The Cardinal's Angels (28 page)

“All right, Dr Caerleon. What do I need to hear?” He hoped it sounded stronger and more confident to the astrologer than it did in his ears.

Caerleon continued his unsettling smile and pulling out four more annotated charts, began pointing out what to him where salient features. “Master Bedwell, pay attention!”

Ned sighed at the school masterly rap. Oh wonderful, this night had it all now, treachery, murder, servitude and a revisit to his school room. Caerleon must be enjoining this. His life must be limited if this taunting gave him pleasure! Ned sat up straighter and tried not to look as sulkily reluctant as he felt.

“From my interpretation of the charts there are five threats. They’ve stalked your path since the beginning. Two may not concern you if you take precautions. They could fall away until three days hence, when they will all join in virulent prominence. Of the remaining three, one has the fire sign of Leo. As such he is a man, hot tempered and arrogant. There is a shadow over his past that he cannot shake off, and from his governing planets, he is a foreigner. He can be very devious and dangerous.”

Ned thought that could describe any number of men in London. Typical!

“The other is an earth sign, Taurus. He is coarse, earthy and loud. His planets point to him being English. He also is dangerous and a man of some standing. The Taurus sign most visibly clashed with Smeaton’s casting four days ago though three of the four had been weaving around the dead man for days, occasionally in seeming harmony.”

So was that Blue Brocade or another? Smeaton’s foes seemed to multiply like flies, and betrayal was a certainty. According to the charts the dead man had been associating with them. Had there been a disagreement? If so why? How did that fit in with his memory of the brawl?
No–concentrate on the warnings.

“A third figure is ascending and by my estimation you’d best beware of meeting any powerful figure towards sunset this day. His advance clouds the other two that most concern you. All I can advise is forethought and friendship may be your only aids.”

This midnight session with an astrologer was setting Ned’s neck hairs a twitching. This was all dire warnings just like in a tavern play. Why was it men like Caerleon couldn’t put names to dim menacing shadows. He’d have so much more to go on! “No disrespect Dr Caerleon, but anything more helpful?”

Ned tried not to sound either scared or peeved at the limited assistance, but Caerleon saw through his bluff and slipped in one more small worry. “Master Bedwell, no matter how I read your chart those two most ardent in the chase will find you tomorrow–the Leo first, then Taurus.”

That was news Ned really didn’t want to hear, his pursers closing in and still he didn’t have any firm idea on what to do with these damn treasonous letters. Thinking on that he thought one more question on a lateral subject may help.
“Doctor Caerleon, what of my companions, Rob Black and his sister?
Can you discern how they will fare?”

The astrologer’s satisfied smile was back with a vengeance. “Why Master Bedwell, concern for your fellows!
How touchingly honourable.
I would have thought you would already know the answer to that question. If you succeed they are safe and rise on Fortuna’s wheel. If you fail they suffer your fate.” Caerleon accompanied his explanation with the appropriate hand gestures. Ned didn’t need the helpful hints–his imagination was already providing a full picture of just what that may be.

The old physician lent back in his chair. Once more he played the enigmatic astrologer, interpreter of the stars, planets and their conjunctions, by waving his hand around at his array of astrological defences. “You know Master Bedwell, there was once an Italian astrologer, who proclaimed,
‘All
things are known to the astrologer. All that has taken place in the past, all that will happen in the future–everything is revealed to him, since he knows the effects of the heavenly motions which have been, those which are, and those which will be, and since he knows at what time they will act, and what effects they ought to produce.’
”

Dr Caerleon laughed at the conclusion of his tale. It wasn’t the pleasant sounding chuckle of a doting uncle. “Now Master Bedwell, as in the Biblical Garden of Eden as with our fore parents Adam and Eve, you have been granted free will. It is your choice whether to believe that I am a weaver of shadows and whimsy. Or I am a master of the craft that I portray.”

That singular thought had crossed Ned’s mind, whether this was some elaborate fantasy to gull them all. His jury was still out on that. Actually his daemon and angel had snuck off to some darker shadow of his soul, no doubt to hide until it was all over.

Ned straightened up and without flinching looked Caerleon in the eye. Red Ned Bedwell was not going to yield to any man, whether he
be
a summoner of demons or high prelate of the church. The astrologer gave a very slow nod and for once an amused smile briefly lit upon his lips. “I’ll give you one final warning, Master Bedwell. If two or more signs coincide then they could cancel each other out. Also always look to Gemini for assistance. It will always be forthcoming for I believe your interests run parallel.”

Cautiously good news–it was about time he had some.

The old astrologer had been very enlightening. Too enlightening, Ned just wished it hadn’t been him on the receiving end. He got up stiffly from the stool, his ribs complaining of the movement, and gave a deep bow of respect then walked to the door.

As Ned put his hand to the timber latch, Dr Caerleon whispered softly maybe to himself or maybe to someone else. “Allies can be in the strangest places, maybe even the highest. If I was a young lad again, I’d follow my intuition and maybe my conscience.”

Ned paused for a moment in case the ‘good doctor’ had decided to drop any more morsels of cold comfort.
No, just the low muttering over his charts.
So he pushed the door open and silently made his way back to his bed. After his time in the den of sorcery, his mind should have been awhirl in speculation. However sleep called him and dragged him down into its embrace–though Caerleon’s ominous shadows haunted his dreams.

It was a familiar thump on the shoulder that stirred Ned from his sleep. Muzzily he cursed the mischievous early morning spirit of Mistress Black. As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Ned tried to figure out how he was going to tell his companions about the revelations of the night. Instinctively he yawned and stretched, only to be brought up short by the painful reminder of his sore ribs. As he massaged the brawl’s bruises Ned realised that unknowingly he’d crossed the first hurdle. He was going to share last night’s gleanings with both of the Black siblings and he hadn’t even flipped one of the Cardinal’s angels! Despite the moans of his shoulder daemon, Ned felt satisfied with that recognition of trust, even if it included the ever ungrateful Mistress Black.

However his bane finally did him a good turn, since she’d awoken him in time to witness the entry of the lithesome Nerys and another tempting redhead bearing trays of bread and jugs of the morning small beer. This was more like it. The sight of her swaying form was most refreshing and her smile, well a man could easily awake up to that as opposed to the morning glower of the apothecaries’ apprentice. His better angel chastised him for sinful thoughts while his shoulder daemon joined in with a pointed remark regarding the size and reputation of her father.

While they sat and munched away Ned passed around the two letters and gave a brief and ‘edited’ version of his conversation with Dr Caerleon. The conclusions came as no surprise, though he did notice that he received more than his share of speculative glares from Mistress Black during the retelling. That was fine. He was curious about her visit too.

Since the news took some digesting it was Rob Black who spoke up first. “So we have proof of treason three times over. What do we do with it?”

Ned wasn’t sure whether that was a question, or if his friend was just mulling over an idea out loud. In the end it didn’t matter for his sister leapt into the debate before it had barely begun. “Why are we even asking? It’s simple Christian duty. They should be given to the person threatened. Any fool can see it!”

That judgement was given with a universal glare of approbation that encompassed all three males. Both Gruesome Roger and Rob looked away finding sudden interest in a small window or a crack in the wall. Ned just shook his head, disappointed. He expected some solidarity from those two. Meg Black, the arch fiend, must have them cowed by long association. Thus Lady Fortuna bestowed the mantle of leadership upon his shoulders. Good guidance of their company was now his responsibility, so Ned folded his arms and spoke with all the firm command and assurance he’d learnt at the Inns of Court. “It’s not quite so easy. We’ve no idea who’s the best faction to deal with!”

His first sally gained Mistress Black’s full attention as she swung her frown towards him. “How can you say that? The path of loyalty and duty is so clear! I thought you, Red Ned Bedwell, claimed to be a gentleman?”

Ned’s eyes narrowed at the slur from Mistress Black. However despite her assertion he took the path of reasoned argument, a path that his daemon assured him was impossible for a mere girl. “Because mistress, I don’t want my parts waving from the spikes on the city gates, which will happen to all of us with no ‘Good Lord’ for protection.”

Clearly common sense had fled from her wits, for quicker than he’d have thought, she launched a scurrilous attack. “For the love of blessed Christ, how can anyone expect honour or decency from a tavern brawler who’s so debased in his morals that he’s training to be a lawyer? A meddler in strife and gutter arguments!
A loathsome jackal and robber preying upon widows and orphans!”

Ned could feel himself turn red and his hand instinctively clenched, driving his fingernails into the palms of his hand. If she were a man he’d have struck and challenged for a duel. His better angel soothed the violent temper, reminding him once more that she was just a girl, and as everyone knew, females were subject to wild flights and fancies. Instead of a blow he dropped his voice and replied in a tone dripping with disdain. “Why should we listen to a grubbing hedge herb dabbler? This is a man’s business not a weak and feeble minded girl!”

With that appropriate rejoinder Mistress Black halted her raving. Her colour turned redder than beetroot and Rob Black performed what could be considered his bravest act to date. He leapt up and intercepted the attack launched by his sister.

Ned fell back on his pallet stunned and bruised. Damn she
was
fast. He hadn’t even seen that coming! Her brother must have been more used to her tantrums, for it only took a minor struggle to seat her on the other side of the room. In the meantime Gruesome Roger had wisely continued his intense inspection of a crack in the wall. Ned gave a shuddering gasp, she’d barely touched him and his ribs ached like they’d been thumped by a horse. Lady Fortuna must have shielded him.
If Rob hadn’t moved…
No don’t go there. Being knocked on his arse twice by a girl wasn’t something he was going to mention.

“This arguing isn’t going to help us.” Unlike the other two, Rob Black spoke very quietly and urgently, admonishing their rancour. His sister had retired to sit sulkily across the room and once more subjected them to a beetle eyed scowl. Ned gave a straightening tug to his doublet and returned to his friend a curt nod of acknowledgement. He at least could show some decorum.

Rob Black watched his sister for a minute or so satisfied she wasn’t going to try for another attack, turned back to Ned. “All right Ned, we’re all in this. What can we do?”

Ned’s temper cooled. It was a good question since their scope for action had changed at the Steelyard, again at the Tower and finally here at the Gryne Dragone, as each piece of the puzzle of Smeaton’s death slowly clicked into place. Now standing before the Surrey justices for murder looked like the least of his worries. He put hesitation aside and stepped boldly into the future. “I think if we go to the Lord Chancellor, we’ll get short thrift.” There he’d finally said it.

Rob crossed his arms and slowly nodded while a grim chuckle issued from Gruesome Roger who elucidated on the Lord Chancellor’s probable reward with a graphic finger across the throat. Ned had to, however reluctantly, admit Gruesome Roger had their recompense correct. They’d be embarrassing to have around, and could convey inconvenient snippets to the wrong people.

This only left a few other powerful men and since to Ned’s way of thinking he was now leading this discussion he raised the obvious two.
“If Wolsey’s out, then what about Norfolk or Suffolk?”

From the refuge of a turned back, Mistress Black called out her opinion. “Master Robinson said not to trust either of them!”

Ned pursed his lip and gave a very steady and polite correction. “No, that’s not quite right. He said both were ambitious and ruthless.”

Mistress Black spun around and endowed them with the full force of her frown
and
her thoughts. “So, that doesn’t mean we
wouldn’t
end up floating down the Thames. Why not get it to Lady Anne as Ben Robinson suggested?”

Ned shook his head perplexed. Why was it that her questions always sounded both so sensible and unreasonable at the same time? While shouting at Mistress Black maybe satisfying it wasn’t going to get them anywhere and additionally just goad her into one more assault. Ned drew in a slow breath and calmly kept his temper in check. “Because Mistress Black, unless you have a very close contact in her household we’ll not get in, especially since one or more of her retainers is selling her letters to the Cardinal.”

His response seemed to silence the vocal opposition. She ‘humphed’ quite loudly and turned around again showing them her stiffly set shoulders. Ned hoped that was the last effort to usurp his newfound leadership. The ploy with Norfolk and Suffolk appeared to work, drawing out her real connections to the Boleyn household. Now in normal times that link would prove very useful and profitable. However this week was as far from normal as possible without being in the land of Faerie. He’d got the firm impression from Cavendish that his master the Cardinal was pulling on all the levers of power, and as Lord Chancellor only the King could countermand him. Their one chance was, as far as he could see, gain the royal ear. If Will Coverdale was correct in his assessment of Wolsey’s position, his ‘loving master’ the King was cooling in his ardour and respect for his first minister. So their choices narrowed to one and he couldn’t see any other way.

Ned loathed what he was about to do, but then nothing else offered a chance, so he spoke up. “I have a way into the royal household.”

An instant later Ned had gained their complete attention. Even Mistress Black unbent to scowl curiously over her shoulder. “My uncle could get us in. He just needs convincing.”

For some reason Ned’s revelation didn’t have the effect he’d expected. His companions stared at him as if he’d been dancing in the moonlight. Then the argument really started.

The discussion continued though that was probably a mild term for the ‘robust’ debate that followed. For the next hour frequent intervention by Rob Black halted the escalation to blows, while Gruesome Roger sat back watching the performance with what was plainly an amused grin. The final grudging concession was mainly acquired through Rob’s calm negotiation. Ned was beginning to see him as the most sensible member of the Black clan, perhaps the only one.

Anyway the consensus was that a message should to be sent to Master Richard Rich to meet his nephew at the White Lamb by dusk as per the prior arrangement. Five of the Cardinal’s angels were included, wrapped and sealed in a small folded package, as both an incentive and indication of the gravity of the matter. From sheer common sense, Ned had made the letter extremely brief and vague, while the messenger, one of Gryne’s men was impressed with the importance of his venture. Though Ned thought the fellow’s attention was more held by the promise of two angels for his service.

After that hard won argument Ned felt it would be much safer if he waited in the tavern commons, away from the still seething Mistress Black who’d taken a grumpy set against the decision. So Ned took a seat at one of the tavern benches and slowly worked his way through bowl of pease pottage and a small jug of ale. Whoever the brew master was he should be commended. It was damned good, light in taste but full of a golden honey flavour with the aroma of new cut spring grass.

While he was taking one more lingering pull at the firkin Redbeard sauntered over and pulled up a bench opposite. “Dr Agryppa
reckon’d
we
sh’d
talk.”

Ned pulled up a spare tankard and poured a full measure of ale for his new bench companion. Redbeard’s broken smile flashed as he accepted the offering. In one long draught he casually emptied it without drawing breath. Ned hid a grin. Gulping Jimmy would have been impressed at that feat. Of all their party probably only Gruesome Roger understood the full implications of being sheltered here. Ned had seen it last night, when the Black’s retainer had relaxed his wary guard after the meeting with Caerleon. Ned, no stranger to Southwark, had a partial understanding of the undercurrents that dominated the south bank of the Thames. Since this area was split between the jurisdictions of several ecclesiastical lords, it was in effect subject to an ‘absence’ of law. Gryne’s Men filled that void and lapped out. Ned had heard rumours about a ‘tavern’ where a gentleman could hire men experienced in affray to bulk up a retinue or perform an unspecified ‘task’ involving menace like debt collection or to avenge an insult. The sight last night of the tavern’s clientele and their wall decorations confirmed for Ned that rumours fell far short of the truth. The Gryne Dragone was London’s version of a mercenary guild hall such as was to be had in the German lands. Now the Lord Chancellor may believe he retained these men for guards, possibly via Smeaton. However the truth was Wolsey’s gold didn’t count as much as the debts and respect. This companie held for Caerleon. That was a fact that Ned planned to use to his advantage.

Redbeard dropped the empty firkin to the table with a satisfied sigh and wiped the froth from his great forked beard. Now that Ned wasn’t convulsed with fright he could see the similarities between father and daughter, same eyes for one. His daemon sagely suggested flirting with Nerys might not be a good idea. He tended to agree. Her lithe figure and long hair wasn’t worth a pounding by Captaine Gryne. Caerleon hadn’t mentioned the name of his protector—that was let slip by Nerys. Gryne was renowned as the commander of the mercenary companie, the ‘Krekers. In the past wars in France he’d saved Suffolk during an ambush by grabbing one of the duke’s assailants, had broken the Frenchman’s neck and swinging the body around him,
had
used the body as a weapon of convenience. Having met the real figure of legend he’d believe the man capable of that and more.