Bearing Rob’s recent warning in mind, he grabbed four of Gryne’s men as a safeguard and after leaving a few suggestions with his friend, hailed a passing wherry heading up river. He deliberately left without bidding Mistress Black farewell. After all she didn’t confide in him about all of her affairs, did she? Anyway he had a sneaking suspicion that Meg Black, would-be surgeon, had enjoyed her last session a bit too much. It had been particularly painful as those splinters were removed.
Ned stood in one of the ante chambers waiting. He seemed to spend his life at Westminster waiting. Damn! He’d even paid the wherry men double to speed them here. The slack tide at the bridge had meant a faster and safer passage. A whole shilling wasted!
Once here he’d slumped against the timber panelling, watching the afternoon crawl by. At least he thanked the saints he’d had the foresight to relieve himself at Westminster Stairs. Otherwise the discomfort would have been excruciating. Others hadn’t been so prudent. There was a distinct whiff of stale urine from the fireplace over to the left, as overpowering as being next to the Fleete Ditch. His retinue had been refused entry by one of the palace guards and Ned had to come up with drinking money in order to keep them relatively close. More damned expense.
Finally one of the doors to the ominous chamber opened. Ned straightened up, brushing specks of London dirt from his doublet, and took up his best court stance, leg forward and cap in hand. His boredom was over at last.
And then he wished for its return-desperately.
The gentleman walking out was large fellow in that tall, rangy manner of the northerners. He had a black beard, thick enough to hide a badger in and it still seemed to claw its way up his face as if seeking to hide under the red velvet cap. The clothes however had improved-it was a burgundy brocade that Ned’s old ‘friend’, Skelton, now affected. “Red Ned Bedwell, I’ve bin alookin’ fo’ yea!”
Now wasn’t that a forebodingly familiar refrain. He could have pulled out the pistols, but using a weapon like those in the King’s palace was a dangerous action to explain, and sprinting back to his guard was out of the question, even more so when Skelton, his nemesis of last year, was followed by several retainers. Each of these had that similar look of men who could claim kinship with the bare kneed Scots and armed, like him, with heavy bladed backswords. So instead Ned chose one of his practiced court bows. He was getting good at those.
“Nay Ned lad. Nay need fo’ so much formality. We’re auld friends.” That coarse cry was accompanied by a heavy handed buffet to his shoulder, as if from a long lost cousin.
A tight smile played about Ned’s lips. He wasn’t dead yet. Nor had anyone drawn a blade on him, so his only option was to play this out. “I bid you a good day, Master Skelton.”
The northerner, in the service of the Duke of Norfolk, gave a braying laugh in reply. “Ahh Ned, I said nay so formal. Let’s yea an me go fo’ a drink. The lad’s here’ll just tag along. They’ve nay been ta the city an al’ the folk ‘ere make’m a tad twitchy.”
Ned may have tried to shake off the hand firmly grasping his shoulder, but a brief glance at the said nervous retainers dispelled any such foolishness. From their universal glowers, hacking apart a Londoner would brighten up their day no end.
Ned found himself steered towards one of the livery kitchens that served the palace, where a couple of the dour retainers peeled off to fetch some sustenance. He hoped at least it was cooked properly, rather than briefly waved over a candle as he suspected they did up north. All the while Skelton chatted on about the glorious weather and the prospects for hunting this season. Ned kept up his part of the conversation with short simple answers, curious as to why the northerner wanted to play the amiable companion, rather than throw him in the river. Or slit his throat.
In due course the retainers returned laden with loaves of manchet bread, smoked capons and some leather bottles of ale, then they adjourned through a small door set into the wall of the palace and entered an enclosed garden where Skelton took a seat on a stone bench and pulled Ned down beside him. His companions, however, set themselves in a circle warily facing out, hands prominently on hilts.
“Well lad ‘ere we’re a’ pleasant a place fo’ a reunion as yea could find.”
Ned gave a brief nod before taking a large slurp of the ale-not bad, almost as good as the Bee Skep’s. He’d also made a careful note of Skelton’s accustomed and easy use of the palace. Such a casual approach spoke volumes. Norfolk must be riding high in the Privy Council, his rivals quelled or bought. The other item Ned was berating himself for, was the fact that he had forgotten to ask that snotty usher exactly who’d summoned him to the Star Chamber. That was a dangerous slip.
“So Ned, life’s been treating you well serving Cromwell?” It may have looked like one, but it was not a question, certainly not from the hungry look in Skelton’s eye.
Ned suppressed any but the most courtly reaction while he pondered a very pressing question. Did Skelton really know what happened at the Cosgrove Inn privy? If so, how long did Ned have to live? His hands where full of food and drink, so making a grab for a weapon would be an act of suicide. Ned gave a non committal shrug before answering. “He is my good lord, as Norfolk is yours, as generous and fair as one could ask for.”
Skelton ran a hand through his thick beard. Ned was surprised not to see creatures leaping out to escape the fingered comb. His daemon suggested they’d already sort refuge in the northerner’s shirt. No doubt that shielded a veritable thicket of chest hair to scurry through and lice to frolic with. “Aye. That’s as maybe. ‘ave yea ever wondered if another could be mure generous an’ nay doubt mure noble than a smith’s lad? The scraps fro’ his table must be leaner than a dog’s leavings. A man o’ means would nay go far on those.”
Ned smiled. Of course, the expected offers of betrayal for advancement. It was slow week when he didn’t receive at least one bribe for information or advantage. This was a sad fact of life in these evil times. Betrayal and trust were so finely balanced and the devil’s minions were always at one’s shoulder, whispering temptation. That being so, to receive one from the man who was in truth second in the land after the king, that was…unexpected, and the next question was why? It was well known that Norfolk disliked Cromwell for his common background, though not as much as Suffolk did, and it would be nowhere near the loathing that both Dukes felt for the butcher’s son from Ipswich, the disgraced former chancellor, Cardinal Wolsey. Not surprising since the Howards considered their bloodline as the most noble in the kingdom. If that was the case then why court Ned Bedwell the bastard? Was it his obvious talents? While Ned thought a bit of himself, as did any young man, he wasn’t so overborne by arrogance and puffed up pride as to believe the mighty of the land accounted him worthy of friendship.
Perhaps it was Cromwell? Did Norfolk see the new Privy Councillor as a threat and need a spy? Thank the saints he wasn’t as deeply entangled in his master’s plans as he could have been. That’d be far too perilous. At other times the offer may have been tempting. After all any prudent man took precautions in these doubtful times where Satan’s words soothed and cajoled men to ready treachery. His good lord, Thomas Cromwell, was beginning his ascent on the Wheel of Fortuna. But once at the pinnacle, all hands would be trying to pull him back down, and Ned had seen last year what happened to the luckless follower who hadn’t made any provision for that unseen future.
His daemon whispered advantages, reminding him that the bonds and dues of friendship could easily be broken-for the right price. However his angel counselled him that betrayal would cast the Black siblings into the abyss and his soul quailed at the price. Sometimes advancement wore the same doublet as betrayal. Now if he possessed the flexible equivocation of his Uncle Richard, it may have been easier. No, he was himself, a man alone and his better nature would never condone such an act. Anyway it was not as if he could trust Norfolk in the first place.