‘Sure you want to come?’ Barak asked. ‘This is a rough spot.’
‘I want to find out what he was up to.’ I followed him into the lane, hand at my dagger. At his suggestion I had donned my cheapest-looking clothes. I looked at the doorways we passed; I had a sense of eyes watching. But no one had followed us from St Mary’s; we had watched and listened carefully.
Barak pushed open the door of the alehouse. It was the sort of poor place I expected, merely a room set with benches and tables and a hatch through which a slatternly looking woman passed home-brewed beer to the men in ragged clothes who sat on the benches lining the walls. The floor was bare and the room cold, without a fire. A dog, belonging to a pair of young Dalesmen in sheepskin coats who sat together by the wall, growled at us then barked loudly.
‘Down, Crag.’ The dog’s master laid a big hand on its back. ‘Look, Davey, here’s gentlemen come to’t White Hart.’
Barak went up to the bar and asked the landlady for two mugs of beer. She did not understand him at first and he had to repeat his request. ‘Southrons,’ the man with the dog said loudly to his friend. ‘Crag caught their stink.’
Barak turned to them. ‘We’ve just come for a drink, my friend,’ he said. ‘We want no trouble.’
I looked around uneasily. There were a dozen Yorkers there, all glaring at us with hostile expressions. The Dalesmen, from their looks, had been drinking for some time.
The woman handed two wooden mugs through the hatch. All the benches were taken; we could have found spaces if some of the customers had moved up but they sat where they were. We stood awkwardly. The Dalesman called Davey laughed.
‘Can thee not find a bink, maisters?’ He turned to his friend. ‘Tha should make a seat for the southron gentlemen, Alan. They must be gentlemen, they don’t allow the soldiers and servants into York. We should mebbe stand in their presence.’
‘I say we’re all made by one workman, of like mire,’ Alan replied.
‘I agree,’ Barak replied cheerfully. ‘From London to Carlisle, we are all one.’
‘Nay, maister. Not in riches, when all our rents go down to London.’
‘We’ve done well enough out of them today,’ his friend said. ‘Selling those poor nawtes of sheep to the purveyors for five nobles.’
‘Ay, but when the Progress leaves prices will fall again. Our folk can’t pay the money southrons can.’ He looked at us belligerently, hunting for an argument. I took a sip of the foul-tasting beer.
‘Has tha come on business, maisters?’ one of the men on the benches asked, and to my surprise some of the others laughed.
‘Business?’ I repeated.
‘Ay, tha’ll not have come for our company.’ There was more laughter.
Just then a door opened and a tall stringy fellow in an apron appeared. He frowned at the Dalesmen then came over to us.
‘Can I help thee, maisters?’ he asked quietly.
I exchanged a look with Barak. Something more than the selling of ale was going on here.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Can you?’
The man inclined his head towards the door, and we were glad enough to follow him into a narrow passageway beyond, that stank of old beer. A candle burned in a lamp on the staircase. He closed the door. ‘I’m sorry about that, maisters. Southrons aren’t popular here.’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Now then, how can you help us?’
‘Depends on your wants.’ He scanned our faces with narrow, calculating eyes.
‘A friend of mine was here a week or so ago. An official from the Progress. A large fellow with a fringe of fair hair.’
‘Ay.’ His face relaxed into a leer. ‘I remember him. Tell you what we have here, did he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well.’ He smiled confidingly. ‘Tell me what your pleasure is. Sharp little nips from a girl with a dagger, or a belt-thrashing from an old carrion-whore, like your friend enjoys?’ He leered again. ‘I can arrange to indulge the most sinful lusts.’
I was taken aback. Whatever I had expected, it was not this. Barak stepped in. ‘You provide girls who cater for special tastes, hey?’
He nodded eagerly. ‘Tastes the ordinary houses don’t cater for. Boys, too, if you like. Got a good network in York, going back to the days of the monks. Sinful, some of those fellows were.’
‘Tell you what,’ Barak said quickly. ‘We’re making enquiries on behalf of one of the senior officials at St Mary’s, who doesn’t care to be seen here himself. I think you have what he wants. We’ll talk to him and come back. He wouldn’t want to be seen here, perhaps some private room?’
‘Ay, sir, that can be arranged.’
‘Here’s two shillings for your trouble in the meantime.’ Barak produced the coins and handed them over. The man looked at them.
‘He’d pay well, then? This official?’
‘Handsomely.’
The pimp’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s his name, maister?’
‘Now, you know better than that. Just wait for our return.’
‘Come in the morning, before we open. You won’t be bothered by the customers then.’
‘We will. And talking of that, is there a back way out of here?’
He nodded and led us to another door that gave on to the stinking alley. We walked quickly away, and did not relax till we reached the Fossgate again. Then Barak laughed loudly.
‘So that’s it. That pompous old fellow Craike likes to be whacked about by some old doxy. Wonder if he thinks about that as he shuffles his papers on that little desk of his.’
I looked at him. ‘You handled that very smoothly. As though you knew what you were doing.’
He shrugged again. ‘Lord Cromwell had contacts among the London whoremasters, especially fellows like that who deal with those who have outlandish tastes. Often the whoremasters could come up with the name of someone at court, and then they were in my master’s power.’
‘Blackmail?’
‘If you like.’
‘And you were involved?’
‘I was Lord Cromwell’s contact with some of the whoremasters, ay.’ Barak frowned at me. ‘You know well my duties were more than running errands. I didn’t like it much, if you have to know.’ He shrugged. ‘But if men of rank choose to delve in the stews, they take a risk.’
‘They do if there are spies about.’ I snapped my fingers. ‘I’ll wager that’s why he got to know Oldroyd. To find out if there were places like this in York.’
‘Only one way to find out. Ask him.’
I was reluctant to shame Craike, but realized there was no alternative. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow,’ I said. We walked on in silence for a time, then I asked, ‘Does Tamasin know about your work for Cromwell?’
‘Not the details.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘She doesn’t need to know those. After all, you have never enquired too closely before.’
‘I suppose I haven’t.’
‘It’s just as well I was able to work out what was going on there as quick as I did. Or we might have found ourselves presented with some salty old whores with birch-rods ready to beat hell out of us, and a little report going to someone at King’s Manor.’
I laughed. We walked on, our steps echoing on the cobbles. As Bootham Bar came into sight I asked him, ‘Have you thought any more about what we talked about? Your future?’
‘All I want now is to get safe back to London. And be sure I have one,’ he added grimly.
WE RETURNED LATE TO St Mary’s. It was eleven o’clock by the time the guard let us through the gate; everyone had retired to bed. A big, yellowish harvest moon had risen and in its dim light the helmeted soldiers continued their endless walks along the walls, more standing guard outside the tents and pavilions and the doors of King’s Manor, all its windows dark. I had heard the King was going hunting on the morrow; there was no word yet of the Scotch King’s arrival.
‘I’ve a meeting with Tamasin,’ Barak said. ‘I’ll come to the lodging house with you first.’
‘At this hour? Ah, in your secret love-nest?’ I did not mean the words to come out in the supercilious way they did.