse shipmaster and his nephew has been solved, and the smuggling of texts has been halted, can you release the Ruyter?”