So pride and clumsiness had been his downfall. Well substantially it had been-a staff deftly slipped betwixt Sir Roderick’s ankles had proved very useful in bringing low the Pursuivant. Tam Bourke had even positioned the accident beautifully so that his attempted ‘rescue’ looked the part. Instead it was edging the stricken gentleman further over the beckoning chasm of the hold hatch. Ned, of course, bent down to assist the royal official, or so it seemed to the guard sergeant. The fellow still made no move to aid his commander and even in the dim lantern light could be clearly seen to shake his head disapprovingly at such a display of amateur clumsiness. At a guess he’d assumed his master had once more fallen prey to his unaccustomed armour.
Ned took up the opportunity and quickly knelt down next to his visitor, his mouth closer to the scarlet plumed helmet. “Now Sir Roderick, let us come to an amicable agreement, before you have an unfortunate accident.”
A firm hand on the man’s gorget gave the struggling pursuivant a significant push. The implications of a tumble head first, armour and all, down into the hold were not lost on Sir Roderick Belsom. His pasty face gargled and spluttered in fright.
“Now my writ has prior claim. Please nod for the witnesses.” Ned kept his voice low and conversational as if explaining a simple matter. The pursuivant tried to call out, but a slight dipping had his mind more firmly concentrated on the ominous darkness below. The choking strap of his helmet made conversation very painful but a nodding of the plumed helm was plainly visible.
“Now I’m a generous man, Sir Roderick. I’ll grant you a concession. At the end of my writ I will present myself to your master, as commanded and all success will be accorded to you. However you will leave this vessel and all aboard alone until that writ expires. I have your word as a knight?”
The last frantic nodding could have been the glimmer of rationality or, as Ned suspected, more probably the increased slipping of the Pursuivant’s position.
“Just to be sure we have an understanding, Mistress Black could you get a quill and some ink?” It wasn’t the best signature and parts of the script required close scrutiny to decipher, but considering the angle of suspension and the restrictions of the armour, it was a very credible effort and very, very legal. At the conclusion Sir Roderick Belsom was hauled upright, dusted off and escorted spluttering from the ship. Once on the wharf he stood glaring up at the troop sergeant who just stood stock still and stared straight ahead into the middle distance well above the helm of his commander. From the accomplished sheen of dumb obedience, the fellow must be used to dealing with commanders whose intellect and ability rated poorly in comparison to a parsnip.
Unfortunately for the evening’s entertainment, Sir Roderick held by a finger nail’s breadth to his dignity, and held on to the brimming rage and anger that purpled his complexion. Giving the vessel’s occupants an ominous glare, he straightened his sash and made a brusque jerky wave to set his troop in motion back the way they’d come. Pity, Ned had been looking forward to the expected display of temper. It wasn’t until the sound of the tramp and rattle of iron wear had passed up Billingsgate Street that the visible strain on the vessel eased with men replacing surreptitiously held weapons.
Margaret Black came over with the scrawled concession. She had rounded up from the crew and guards a dozen signatures or marks to give the document its required legitimacy. At least Albrecht was still present. That made it look a little better than a quick whip round in a Southwark stew, which was the usual validation presented at an inquest. He seen a couple of that kind presented in court. Like the one last month that had claimed all the occupants of a tavern were with the accused in the jakes at the time of the quite accidental death of Grumbling Geoff of Pevensy. Thus once more Canting Michael of Southwark was proved to be innocence of the slaying. But then it was a Sussex inquest and Canting Michael knew where each of the gentlemen serving on the panel lived, a fact not ignored in their consideration.
Someone tugged at his sleeve and Ned turned towards the concerned face of Meg Black. “Ned…Ned, are you sure this will help us?”
She still sounded worried. Well that was understandable what with murder, More, the riot and Belsom. Ned put on his most reassuring demeanour, hoping his uncertainty wouldn’t leak through. It was possible that the Lord Chancellor could ignore any agreement or for that matter any of the common practices of the kingdom’s laws. But considering his other duties, it was highly probable he was too busy to inquire too closely.
“Belsom will return in due course, probably tomorrow. He first has to come up with a reasonable excuse to More as to why the ship hasn’t been seized and why I am still in charge of the inquiry. If he has any sense he’ll claim the writ from Cromwell and the gathering lords for the Petition as a reason for not causing a disturbance.”
Ned shrugged. He felt that it was a fairly close prediction. After all Sir Roderick had to find someone else to blame for his failure or else he’d lose his position. That’s why Ned had given him the sop of taking all the credit. It was a spur of the moment decision. If everything worked out then Ned couldn’t care less, and if it didn’t then that would be the least of his concerns.
“I think Meg, we’ve maybe three days if you can sneak anything off.” Ned waved a hand towards the buildings opposite the wharf. “But I’d lay a dozen angels Belsom has spies. Anything too obvious and he’ll be back with a hundred men. So we have a stalemate.”
“Until the murders are solved.” Meg Black had certainly hit the nail on the head. It all still revolved around those two as yet unexplained slaying, though something kept tweaking at Ned’s thoughts, perhaps his shoulder daemon’s whisperings that the murders were the least of his problems.
***
Chapter 11.Fuer! Fuer! The Ruyter, Night time 6th June
Ned was trying to recall if there were any further matters he needed to discuss with Meg Black when the steersman stumbled back on to the deck. He still had the opened barrel of powder in his arms. The fellow was clearly agitated and he thrust the barrel into the arms of Rob Black, and gasping, pointed with a shaking hand toward the forward hold.
“Feuer!Feuer! Vorwärtsladungspeicherknollenpulverschießpulver! Feuer in der LadungnahedemSchießpulver!”
It took a few moments for Ned to figure out enough of that quavering cry to set his palms sweating with fear. Rob Black was quicker. He shoved the dangerous barrel into his sister’s arms and pushed her towards the gang plank, calling out to the crew. “Buckets! Get buckets and water! Wannan und wasser!”
The good Lord save them! There was a fire in the forward hold near the gunpowder store! It was the sort of cry that had any Londoner justifiably afraid. With all the timber houses and thatch roofs the threat of fire was a constant concern, even more so on the docks where along with the several other vessels tied up, all manner of highly combustible materials were stored. Twenty barrels of turpentine and pitch stood barely a dozen yards away on the wharf. But Gonne powder, that was something else, especially after Ned’s recent initiation by the Gonne artificers at the Tower. Oh God no! Considering the unstable nature of the black grains, a spark could set it off, blowing up the ship and the wharf. Damn! He’d no idea how much powder this vessel usually carried!