Julian Rathbone - Kings of Albion

Things will turn out all right for us – we have money from the sale of our goods, and many gems held hidden in reserve. I have, however, left some of the latter for you under my mattress. I suggest you use these to forward the aims of our expedition as you know them, but advise you to remain amongst the Yorkists as the King's people are now convinced that that is where your sympathies lie.

No doubt we shall be reunited under happier circumstances. Please accept my best wishes, and give my deepest affection [heavily crossed-out] respects to your reverend companion.

Harihara, Prince of Vijayanagara, cousin and accredited plenipotentiary of His Heavenly Eminence the Emperor Mallikarjuna

This was what Chamberlain Anish had written on the back of an old bill of lading the Alderman had found for him in the midst of the scramble that had taken place in the few minutes Lord Scales had allowed before he marched them all off to the Tower.

I turned to Brother Abraham, who had accompanied us back to East Cheap from the churches of Sts Benet Sherehog and Pancras, and did my best to ignore Mistress Dawtrey, who was shouting and squealing in her determination to get us off the premises.

'Can we get them out of the Tower?' I asked.

'No,' he replied, 'No one escapes unless they have the help and collusion of one of the gaolers.'

'Gaolers? It is a prison as well as a palace?'

'Yes. And for traitors most especially.'

'Are the Prince and Anish in mortal danger?'

Abraham thought for a moment, again caressing his top lip. 'Not for as long as their gaolers can be persuaded that there is something to be gained from keeping them alive,' he said at last. 'They have ransom value, no doubt, and they might be exchanged for prisoners the Yorkists hold. They might even be perceived as the means whereby a lucrative trade in spices and gems could be developed. For all these reasons they are probably worth more alive than dead. This being the case it is likely too that they will be kept in tolerable comfort.'

'What should we do, then?'

'You and Uma are in far greater danger. It is you who helped March escape, and as mere servants you have no value if you arc-captured. The Queen is a merciless enemy and delights in the blood of all who oppose her – Lord Scales will gain merit if he has you publicly dismembered

I recalled the quartered, eviscerated bodies fixed above the gate to London Bridge and shuddered.

Abraham continued. 'I think it best that you leave the City as quickly as you can and head up Watling Street for those parts of the country where the Yorkists still hold sway. Enoch will guide you. But I think, too, you should go disguised, at least until you are several leagues away.'

'Disguised? How?'

'You could… um, white-up.'

Mistress Dawtrey was becoming unbearably importunate, so, blocking my ears to the noise she was making, I got myself upstairs, found my way to the room Prince Harihara and Anish had occupied, burrowed around in and under the mattress and came up with two soft leather drawstring bags, each the size of a fist, which chinked solidly and satisfyingly as if loaded with small pebbles. I fingered one and identified the two large kurundams, with their sharp pointed pyramidal ends, and wondered what possible use they could be to us since, with their size and colour, they were fit for a monarch's sceptre and worth far more than we could ever need or, indeed, gain from them. But then, perhaps, I thought, that was precisely what Prince Harihara had had in mind: faced with the greatest magnates in the land and a queen profoundly jealous of her status, he might be forced to part with them, either for nothing or for a sum well below their worth. By leaving them with me he was assured I would keep them secret and not part with them except under the direst necessity.

I stuffed the bags in the deepest recesses of my loincloth beneath my cape and furs, and hurried back downstairs to find Uma undergoing a transformation. Enoch the fishmonger had arrived and was smearing her face with a mixture of pig's lard and chalk dust, converting her physiognomy into that of a clown or juggler. Just as I was about to remonstrate, believing that this would attract attention rather than deflect it, Abraham drew in his breath sharply, moved forward and, with an edge of his robe, smeared the paste into a thinner film revealing the copper-brown skin beneath.

'There,' he cried, 'that's much better. She looks like a leper.'

Enoch nodded enthusiastically and began to alter his handiwork in subtle ways to produce the effect we wanted.

Enoch was a mute. He was a small, round little man, about forty years old, nearly bald, with a thick black moustache and a stubbled chin. He had become mute, Abraham told us, some thirty years earlier when forced to witness the execution in the customary barbaric way of his fishmonger father and his mother too, for sheltering an antinomian priest. All this was part of the Purges that followed the burning of Lord Cobham.

The Worshipful Company of Fishmongers had taken on the orphan and charitably arranged that he should be apprenticed to one of their guild, but for reasons of safety in London, not in the northern fishing village where his parents had worked. He had proved a good pupil, quickly becoming adept at identifying good bargains when the fishing-boats tied up at Fish Wharf, well able to spot spoiled or stale fish, and knowledgeable to the point of erudition in all the species that can be found in the Thames estuary and the North Sea. He was also remarkably adroit with the big, triangular knife the fishmongers use for filleting and trimming the larger of their wares. However, his inability to speak had precluded him from becoming a master and full member of the guild and he was forced to hire himself out. Perhaps he bore a grudge because of this, or had inherited some of his parents' nonconformity, but at all events he was an independent soul, had travelled a lot and worked in most of the larger Inglysshe ports when the fancy took him. Moreover, he was willing to help any he perceived as being, like his parents, outcasts, non-believers, recusants or dissenters.

Wherever he went he took his sharp, shiny knives, the tools of his trade, the second one being a thin blade of grey steel about nine inches long, worn down by constant sharpening to the likeness of a blade of coarse grass.

'He'll go anywhere, so long as he is close to a supply of fresh fish by Ash Wednesday.' Abraham told us.

'Why is that?' I asked.

'For forty days after that day we eat no meat, only fish. It is the busiest time of year for fishmongers. They make a lot of money during Lent. And when is Ash Wednesday? Why, in ten days' time.

Through Lent he'll be able to hire himself out for threepence a day, maybe more.'

Such was Enoch, who now worked away with grease and chalk to turn Uma and me into lepers whose white skins had been corrupted with brown patches by the disease.

But first we lacked the necessary adjunct of the trade, wooden clappers, one each, made from a small plank attached loosely to a sounding-box which, when shaken, emitted a loud crack or snap. These we were required by law to use whenever we came close to company as a way of keeping people away from us and infection. We, or rather Enoch, procured them from a tiny shop close to Ludgate, at the bottom of the hill between the gate and the bridge over the river Fleet. It was no more than a hovel but stacked to the rafters with chairs, saucepans, broken kitchenware, broken arms and armour, just about everything you can think of but old and broken – apart from our clappers, which were in working order. A curious place.

Thus equipped it became clear how inspired Abraham's choice of a disguise had been. The moment anyone came near enough to recognise or question us, a brisk clap or two sent them scurrying away. We also found that shelter was frequently available when we needed it in the form of lazar houses along the way: these were built on the outside of many towns and larger villages and consisted of a small bam-like structure large enough to accommodate twelve people sleeping together on the floor. Usually they had a little land attached in which vegetables often still grew, with pens for animals. And graves, for the lepers were often left to bury their own dead.