The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

‘Four.’

‘Five.’

‘Done,’ I said.

For the first time a smile broke out across Hatch’s face. ‘You’ll never make a buyer and seller, Master Revill, agreeing so quick. Come back in an hour. The item you require I have somewhere among other papers but I need time to hunt it down. Five pounds, now. No going back.’

‘No going back,’ I said.

‘You may give me a pound now as an earnest of your good intentions.’

I reached for my purse and extracted two angels, part of the money that WS had given me when we’d talked the previous evening. Altogether it was a large sum-I don’t think I’d ever had so much in my purse at one time-and it was a mark of his trust that he should hand it over. Still, I told myself, the Globe shareholders were prosperous men (certainly in comparison to mere players). When the bookseller had hold of the money, his attitude changed. He smiled again. I took advantage of his change of mood.

‘Give me one thing in exchange for the coins, an earnest of your good intentions,’ I said. ‘A piece of information.’

‘That depends.’

‘Why do you dislike Shakespeare so?’

‘Jump to it!’ said Hold-fast the raven.

Ulysses Hatch sighed. Then he glanced at the trunk where Wapping Doll had been seated.

‘We had a falling-out over her once.’

‘Over her ?’

‘Why so amazed, Master Revill? She was a fine piece of goods in her day, even if she’s somewhat price-fallen now.’

There must have been some surprise still showing on my face for Hatch said, ‘Oh, you regard Master William Shakespeare now as a fine upstanding fellow, ever so respectable. But let me tell you, when he first came to this city of ours, he was young and hardy and full of fire. That was a long time ago. Why, I was thin in those days. It was just the time when Hold-fast adopted me. The raven looks no older but I have grown somewhat.’

‘And after all these years, Master Hatch, why do you still…?’ I said.

‘Still what?’

‘Feel resentful?’

‘Some things that happen in youth you don’t forget-or forgive,’ said Hatch. ‘Shakespeare won my Doll with words. She opened her ears to him and his words.’

‘So now you are in possession of some of his words,’ I said, guessing at the hidden truth. ‘You like having hold of his foul papers.’

‘You may be right.’

‘Yet you are willing to sell them.’

‘I’ll sell anything to anyone at the right price.’

‘Even a piece of the cross?’

‘Our first talk you should forget,’ said Hatch, looking uneasy and gesturing over his shoulder at the other trunk and its strange contents. ‘Tell no one of that item.’

‘Shut your gob!’ said Hold-fast.

‘The bird knows best,’ said Hatch. ‘I expect it’s a fake. There are many such sham objects.’

This was absolutely at odds with his tone and manner while he’d been describing the cross fragment, but I said nothing, only too glad to have the chance to escape from the stuffy tent, and glad above all to escape the company of the raven.

When I was outside, I looked around for Abel and Jack but there was no sign of them. No doubt they’d grown tired of waiting and gone off to taste the other delights of Bartholomew Fair. As I went in search of them, I debated whether to tell them about what Hatch had shown me, despite his warning. And other questions came to mind too. Was that a real fragment of Christ’s cross? With the instinct of the canny salesman, Hatch had permitted only the briefest glimpse of the thing. I was not so gullible as to trust Ulysses Hatch without some additional proof, and it was quite likely he didn’t believe his own words either. Why, there must be enough pieces of the ‘true’ cross in existence to rebuild Noah’s Ark!

But Hatch was evidently expecting someone to come and purchase the item, and so had assumed I was that person. I suddenly remembered the glimpse of Tom Gally just after we’d arrived at the fair. Now, it was well known that Philip Henslowe employed Gally as a go-between for enterprises that were dubious or underhand. Wasn’t it possible that Henslowe had dispatched his agent to collect the relic? If so, what could he possibly want with it? Even as I asked myself this, Hatch’s own description of Henslowe suggested an answer. Henslowe had his finger in many pies. He put money into playhouses and bear-baiting and, less respectably, into houses of pleasure. He was a businessman, none too scrupulous about how and where he made his wealth. It might well be that he’d regard the relic as a good investment, perhaps a long-term investment to be sold on when the market was right. Or perhaps he would treat it as a kind of talisman, to give him power or bring him luck. Yet hadn’t the bookseller claimed that the fragment brought ill fortune?

Anyway, it was nothing to do with me. All that was necessary for me was to return to Hatch’s tent in an hour, collect the Domitian foul papers, and hand over the rest of the money.

I felt rather than saw someone keeping company with me on my left hand. I looked round. It was Tom Gally. When he saw I’d observed him, he screwed his head sideways and smiled. His black hair hung unkempt and tangled. I didn’t particularly want to talk to him and so walked faster.

‘Master Revill, I hope I find you in good health,’ said Gally, keeping pace with me.

‘Well enough,’ I said. I nearly added that I would be even better without his company.

‘You have business at Bartholomew Fair?’

‘Just looking.’

‘I noticed you visiting Master Hatch’s emporium.’

‘That’s a grand word for a tent,’ I said, wondering what the man was after.

‘He has some…interesting wares,’ said Tom Gally. He had a disconcerting habit of pointing with his forefinger at the person he was addressing and squinting down the finger as if taking aim with a pistol. Even as we were walking side by side, he sighted at me when he said ‘interesting wares’.

‘I dare say,’ I said.

‘Odds and ends he has. Books and papers…’

‘Well, he’s a bookseller.’

‘…and other stuff.’

I stopped and faced Tom Gally. I had learned from experience that the best way to deal with him was to be direct.

‘Master Gally, if you have anything to say to me then say it straight out. Otherwise, I have business to pursue at the fair.’

‘Business? I thought you were “just looking”, Master Revill.’

Seeing the expression on my face, he quickly added, ‘I was merely going to ask if you had seen some of Master Hatch’s more, ah, specialized wares.’ He pointed his finger-gun at me and smirked. ‘Hatch has a book called Venus Pleasure -with pictures. Or The Wanton Wife . That’s a good one. And another called Rape of the Sabine Women . I thought that a youngish man like you might appreciate such salty items.’

‘I expect I am less in need of them than you are, Master Gally.’

‘As you please. I will leave you to your business at the fair, or to your pleasure.’

He walked off. Feeling a bit priggish, I watched his black fleece bouncing on his shoulders. He’d obviously been concerned to discover what I was doing with Ulysses Hatch, the comment about the bookseller’s salty items being a blind. I remembered WS saying that Henslowe would be glad to get his hands on the Domitian foul papers. Was it those which Gally was after? Or was he interested in the relic of the True Cross, as I’d thought a moment before?

Only half aware of the direction I was going in, I found myself heading towards the stall selling roasted pork. Perhaps I was following my nose. But as I drew closer I saw that there was more exciting fare on offer than cooked meat. A crowd of people was gathering to watch an argument that was threatening-or promising-to tip into a fight. Furthermore it was between two women, always an attraction. They were standing close to the roast-pig stall. The pig’s head was looking on discreetly. I recognized one of the women, since it was Wapping Doll, the person from Hatch’s tent. The other woman was her equal for size. Were all the inhabitants of St Bartholomew’s Fair so large? She was brandishing a greasy roasting-spit like a sword. This fact, together with her red, greasy countenance, caused me to think that she might be Ursula the pig woman. This was no great deduction. From her look, she was a cook, and it is well known that all those who work in kitchens are short tempered and usually foul mouthed. It’s the fires which do it, you know.