“Won’t we sink if you do that?” He tried to make it a casual question, but the quaver of concern was nonetheless present.
His friend continued to pull off a distressingly large plank, but so far no spurt of river. “You’d think so wouldn’t you Ned? This morning I recalled a talk with Albrecht last year about smuggling, and along with some advice from the steersman Wilhelm regarding some of the tricks in common usage, so I thought to put his words to the test.”
“You mean he revealed all the smuggling caches?” Ned was incredulous. He thought that it would take a great deal more leverage to get the Hanse to give forth on trade secrets and he’d never found Albrecht that forthcoming. He knew Meg trusted him, but then she was a woman and they were known to be unpredictable and impulsive.
Rob just shrugged and continued his work with the iron bar. “He told me of the more easily found ones…Arrh…then hinted at a couple of others that….that may have been used. Albrecht didn’t mention this area at all! When I’d…crawled all over the ship…I thought that if I really wanted to hide cargo where would I put it? So here we…Arrrrh!”
Ned bent down and helped pull the last planks aside. The joint effort revealed a cavity large enough for two dozen medium sized barrels. Which of course was full! Ned picked up the nearby lantern and swung it closer for a better view. So much for trust between business partners! Rob’s hand shot out, grabbing and yanked him back before he could peer into the dark space.
“What!” It was an angry cry filled with offence and Ned was making no apologies. Rob had just slammed his bandaged side into a post.
His friend took the lantern from his hand and dragged him several paces back. “Ned, that wouldn’t be a good idea.” Rob spoke firmly and quietly but it made no difference. Ned was getting very tired of being pulled or poked by the highhanded siblings of the Black clan.
“Damn you Rob! Why not? We’ve got to find out what’s going on!”
“Because, Red Ned Bedwell, those barrels in there have the King’s mark on them.”
Ned wasn’t in a mood to take this. “So? It’s an evil time we live in! Everyone steals and smuggles, the King’s goods included!”
Rob still held him firmly against the post despite his struggles and whispered close to his ear. “These Ned are different. They bear the mark of the King’s powder.”
A sudden chill clambered its way up the ladder of his spine. Damn that powder of devil’s fire! The stuff had the most pernicious habit of turning up where it would cause the most mayhem. Ned carefully put down the lantern, hoping its flickering flame was well enough away from the dangerous powder.
“Ohh…of course. I see. Ahh, anything else unexpected?” Ned’s hands felt suddenly very sweaty. The day was not going well. He just hoped that this was the last of the surprises, and well may he wish that his daemon added sourly.
“Yes, yes there is-in the forward hold.” Rob led him past the stacked cargo to another hidey hole. Obviously this one didn’t hold any of the explosive powder since Rob hung the lantern over the opened panelling and rummaged around, pulling out a number of heavy, oiled, cloth-wrapped objects. He pulled back the cloths with a flourish. Well no doubt they were enmeshed in illicit smuggling now. Church law was very firm on heretical books, but the King’s law was also unambiguous on the trading in weapons. In Rob’s hands was a very fine selection of armour piercing axes.
As dry as Ned’s mouth felt at this sight, his hands were bathed in moisture. “Rob, do you know where this ship was to go after Bristol?”
The young artificer gave a nod and rewrapped the axes. “Yes, Ireland.”
Oh no, thought Ned. Now they had two fates to avoid. The King’s Majesty did not take well to supplying weapons to his sometime disloyal subjects amongst the wild Irish. In fact he frowned very severely on the practice. Malefactors tended to make nodding acquaintance with the hemp noose at Tynburn or Tower Hill scaffolds. Ned swallowed with a desert dry throat. What could be worse?
“They’re pretty good too and most have the Tower mark.”
Alright, that’s what could be worse! Theft from the Royal Armoury to sell to the Irish was treason, pure and simple. Thus spectre of being hung drawn and quartered overshadowed that of being burnt at the stake or hung. Ned may have felt unsettled and nervous after the ambush but this combination of weapons and black powder made his hair stand on end. “By Christ’s blood, Rob! Can…can you get them off the ship?”
His friend considered the question for a moment before sadly shaking his head. “Not with so many watching, not with over two gross of weapons including bills and halberds to move, let alone the armour. Not a chance.”
Another problem to deal with. Great! As if he didn’t have enough already and now it got worse. Ned tried to speak but his tongue froze over the number of weapons, two gross that was almost three hundred arms. “Ahh, two gross of weapons?”
“Yes and fifty sets of foot men’s Almain rivet,” Rob added helpfully.
Armour?Fifty sets? Ned wasn’t the most martial of gentlemen. He didn’t pester old veterans for stories of skirmish, battles and sieges, well no more than any young lad with aspirations. However he did know enough about the Art of War to recognise that this was enough to outfit a large number of men in all the modern apparel of war.
“Could we claim these and the powder for the ship’s defence?” This was a desperate gambit and Ned knew his voice sounded squeaky and falsetto with apprehension.
“I doubt it Ned. It’s more like the equipment needed to arm two hundred or so men. As for the powder, well this vessel only has six small Gonnes, and that’s several, several times more than they would ever need.”
Oh well, another vain hope dead before its time, but now Ned’s daemon was whispering another suspicion into his ear. “Rob, did you find these in areas suggested by Albrecht?”
Once again his friend shook his head. “No. Most of this wasn’t hidden that well. Strange that.”
It was unfortunately predicable. Ned was beginning to wonder exactly who suggested to Mistress Black that what any merchant’s daughter on the rise and purveyor of heretical books needed was her own ship. Somehow he suspected it was Albrecht Hagan, whispering from the curtains with ready ledgers at hand. In this mind set of suspicion, Ned’s daemon also came up the next question. “Do you think that Meg knows of this?”
This was a very dangerous consideration. Her brother didn’t even need to pause before replying. “No, not at all. She showed me all the caches that she used and anyway, for this quality of weaponry you’d need to know an official high up at the Tower. It just isn’t Meg. I have to push her to carry more than a surgeon’s knife.”
As an indication of the sort of moral degradation his legal training had caused, a suspicion of linking the disappearance of Ben Robinson, this discovery and Margaret Black flashed through his imagination, before being crushed firmly under foot. Damn that inquisitiveness. It could be really corrosive to a person’s soul and this time he couldn’t blame his daemon.
If not the apprentice apothecary and suspected heretic then that left only two suspects-Albrecht and Joachim. Said to be boon friends and companions who also smuggled bibles and, ahem, concealed gonne powder. According to Rob the vessel was perfectly set up for running illicit trade, and the Irish could be expected to pay generously for modern weaponry to be used in their inter-family disputes. But if the texts were so well hidden, why be sloppy with the weapons? A tide waiter or land waiter could be bribed to ignore many things. Not weapons though. That smacked heavily of treason and a man had few defences against such a charge.
Ned made a mental note to have a very frank talk with Albrecht when this was over. He also wondered, considering the packed contraband, what space had been left for the legitimate cargo. “Rob, who do you think arranged the hidden powder?”