There was also the history of his first meeting with Skelton last year. The Howard retainer was in a gaming tavern, conspiring with a close servant of Cardinal Wolsey’s. No doubt the northerner had whispered the same blandishments of promised advancement and preferment, right until he slipped his blade into poor Smeaton’s back. Ned had been unconscious by then, but he’d worn the consequences of being the scapegoat. Only luck and friendship had saved him then from the treacherous fruits of Skelton’s devising. So here was Skelton asking Ned to trust him? Judgement Day would be here first before he made that error.
Ned had to think fast. His uncle had given him some good advice from his experiences in serving the former Lord Chancellor on how to deal with those at court. How did he put it? Ahh yes. ‘In public, dissemble like a snake and keep your honesty under your cap’.
Ned gave a loud regretful sigh. “I fear, Master Skelton, that though such considerations may be true, and while I am deeply gratified at your trust in me, my honour and obligation precludes me from accepting.”
The northerner’s brow furrowed in concentration. Then he slowly nodded and grinned, exposing a couple of broken teeth. “I’ll take that were a nay. Ahh lad, yea honour comes at ver-ry high price. Yea’ll learn soon enough.”
Despite his rebuff Skelton remained sitting and took a casual bite out of a capon leg. Obviously they weren’t finished yet. That had just been the first round. “I hear the new Lord Chancellor is on the hot trotfo’ heretics. Lutherans an’ Anabaptists.The man’s fair mad fo’ a pile o’ faggots t’ light. I seen the last lot at Smithfield, a ver-ry purr way fo’ a man ta leave the earth. Nay honour an’ the screams! It’s nay a proper way t’ die, even worse fo’ a woman I heard.”
With that last comment Skelton looked straight at Ned. Well he supposed, if bribery wasn’t going to work, the other avenue to a gain a man’s bidding was fear and threat. It appeared that Mistress Black’s secret activities had gained the attention of Norfolk.
“If you are implying that my friends or myself are engaged in such activities, then perhaps you should make a report to Sir Thomas More. I hear he pays well for informers and spies.” Ned snarled out the reply, sounding a great deal bolder than he felt.
Skelton though burst out laughing and slapped Ned roundly across the shoulders. “Ahh lad, yea ‘ave the makings o’ a man o’ blood an’ bile, nay like the rest of these whey faced pustules that cringe round the corridors o’ the court. That was a good response. Yea ‘ave a touch o’ courage, but yea misconstrue my saying. It’s not black rent I want of yea. My lord would niver toss friends o’ his niece ta the likes o’ More.”
Ned had to struggle to maintain a bland face. As if he believed that. At the present time, Norfolk loved his dear Boleyn niece, but if an occasion occurred that would serve him better, she’d be swept aside like yesterday’s floor rushes.
Skelton struggled with his features to put on a friendly, honest face. It wasn’t working. The results were, well, just intimidating. “I meant but ta offer yea the shield o’ my lord’s good will.”
Now that was interesting. Protection from Norfolk, but why? Was the Duke planning to upset More in some Privy Council rivalry? If so, then why bother with Ned? He must be so far down the list that he was almost invisible from that lofty height. “What does my Lord Norfolk require for such generosity?”
So the bargaining began. Ned wasn’t that much of a fool to refuse outright. He wanted to walk out of the garden alive and unbloodied. Anyway there was the slightest chance that it may work out to his advantage-before the inevitable betrayal.
Skelton gave a very slow nod of acceptance. His eyes narrowed as if in remembered pain and his voice growled out the reply. “Yea recall that stinkin’ turd o’ a Spaniard, that struttin’ catamite, Don de Alva.”
Ned struggled very, very hard to maintain his composure. It looked like Skelton still held a very personal grudge against the Queen’s servant, as you would if someone had rammed a few foot of steel through your shoulder. Good, so long as Skelton didn’t learn the whole truth, all was well. Ned gave a muttered acknowledgement.
“My Lord o’ Norfolk is ver-ry interested in findin’ the foreigner. The measle is working on some piece o’ mischief fo’ that Spanish harridan o’ his. If’n you can do it, my lord ’ll think well o’ yea. But we’ll need ta find the arse-futterer afore the great signing.”
Despite the demands of the other tasks that was a very tempting offer. Ned also had an outstanding claim for vengeance on the Spanish courtier, but how he was to find the foreigner in a few days was perhaps a greater challenge than he could cope with. “Master Skelton that is quite a request. I have my own reasons for finding that Spaniard, but I think you overestimate my abilities.” Well that was not quite a refusal nor was it a straight acceptance.
However Skelton seemed to think he needed a bit more leverage. “My lord watched yon tricks an’ cony catching with Wolsey’s letters. Twas nay quite what he wanted but close enough. I ‘ave nay the knowing o’ the city, but you ken the darker alleys an’ men o’shadows.”
That was rich coming from a man who had a very intimate knowledge of the twists and turns of the Liberties of Southwark. At another time and place, the inference that Ned was on knowing terms with the lower denizens of the city hierarchy could have given him the opportunity to call Skelton to account for the slur on Ned’s good name. However since he was surrounded by the northerner’s retainers, prudence overrode wounded pride.
“Yea’ll find him easy enough fo’ he dresses as one o’ yon prattling friars. I’ve seen him the once but the rat slipped away.”
Ned lost his composure for a moment and cursed roundly. Damn, he should have recognised him! That third cleric at Richmond Palace, the friar with his face shrouded. He stood too proudly and arrogantly for even a man of God and his hands, they were clean with trimmed and polished nails. That’s what had looked out of place!
Skelton’s face broken into what must pass as a satisfied smile, though it would be best to keep it away from fresh milk. “Yea’ve tripped o’er the foreign bugger! Good. Yea’ll find me at the Norfolk Palace on the water by Lambeth. Send word an’ me an the lads’ll come a huntin’!”
Ned received a further thud to his sore shoulders as Skelton pulled him up, and thrusting a half a smoked capon into his hands, walked him out of the garden, all the time laying on the ‘hail fellow and well met’ act. Ned gave automatic replies as he sorted this disturbing piece of news into the rest of this week’s chaos. Damn it all to hell and beyond! Just what he didn’t need-Norfolk’s command to find a disguised Spaniard, who was deeply embroiled in some form of treachery, and if he didn’t then Skelton had made it very plain they‘d be left to the mercy of Sir Thomas More. Ned had a few bitter thoughts regarding the lords of the realm and his new set of duties. Why couldn’t any of them just write out a simple commission without cloaking it in subterfuge and constraining it in threatened reprisals? Where was Christian trust in these sad times?
***
Chapter 18. The Fruit of a Bitter Basket, To the Bee Skep Tavern, Evening, 8th June
After the shock of Skelton’s trap at the Star Chamber, Ned didn’t feel like waiting around for anymore surprises. Right now being away from the palace was the best option. He couldn’t have cared if the King’s Majesty had summoned him. He called in at the tavern and brusquely collected his rag tag retainers. A lot of good they had been! Ned was getting irked at being kicked around like some drooling minion, without the wit to loosen his codpiece before taking a piss. So far his good lord had been next to useless in protecting his liegeman. The reciprocal rights of duty and obligation were getting strained there. Perhaps a man had to defend his own honour, rather than relying on the spur of casual self interest of his betters.