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  FOUR

  You see, I was so confused and worried after waking next to that body that the main news of the day had passed me by. Apparently, the rebels in Kent were making great advances. They were marching on Maidstone, or from Maidstone, or something, and the city itself was fascinated by the predicament. Queen Mary was only recently on the throne, and she had no intention of giving it up, from all I had heard. Yes, this was important news. I was young enough never to have seen a civil conflict, and the idea of an army marching on London would usually have had me shivering in terror.

  But today? No! Today I was more concerned by the fact that a man had raised the hue and cry after me because he discovered me beside a dead man, my knife in my hand.

  And who was it, I wondered, who had knocked me down? Whoever did that, surely, was the murderer.

  I felt sick, and it wasn’t only the knock on the head that caused it. I was more alarmed by the idea that someone had tried to kill me, too, and then killed my gull. Mind you, it had also occurred to me that whoever had done that had presumably been the man who drew my knife and put it into my hand.

  He had deliberately tried to set me up!

  None of the others noticed my concern just now, though. It was probably a good thing.

  Ham shook his head grimly. ‘Folk are worried all over the city.’

  Bill pulled a face. ‘News? What news is there? Royalty and all the grand folk arguing among themselves. They live in their palaces, eating the best food off silver plates, drinking the best wine out of golden goblets, and never spare a thought for the likes of us, unless we’re caught and held in their courts, and then they order us hanged without a second thought.’

  Wat chuckled. ‘You think so? What about the rioters?’

  ‘Rioters, my arse! Soon as the queen sends her men, they’ll be put to flight.’

  Wat had nothing to say to that. Indeed, there was little enough to be said. Bill was right.

  Bill Tanner was older than the rest of us, at nearly forty years. He was of middling height, broad at the shoulder, square-faced, brown-haired, and with a scar at the edge of his mouth that made his lips curl upward as though always sneering at the world. His grey eyes held a world-weary cynicism, but since he had been born in the turbulent years of good King Henry VIII’s reign, of immortal fame, and had lived through the troubles of King Edward VI’s, he reckoned he had earned the right to his cynicism. Most of us couldn’t remember the shock and fear when Henry ordered the destruction of the monasteries, nor the discontent when the Nun of Kent was executed for denouncing the king for something or other, nor the fears of invasion – which still prevailed. Bill had. He had survived more dangers and disasters than all of us, his confederates, put together. And he had gathered us together and bound us to each other.

  His was a simple creed: we were all one family. And, like any family, there was one father who ruled the rest. Bill was our leader, our father and our guide. What he didn’t know about the City of London wasn’t worth knowing. He had a finger in every pie, and he could trade anything we brought to him. I don’t know what we’d have done without him.

  The youngest of us, Wat, was a shorter fellow, with straw-coloured hair and a narrow face. He had suffered badly from scurvy last winter, and his voice had a lisp because he had lost so many teeth, no matter how much meat he ate. When Bill found him, Wat was a child, foraging among the trash on the street, searching for anything to eat. He had been orphaned for years already, and it was a miracle that he had survived as long as he had, living with the rats and cockroaches wherever he could find shelter. More recently, he had become a most accomplished thief and pocket-taker.

  Ham was a little older, a large, heavy lad with a face that had been beaten once too often for any of his looks to have survived. His ears were large, bloated things that looked as if they had been added as an afterthought, his nose was twisted and notched like an ancient sword-blade, and his brows were thick from fights. For all his size, though, he was kind and mild with all of us. It was only when he saw one of us in danger that he began to grow angry.

  There is another member of our little company, but he wasn’t there just yet. Gil – at thirty or more, the second oldest among us – was a proficient thief who could put the fear of the devil into any poor victim on the streets. He certainly did with me.

  Since Bill was already up, Moll rose as well. She settled her skirts without false modesty, covering those wonderful long legs, and patted her hair back into shape as she cast a look over at me. It was enough to make a shiver rise all up my spine. She could do that with a look, could Moll. I didn’t fool myself; she was unlikely to throw over Bill for a daft country boy like me. Bill was protection and security, and that counted for her. She had fled her home when she was young. Once, she told me that her mother had remarried after her father’s death, and her stepfather tried to climb into her bed and ‘get to know her better’ when her mother was away. She ran from home with the sound of his roars ringing in her ears, she said. I told her then that if he should ever find her again, Bill would kill him, and that seemed to give her comfort. She smiled gratefully. Me? No, I didn’t stand a chance, I reckoned, but that didn’t stop me looking, and every so often there was a gleam in her eyes that spoke silent promises of what she could do to me if we were ever alone together. I know: I can dream as well as the next man!

  She was slim as a willow, was Moll, with hair that glistened in the light as though she had auburn diamonds sparkling in it. Her face was pleasing to the eyes, too, with high cheek bones and slightly slanted eyes, and she had a way of holding her head low and peering up at a man from those big greenish eyes of hers that gave the appearance of a wanton challenging a fellow. I had adored her when I first met her, and since then my infatuation had increased to the degree that it was painful to watch her in Bill’s arms. Not as painful as his amusement at my predicament, though.

  ‘What, you want a handful of her, Jack?’ he said now. He had a twisted grin. ‘She’s ripe enough.’

  Moll squeaked as he put a mitt on her breast and squeezed. She caught him a slap on the cheek. ‘You wait till later, Bill Tanner! And stop embarrassing the poor lad. He don’t deserve it.’

  ‘He don’t care,’ Bill said, his other arm about her waist. ‘Come on, give me a …’

  My blushes, for my imagination was running riot at the thought of grappling with her delectable globes, were saved by the door flying wide. For a brief moment, my arrest and the end of my life on the scaffold flew before my eyes: I heard the judge pronounce my fate for the hideous murder of a man living in the city, I felt the shackles on my wrists and ankles, I felt the scorn of the crowds as they witnessed me pissing myself, the heat of my shame as I failed to make even a momentary speech in my own defence before the noose was set about my throat …

  And then I realized that the man at the door was no beadle. It was Gil.

  ‘The army! The Whitecoats are marching!’

  Yes, the Whitecoats. That was the big news of the day: that the rebels had approached close enough to justify sending a force against them. The City of London’s yeomen had been gathered together and were marching against the traitors who dared to challenge the new queen’s right to do as she wished. That was fine by me because, as the rest of the company eagerly grouped around Gil and belaboured him with questions until he covered his ears, I was left alone. Only Moll stood near me, eyeing the rest of them with weary and pitying amusement, like an elder sister eyeing her wayward brothers.

  Since I had caught my purse, I had not had time to look inside it. Now I took it up and opened the laces. It was a goodly size, with a delightful heft to it. Whoever had made this had expended quite a sum on it. The soft leather had hung from a thicker piece of leather that had been carefully cut through at the base, where it had been secured with a thong. A piece of the thong remained, and I could see the perfect, shining edge where the knife had sliced. It had been enormously sharp, then. For the rest, the purse was secured with a lace
that had golden thread in it. Even here it gleamed in the light. I opened it and smiled to see the treasure inside. I had no idea how much money there was, but the sight of that many silver coins brought a smile to my face and a glow to my heart. I soon forgot all about the man slain in the alleyway. It was nothing to do with me, after all.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ Bill said.

  I had been standing there gloating too long. I would have shoved it behind my back, but there was no point. My guilty face would give me away. ‘I won this today,’ I said, holding it out.

  We had a moderately strict policy of share and share alike in our group. I couldn’t keep it back, whether I wished to or not. Not now he’d caught me out, anyway. He was a clever bastard at that sort of thing. Bill could sense when someone was holding back on him.

  ‘Let me see it,’ Bill said and took the purse. His fingers shook as he took it, the avaricious old stoat. Bill took all our money and looked after it. That was the price we must pay for our safety here in the house. There was greed in his eyes, and then, I thought, something else, too: anger or hatred, directed at me. At first I thought it was just the way I had held out on him about the purse, but then I saw his eyes slide towards Moll, and that made me wonder. I’ve always liked Moll, as I said. Perhaps I’d been eyeing her too much. He didn’t like to think that anyone could challenge his position as her man, and I didn’t like to think that he could take it into his head to remove me as a potential challenger.

  I wasn’t going to worry about it now. My concerns were more to do with that dead body behind the tavern.

  Besides, I would do nothing to risk my place here. It wasn’t much, no, but in this season, at the end of January, it was cold and wet outside. In here, at least a man could find a patch that wasn’t sodden on which to sleep. A place where a man could lie in the dry, without fearing that rain and snow would hasten his end, was always appealing. Bill had found this place. Yes, it had leaks in the roof, and the stench from the river was foul in summer, but it was mostly dry, and we all felt safe, which is more than most people could say in London.

  He took my purse and pulled at the laces. Soon he had a handful of coins and began counting them.

  ‘What kind of a nobleman was he?’

  ‘He was no nobleman! I think he was more a bumpkin. Not a man of note,’ I said.

  Bill chuckled. ‘You think so? Then he had gulled a rich man or robbed him! Look at all this cash! It’s enough to keep us in beer and meat for a month!’

  FIVE

  His words were enough to make me frown. The fellow had not looked inordinately rich. He was dressed more as a servant than a man of property. It was peculiar that he should have so much money, so perhaps Bill was right and he was another thief like me – except a man used to robbing others would have been much more suspicious of a helpful man like me.

  Bill carried the coins into a shaft of light, throwing the purse aside. I picked it up, thinking it might be useful to me, and found that there was an odd thickness to the base. I felt the leather and discovered that there were two layers. Without thinking, I pulled the purse inside out and saw that someone had added a second patch inside, as though to mend a hole. But there was no hole. As I manipulated it, I could feel something inside that crinkled.

  ‘What’s that?’ Bill said. ‘Did I miss one?’

  ‘No, I was just looking at it. I thought it would make a good purse for me.’

  ‘You think so?’ He looked at me with a sour grin. ‘It’s a bit good for the likes of you. Mind you aren’t seen with it. Anyway, you’ll need a new lace.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. I knew where there was a spare thong in my bag and went to fetch it. While I knelt, I pulled at the inner patch of leather, and some of the threads broke. Soon the patch was free, and I could see a piece of parchment inside. I took that out and opened it, but there was nothing of any interest, only a series of strange figures. I can read my letters, after a fashion, but this was not any English I had learned.

  ‘You can’t take that purse,’ Gil said. He was bigger than me. Not in height, and definitely not in intellect, but, equally certainly, his breadth was double that of my slender shoulders. He walked to me and snatched the purse from my hands. He smirked at me as he did so. Gil and I had never been friendly, but I didn’t want to dispute with him. He was welcome to the purse. It was easier that than me winning a broken nose or worse in a fight with him.

  ‘You take it,’ I said. ‘It’s tatty enough to suit your clothing.’

  Which wasn’t true, but it made me feel a little better for saying it.

  We all went out when the noise of cheering and clapping came to us. The yeomen were marching from the city, and we walked up the road to where the London folk were gathered.

  No, we didn’t go from any daft sense of pride in the military, but because where the army marched, a man might attempt a little business. A crowd was heaven-sent for us, scoundrels as we were. It meant incautious women and cheerily drunk men. It meant rich purse pickings.

  I went along behind the others. Gil was bent, threading my thong through the holes in my purse as he went, occasionally casting a sneer in my direction as if determined to enjoy my discomfiture as much as possible. I never liked Gil. He wasn’t a pleasant soul. We hurried along Candlewright Street and caught up with the soldiers as they approached the bridge.

  They marched well, all in good order as soldiers should, their weapons slung over their shoulders, their white coats and emblazoned crowns and royal insignia gleaming in the sunlight. Fortunate for them that the weather was holding, I thought. Us, too. The crowds would have been thinner if it were piddling down.

  ‘What will happen?’ Moll said.

  ‘The rebels will march here, meet the soldiers and surrender – or get a thrashing they’ll never forget,’ Bill said dismissively. ‘If they’re lucky, some will be allowed home. The rest … Tower Hill has space for many gallows, and the heads on the Bridge Gate are rotting. They could do with some new ones on their spikes.’

  The soldiers were marching like stern retribution, but then, as we craned our necks to see more clearly, one of the men suddenly dropped his arquebus and ran to a woman. He grabbed her and bent her backwards, kissing her, and although his companions continued marching, they raised a roar of approval for his actions. There were cheers from the crowds, too, where men and women cheered and applauded, but the men were needed in Kent, and they dared not delay even a moment. It fell to an officer on horseback shouting at him to get him to rejoin his companions. He went, a shortish, dark-haired figure, running to take up his gun again, and then racing on to catch up with his comrades, while the crowd clapped and hooted. He looked in my direction for a moment, and I saw a young man with the face of an innocent. It was like staring at a child about to go away on an adventure – or a prank. As he and the other men continued on their way, I was left thinking that this poor fool could well be strolling out to his death.

  There were not only the Whitecoats. The news of rebellion and the fear of civil war had brought out all the city’s martial spirit. There is nothing that the City of London detests more than a war nearby – it plays merry hell with the merchants’ incomes – so behind the Whitecoats came another five hundred or more, these a contingent of volunteers from the city, all waving their hats merrily as though leaving to go hunting at Greenwich or beyond, and the women cheered them. There is little that stirs the breast of a woman so vigorously as the sight of men marching off to fight and kill other men, I’ve noticed.

  It’s not for me.

  Why not?

  When I was a young lad growing up in Whitstable, my father had early on tried to interest me in his business, making leather jacks and buckets. It’s a good trade, after all. Wherever the Navy has a dock, wherever there is a tavern, there is a need for blackjacks, and few men can have such a guaranteed business. My problem was, the thought of spending all day with my hands in water preparing leather, or tugging the linen thread tight in the stitch
es until my hand was a mass of cuts, did not appeal to me. My indifference enraged him at first, then infuriated him. I’d never have an income, he swore. He wasn’t the most affectionate of men, and the idea that I might have my own ideas about a career didn’t occur to him. In any case, if I was to have a trade of any sort, it would be with him, rather than another man gaining an apprentice as cheap labour. It was one more thing that we would never see eye to eye on. So, at his wit’s end, he tried to shove me towards the military. He wanted to see if I had the necessary strength and determination, I suppose, but I would have nothing to do with the notion. It’s one thing to fight and injure or kill a man; but there’s always the other aspect of life in the military: the risk that an enemy would fight back and maybe kill me. I never saw the attraction of that. So, naturally, he declared me a coward as well as a rascal. Well, I don’t deny it: he was right. He declared me a rascal so often that perhaps the idea took hold and bore fruit. After all, I was now the living embodiment of his fears.

  But I would prefer to be a disreputable person of no name, hanging about London and cheering the poor women mourning their soldier-boys, than to be a soldier lying with my belly slashed open on a field of blood and gore. That was never likely to be my choice.

  ‘Any gulls here?’ Moll asked, peering about her at the crowds.

  Her words brought me back to my senses. With all the excitement, I think we had all forgotten our purpose. While viewing the marching ranks was satisfying, it was not as satisfying as a full belly and a pot of ale in the fist. There were plenty of men and women down in the street with full purses, and if we could liberate one or two, we would have made a good profit on the day.

  Without a word said, Bill, Wat and the rest of us dispersed in among the throng.

  There were so many there, it was a cutpurse’s delight. Men and women were jostling and shoving. A matron gave a squawk and glared at the men near her, but that was not a theft, except of her pride. She had no husband with her, only a manservant who held a club but had no space in which to wield it. I was tempted. While she was glaring at the nearer men, one of whom had no doubt pinched her backside or mauled her bubbies, I could easily sidle past her and filch her purse, I thought, but then I saw her servant watching me closely, and I moved on. There was so much potential here in the crowd that only a fool would concentrate on one who was already prepared to defend herself to the exclusion of all other opportunities. I turned and glanced back a little later, and I was disconcerted to see the man still staring after me. I jerked my shoulders to resettle my jack more warmly about my shoulders and continued on my way, resisting the temptation to look back once more.