IT WAS A RELIEF TO reach the river stairs. The tide was full, temporarily drowning the stinking mud, and a welcome breeze came off the river. There was no sign of Barak, so I left Chancery at the stables and stood looking at the high warehouses of the merchants of the Hanseatic League, for whom Brother Bealknap acted. The ancient privileges to trade with Baltic ports of these German merchants were increasingly flouted by English merchant adventurers, such as the one who had brought the strange drink from the far reaches of that cold sea. Bealknap could have known about the Polish stuff from his mercantile contacts, it could have been through him that it came to the Gristwoods.
I hitched my satchel over my shoulder. The river was crowded, not only with passengers going up and down and across to Southwark but with people of the wealthier sort who had hired tilt boats to ride upon the water and enjoy the breeze. Everywhere brightly coloured sails passed to and fro. I glanced over them, wondering if Lady Honor and her maids might be among them.
There was a touch at my shoulder; I turned to see Barak there.
'Did you find anything at the Guildhall?' I asked curtly, for I was still annoyed by his treatment of Guy.
'Ay, I got a list of names of founders who work on the conduit.' He looked shamefaced and I wondered whether he was beginning to realize that his rough ways with people were not suited to the delicacy of this investigation.
'And I was able to get the information I needed from Goodwife Gristwood.' I told him all she had said. He passed me the list and I nodded. Peter Leighton's name was prominent.
'Good, that's useful. It confirms we're on the right track.'
'I called in at the Old Barge, too,' Barak said. 'I've asked for any messages to be sent both there and to your house. There's a note from Cromwell's clerk. Bealknap does do a little work for the Hanse merchants and also some French ones – routine stuff declaring imports at the Custom House.'
'I wonder how much he rakes off.'
'The link with the French is dangerous.' He looked at me seriously. 'Imagine French fireships sailing up the Thames.'
'I'd rather not.'
'I've remembered where I saw Bealknap before, by the way.'
I looked at him with interest. 'Where?'
'Remember I told you the man my mother married after my father died was a law clerk? He was one of friend Bealknap's compurgators. I remember Bealknap coming to the house and telling him to pretend he knew some rogue who'd pleaded his clerkship at the assizes and been locked up in the bishop's palace.'
'You remember that clearly?' I asked eagerly. 'Clearly enough to swear in court?'
'Ay, now my memory's been jogged.'
'How old were you?'
'Ten perhaps.'
I stroked my chin. 'Then a court might not accept your evidence. Are you still in touch with your mother and stepfather?'
'No.' Barak reddened and his lips set. 'I haven't seen them in years.' The corners of his wide mouth, usually upturned ready for mockery, were pushed down.
'Even so, this gives us a hold over the rogue. Well done.' I studied him to see how he would react to words of praise such as an employer might use to an employee, but he only nodded. I decided to venture further. 'You know I visited the Wentworths earlier?'
'Ay.'
'Are you any good at picking locks?'
He raised his eyebrows. 'Passing fair.'
'I thought you might be.' I told him what had passed at Sir Edwin's. He whistled when I told him of the stink coming from the well.
'I want us to break into the garden at night and get those locks off. Then I'd like you to climb down and take a look. We'll need a rope ladder.'
He laughed. 'God's death, you don't ask much, do you?'
'Less than the earl has asked of me. Well? It was part of the bargain, Barak, that you'd help me with the Wentworths.'
'All right. I owe you a favour; I suppose I put you out of sorts with your friend.' I realized this was the nearest he would come to an apology.
Just then a wherry with a canopy pulled up at the wharf, depositing a pair of well-dressed Flemish merchants on the steps. Barak and I took their places and the boatman pulled away. It was pleasant to be out on the smooth brown water. I watched the stately swans bobbing by the banks. Shouts of laughter came from the tilt boats around us and the gulls cried overhead.
'You've got your case against Bealknap tomorrow, haven't you?' Barak asked.
'Don't remind me. I'll have to spend tonight preparing. But it will be a chance to quiz him again.'
'These serjeants, like Marchamount, what does their rank signify?'
'Only serjeants have the right to be heard in the Court of Common Pleas. There aren't many, they're appointed by the Crown and the other judges. The judges themselves are always appointed from the Serjeancy.'
'You ever been considered for it?'
I shrugged. 'These things are all decided by murmurings behind the scenes.'
I jumped at the sudden, piercing sound of a trumpet. The boats in the middle of the river rowed frantically out of the way as an enormous canopied barge painted in bright gold appeared, a dozen oarsmen in the king's livery making rapid sweeps through the water in time to the beating of a drum. Our little wherry bobbed wildly in the royal barge's wake as, like everyone else in the boats, we doffed our caps and bowed our heads. The king's canopy was drawn shut, protecting him from the sun. I wondered if Cromwell was in there with him, or perhaps Catherine Howard. The barge swept upriver to Whitehall.
The boatman spoke. 'They say if Queen Anne goes down there'll be more religious changes.'
'Perhaps,' I replied noncommittally.
'It's hard for common folk to keep track of it all.' He lowered his head to the oars.
THE WHERRY DROPPED US at St Mary Overy steps on the Southwark side. I followed Barak up to the wharf. Winchester Palace came into view as we mounted the slippery stairs. I paused a moment to catch my breath and looked at the facade of the forbidding Norman building, the glass in its enormous rose window glinting in the midday sun. The Bishop of Winchester owned most of Southwark, including the brothels; the palace was his London residence and the king was said to have dined there with Catherine Howard many times that spring. I wondered what plots against Cromwell had been hatched within its walls.
Barak made off along the side of the high palace wall towards the warren of poor houses that lay to the east. I followed.
'Have you visited Southwark before?' he asked me.
'No.' I had travelled the main road to Surrey many times but never ventured into the streets beyond, haunts of whores and criminals. Barak walked along confidently. He favoured me with one of his mocking grins.
'Ever been to a whorehouse?'
'Yes,' I said shortly. 'But a better class of one.'
'Ah, with gardens and shady nooks?'
'When I was a student and knew no better.'
'The Winchester geese can be shy birds if they think you're anything official. If we let out even a hint we're on any business other than trugging before we're well inside they'll fly off down the alleys faster than you could believe. You need to follow my lead here.' He looked at me seriously.
'Very well.'
'Take off your robe – it'll scare them. We'll pretend we're customers, all right? I'm your servant that's brought you over the river for a bit of fun. The madam will invite us to have a drink with the whores; if she offers you food, take it, no matter how much it costs. It's one way they make money if the whores are cheap, which these will be.'
I took off my robe and stuffed it in my satchel. It was a relief to be rid of it.
'When we're inside I'll ask for Bathsheba Green, say she's been recommended, then you get her alone and question her. I wouldn't get too familiar, though. These houses are famous for the French pox.'
'How do you know she's there?'
'I've contacts among the street urchins, I've paid them to watch a house for me before.' He smiled and lowered his voice. 'A member of the conservative faction, a most holy cleric, used to frequent one of the boy-houses down here. That information was very useful to my master.'
I shook my head. 'Is there nothing he won't do?'
'Not much. The lads know Bathsheba's working times – she'll be there this afternoon.'
We passed into a warren of small timber-framed houses, the unpaved lanes stinking with refuse, among which pigs and skinny dogs grubbed for food. The cloying stink of the Southwark tanneries rose in the hot air. In accordance with the Southwark regulations all the brothels were painted white, standing out against the dingy plaster of the other houses. Each had a sign with a lewd reference outside the door, a naked Adam and Eve or a bed or a nightshirt. We stopped before a poor-looking house where the paint was flaking, a bishop's hat crudely painted on the sign outside. Shutters were drawn over the windows. I heard a raucous burst of male laughter from within. Kicking away a couple of hens rooting outside, Barak knocked confidently on the door.
It was opened by a middle-aged woman. She was short and stocky, with a square ugly face surrounded by curly red hair. She had been branded as a whore in London at some point for a dark 'W' stood out on her white cheek. She looked at us suspiciously.
'Good day, Mistress.' Barak smiled. 'I've brought my master over from the City, he's a taste for a quiet house.'
She looked me over, then nodded. 'Come in.'
We followed her into a dark room that was even hotter than the street, with a fug of unwashed bodies and cheap tallow candles barely disguised by the cheap incense burning in a corner. The smoky candles lit a table where two middle-aged men sat, shopkeepers by the look of them. One was fat and merry-looking, the other thin and ill at ease. They nodded to us. A pippin pie was set on the table and the men had plates of food before them. A whore sat beside each, a buxom creature for the fat man and a nervous-looking girl of about sixteen for the other. Both women had opened their bodices so their breasts spilled out. Sitting thus at table, they looked bizarre rather than erotic.
The madam indicated a cupboard, where a thin boy in a greasy jerkin stood by a jar of beer. 'Will you eat with us, sir?'
'Yes, thank you.'
She nodded to the boy, who poured two mugs of beer and set them on the table. The plump whore leaned across and whispered something in her client's ear, making him laugh throatily.
'Half a groat each that'll be, sirs,' the madam said. I passed across the money. She peered closely at the coins before slipping them into a purse at her belt and smiling at us, a red slash in her face, showing decayed teeth.
'Make yourselves comfortable. I'll get a couple more girls to join us, we'll make a merry lunch.'
'Only a girl for my master,' Barak said. 'He's a shy fellow, wants a girl to gentle him, treat him softly. We've heard of a girl called Sheba, or Bathsheba, who works here.'
Her eyes narrowed at once. 'Who told you that?'
'Someone at the Guildhall,' I replied.
'Which company?'
'I can't remember, it was at one of the dinners.' I forced a smile. 'Only I like a gentle girl and he said Bathsheba was kindly. I'd pay more for a gentle girl.'
'I'll see.' She disappeared through an inner door.
'My one's sweet and plump enough,' the fat shopkeeper said. 'Eh, Mary?' The woman winked at me and laughed, her large, veined breasts wobbling as she put an arm around his neck.
I heard the madam calling from somewhere within the house. 'Daniel, here!' The boy ran out of the room. I heard a muted whisper and a minute later the madam returned. She smiled again.
'Bathsheba will see you in her room, sir. Bring your drink if you like.'
'Thank you, I'll leave it.' I rose from the table, trying to look enthusiastic.
'You don't want to waste time in there drinking, eh?' The fat shopkeeper chuckled.
The madam led me down a dark corridor with several closed doors, her heavy feet stumping on the uneven floorboards. I was suddenly afraid, very conscious that I was alone. I jumped as a door opened, but it was only a faded whore who looked out quickly then slammed the door shut. The madam knocked at another. 'Here's Bathsheba,' she said, smiling her horrible smile as she ushered me inside. She closed the door behind her, but I heard no retreating footsteps and realized she was standing outside, listening.
The room was small and mean, the only furniture a cheap trunk and a large old truckle bed. The shutters were half-open, but the room still had a sweaty stink. A girl lay on the bed. For some reason I had expected Bathsheba to be pretty, but although young she had pasty, heavy features and a swarthy complexion. There was something familiar about her face, though I could not place it. She had made no effort to pretty herself and lay there in a stained old dress, without rouge, her black hair disordered on the greyish pillow. Her best feature was her large, intelligent brown eyes but they stared at me not in welcome but, I saw, with fear. She had a large bruise and a half-healed cut on one cheekbone.
'Well, Bathsheba,' I said quietly, 'I am told you are a gentle girl.'
'Who told you that, sir?' Her voice was scared, faltering.
'Someone I met at the Guildhall.'
'I've only had one customer of your class,' she said. 'And he is dead.' To my surprise I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. It seemed Michael Gristwood's feelings for her had not been one-sided. She continued to look at me fearfully. How had they realized so quickly I was not an ordinary customer? I studied her scared face a moment, then laid my satchel on the edge of the bed and sat down carefully.
'I swear I mean you no harm,' I said soothingly, 'but I am here to enquire into the death of Master Gristwood. I am a lawyer.'
'I know nothing of his death,' she said quickly.
'I didn't think you did. I only want to know what he talked about with you. Did he mention his work?'
I saw her glance at the door and lowered my voice.
'You will be paid, I'll see to that.' I paused, then said, 'You cared for each other?'
'Yes.' Defiance entered her face. 'We both needed kindness and we gave it to each other. Madam Neller didn't like me getting close to a client but it happens.'
'How did you meet?' I felt pleased with my quick progress.
'He came here one day with some Augmentations clerks. They'd come on a roist south of the river and ended up here. Michael pleasured me, he made me laugh and he visited again on his own. He had a hard time with his wife. He said she had no laughter in her.'
'I've met her. Not a merry soul.'
'But he told me nothing of his work.' She looked at the door again, her bruise showing livid. I wondered if the madam had given it to her.
'He didn't say anything about some papers he had, or anything he was working on with his brother?' I asked gently.
'I know nothing,' she said, her voice trembling. 'I told the others-'
'What others?' I asked quickly.
Bathsheba pointed to her cheek. 'The ones who gave me this.'
Heavy footsteps sounded outside. I heard someone whispering to the madam, then started back as the door was flung open. Two men stepped into the room. One was a bald, hulking fellow carrying a club and the other a stocky young man whose features were so like Bathsheba's he could only be her brother. I recognized him at once: he was the man I had seen in the Gristwoods' yard. He held a long dagger, which he pointed at my throat as I jumped up from the bed. I caught a glimpse of the madam's worried face before the big man shut the door and stood against it.
'He hasn't hurt you, Sheba?' the young man asked, never taking his eyes from my face.
'No, George, but I was afraid the boy wouldn't find you in time.'
'Has he hurt you?'
'No. I kept him talking. About Michael again.'
'Pox on Madam Neller, letting these shits in at all.' He turned to me. 'We've got you this time, matey. You won't get away with hitting a defenceless woman.'
I lifted my hands. 'There's a mistake, I swear. I never met this girl before today.'
'No, but your pock-faced mate did that came and beat her last week. He'd have killed her if one of the other girls hadn't run for me.' He turned to his sister, clenching his fists. 'Is it him in the other room? The pock-faced man? Or that lump of a confederate of his, with the wens on his nose?'
'Madam Neller says no. She's keeping him occupied.'
'A pock-faced man?' I asked. 'Tall and very pale? Asking about Michael Gristwood?'
'Ay, your confederate.'
I considered shouting for Barak, but Bathsheba's brother had a desperate look and could slit my throat in a moment. I forced myself to speak calmly. 'Please listen. That man is after me as well – he tried to kill me yesterday. I mean no harm, I wished only to ask Bathsheba about Master Gristwood-'
'He was asking the same questions,' Bathsheba said. 'About Michael's papers, his brother's work. He says he's a lawyer.'
The young man's eyes flashed angrily. 'I didn't know they allowed hunchbacks to be lawyers.' He stepped closer and held the dagger to my neck. 'If you're a lawyer, you're working for somebody. Who is it?'
'Lord Cromwell,' I replied. 'My assistant has his seal.'
Bathsheba's brother and the big man at the door exchanged a look. 'Oh, George,' Bathsheba groaned, 'what have we done?'
The brother grabbed my arm and slammed me against the far wall, the knifepoint pressed against my throat. 'Why? God's death, how is he involved in this?'
'George,' Bathsheba cried out then, wringing her hands, 'we have to tell them everything, we have to throw ourselves on their mercy-'
George turned to her angrily. 'Mercy? Cromwell? No, we'll kill the crookback and his mate and dump their bodies in the Thames, there'll be nothing to show they were ever here-'
There was a yell from the madam standing outside, then a loud crash. The man with the club staggered across the room as the door was flung open. He landed on the bed and Bathsheba screamed. Barak lunged in; he had unsheathed his sword and now he brought it down on George Green's knife arm as he turned. Green yelled, dropping the dagger.
'You all right?' Barak asked me.
I gasped. 'Yes-'
'I heard these fellows in the hallway, though they tried to muffle the noise they made.' He turned to George, who was gripping his arm, blood running through his fingers. 'You'll be all right, matey, I just cut you. I could've had your arm off, but I didn't. In return you can do some talking-'
'Look out!' I shouted. The big man had jumped up from the bed and raised his club, ready to smash it down on Barak's head. I threw myself at him and managed to throw him off balance. He staggered against the wall. Barak turned and in that moment George grabbed his shocked-looking sister by the hand, threw open the shutters and jumped from the window, Bathsheba screaming as she followed. The big man steadied himself, dropped his club and fled through the open doorway.
Barak ran to the window. 'Stay here!' he shouted as he jumped after Bathsheba and her brother, whom I could just see disappearing round a corner. I sat on the bed, trying to gather my wits. After a few moments I realized the house was totally silent. Had everyone fled? I wondered. I lifted myself from the greasy bed and, picking up George's dagger, walked back to the dining chamber. The girls and their customers had gone. The madam sat alone at the table, her head in her hands. Her shock of red hair, evidently a wig, lay among overturned tankards. Her own hair was thin and grey.
'Well, lady?' I said.
She looked up at me, her expression despairing. 'Is this the end of my house?'
I sat down. 'Not necessarily. I want to know about Bathsheba's doings with Michael Gristwood, and the attack on her. Was that attack the reason you were worried when we came asking after her?'
She nodded, then looked at me fearfully. 'I heard you mention Lord Cromwell's name,' she whispered.
'Ay. I work for him. But he doesn't care what trugging houses there are in Southwark so long as the owners don't cross him.'
She shook her head. 'The girls shouldn't get involved with the customers. It happens sometimes when a girl isn't pretty or getting past her prime, and Bathsheba's past twenty-five. Sometimes they fancy themselves in love. Not that I'd anything against Michael Gristwood, he'd a merry way with him for a man of law. Some afternoons we all sat round this table together laughing. But when he was alone with Bathsheba he'd start crying and bewailing his woes.' Her mouth twisted bitterly. 'He should have my troubles, have a mark like this.' She pointed to her cheek. The 'W' stood out clearly in the dim light; ashes would have been rubbed into the burn to ensure the mark never faded.
'So you discouraged Bathsheba.'
'When I saw she was getting in too deep. These things always end in trouble.' She looked at me with hard blue eyes. 'There were things Gristwood told Bathsheba that worried her, I knew that. He was in trouble of some sort.'
'Did you learn what trouble?'
'No, Bathsheba turned close as an oyster. Then Michael stopped coming. Bathsheba thought he'd left her. She went across to Queenhithe to make enquiries and came back here crying and wailing that he was dead. I told her she should get away, go back to Hertford where she came from. But she didn't want to leave her brother. He's a wherryman on the river.'
'They're close?'
'Close as can be. Then three men came to the house. They weren't cunning like you, they just barged in with drawn swords, told the girls to get out and demanded Bathsheba.'
'And one of them was a tall man with the marks of smallpox.'
'Ay. Face as scored as a butcher's block, and another ugly ruffian with him.'
'Do you know who sent them?'
'No.' She crossed herself. 'The devil perhaps, they had killing looks on them. The girls ran. I sent the boy for George, same as I did today. He came back with a dozen of his mates. By the time they arrived they had Bathsheba in her room and the pock-faced one was beating her. But the wherrymen were too many for them and they ran.'
'Did they get any information from Bathsheba?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know. I ordered her out of the house. If this place gets a reputation for fighting it'll be the end of it. Some of the girls have already left. Bathsheba came back this morning, asking me to take her on again.' She shrugged. 'I'm short of girls, so I let her. More fool me.'
The door opened and Barak came in, breathless. 'They've got away,' he said. 'Run to some rat hole!' He glared at Madam Neller. 'What's the old troll got to say?'
'I'll tell you outside.' I got to my feet. I took out my purse and laid a gold half angel on the table. 'There's two more if you let me know if Bathsheba returns, or if you find where she is. I mean her no harm, mind.'
The beldame grabbed up the coins. 'And there'll be no trouble from Lord Cromwell?'
'Not if you do as I ask. You will find me at Chancery Lane.'
She pocketed the coins. 'Very well,' she said and nodded briefly.
Barak and I left the place and walked rapidly back to the river stairs, watchful for danger though all was quiet. The Thames was still thronged and there were no boats waiting. Barak sat down on the top step and I followed, removing my satchel, which was making my shoulder ache. I told him what the madam had said. 'By the way,' I added, 'thank you for saving my life back there.'
Barak smiled ruefully. 'And to you for saving mine. That knave would have had my brains out. What about that well? D'you want to go there tonight?'
'No, I have to go to Lincoln's Inn to prepare for tomorrow's case. And I want to find some books on Greek Fire too.'
He looked over the river. The sun was getting low, turning the water silver. 'Tomorrow's the first of June. Nine days left then.' He smiled wryly. 'You do need me, you see?'
I sighed heavily and met his gaze. 'Ay.'
Barak laughed.
'There's something you could do for me tonight,' I said. 'Ask round the taverns at Lothbury, see if anyone knows anything about the Wentworth family, any tales. Would you do that?'
'All right. Never say no to an evening's drinking. I can go to the sailors' taverns too; make some enquiries about that Polish drink.'
I looked across at the palace. Liveried servants were scurrying to and fro outside, and a great red carpet was being unrolled. 'It looks like Bishop Gardiner is having visitors. Look, here's a wherry, let's get away.'