The Cardinal's Angels (26 page)

But this was subtly different, or was it actually? A man was a man whether rich or poor. All still had the same frailties and foibles, though in the powerful, such faults could be accentuated. He’d seen his uncle at work with his clients. It required delicate poise and negotiation. One had to avoid offence and at the end always had to give satisfaction.
Or at least the public guise of compliance and agreement.
The client was always right, except as Uncle Richard had sniggered, when they were completely wrong.

“No Doctor you didn’t. I think you gave Wolsey the predictions he wanted to hear, not the charts he needed.”

Dr Caerleon gravely nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Master Bedwell you are correct. For, as you know, only the truly wise accept that they know nothing. The Lord Chancellor however believes he knows everything.”

“What of Smeaton? Did you know they were closing in?”

The old astrologer’s face grew seriously grave. “The pattern of the stars can chart a map of what a man can expect, threats, opportunities and influences, but nothing is ever set as the dance of the stars shifts and changes in the crystal spheres. I knew he was vulnerable soon, but Smeaton, like others, was too arrogant to listen to counsels of prudence.”

Now it came time for the vital question. “What
was
the Cardinal’s commission?”

That one met with approval for Dr Caerleon’s eyes lit up with pleasure. “Master Bedwell, you will make a lawyer yet. It was horoscopes, some to be picked up by the deceased Smeaton, but these few were to be kept for another to acquire, an Italian, Rodolpho Campeggio.”

Ned’s throat dried up. They were now deeply enmeshed in the perilous game. He’d a horrible suspicion that the three small books indicated by the astrologer’s waved hand held more trouble than all their other discoveries to date.

And now Mistress Black spoke up once more with her own question. “Whose are they?”

What was she doing? Ned resisted the temptation to muzzle Mistress Black who had now completely lost what little sense remained to her. If you wanted to avoid the Tower you didn’t voice dangerous questions like that! It was perilous enough just thinking them. Ned whispered a silent prayer for divine intercession.

The saints and angels weren’t listening. Dr Lewys Caerleon, physician and astrologer to kings, lent forward and in a quiet but firm voice uttered their damnation. “Henry, King of England, Wales, Ireland, and France, his queen, Catherine of Aragon, the Lady Anne Boleyn, and his holiness Pope Clement VII, along with accompanying notes concerning their mutual influences.”

Like the rest of the band, he had gasped at the roll of names–what else could you do? By all that was holy, they were really for it now, two definite counts of treason and depending on what
was
happening at Court, possibly three
and
excommunication. Ned could see the scaffold at Tower Hill before his eyes, or maybe for an event like this they would hold it at Smithfield, more space there for the expected crowds.

While the rest of them still had visions of the scaffold wheeling through their imaginations, it was Gruesome Roger who was the first to recover from the shock and gasped out the question they were all thinking. “How…how could you do it? What of the punishment?”

The old astrologer shook his head and gave out a very grim chuckle before he answered. “You forget, Master Hawkins, Doctor Lewys Caerleon has already been consigned to the flames. They could try for Doctor Agryppa though that would risk the spilling of all manner of secrets.”

Ned was impressed with the old man’s reasoning. It was a handy out. In the case of any investigation it would certainly muddy the waters and at least drag the complicity of
More
and Stokesley into plain view. They may even hesitate to publicly acknowledge the present existence of Doctor Agryppa.

Something nagged on the edge of his memory about the name. Ned had heard it before. He was just trying to figure out where. No, this was going to have to wait until later. He drew his attention back to the here and now and found Rob had entered the discussion with his own question. “But why didn’t Smeaton pick them all up? Wouldn’t it have been less complicated?”

That was very good. He gave his large friend a considered look. Rob was proving to think faster than his looks would suggest. However Ned answered that one. He wanted to steer this section of the conversation. Both his daemon and angel agreed this was his chance to seize the leadership of this company, both for wildly differing reasons. “Because my friend, if Smeaton touches them he’s guilty of treason as is his lord. As for Rodolpho, well he’ a foreigner and also protected by his father’s legatine status.”

There was, Ned suspected, also a darker rationale. If Smeaton didn’t know about the existence of the three treasonous charts, if captured and put to the ‘Question’ he could reveal nothing of importance. But something else pulled at his memory, a dissonance from what the old astrologer had said before. It was almost an admission. So Ned reviewed the conversation and cursed at his stupidity. The wily old astrologer had deflected them by the scary revelation of treason. “Hang on.
You
arranged for the Cardinal to put you here.
How, if you’ve no influence and are a prisoner?”

The Dr Caerleon visibly faltered. His satisfied smile slipped replaced for a moment with frowning distaste. Ned recognised a few trick from the courts. The old man was too used to directing any conversation and this one had been going too smoothly his way, despite the distraction of Mistress Black. A really suspicious man might possibly consider that the doctor’s play of mourning and distress was also part of some grander ploy of revenge. Ned may have been young but he wasn’t a fool, despite whatever Mistress Black said. Any man who outfoxed Wolsey deserved a great deal of wary respect.

There was a slight pursing of the old man’s lips and he gave a single nod of acknowledgment in Ned’s direction. “Master Bedwell you are perceptive, but it needed no arcane arts for this. A man in my position must have an understanding of his patrons, as well as good and loyal friends.” That was with a wave toward the Black component of the company, maybe a sop or maybe real. For now Ned would suspend judgement.

“All I did was
suggest
to the Cardinal that if Southwark was where I was to be confined, anywhere would be preferable to this den of savages, even prison. His own cunning did the rest. As to my keepers, Gryne and his men served the Cardinal in the renowned ‘
Kreker
’ Companie under the Duke of Suffolk in the wars in France a few years ago. So they are trusted and currently receive a healthy retainer for being my guards.”

Ned was impressed. The ‘Krekers’–he’d heard of them. Who hadn’t? As a companie of mercenary footmen, they had acquired a reputation for uncompromising ferocity. Lacking any varnish of chivalry, their bloodthirsty reputation had them at the front of any dreadful endeavour or costly assault. Thinking about the display below in the tavern, Ned now had good reason to be nervous. A quick glance at his companions saw most of them register the same wary shock. Gruesome Roger was the most thoughtful, Rob let out a low whistle of appreciation while Mistress Black stayed true to form and frowned.

Doctor Caerleon paused to let this news sink in and a slightly satisfied smile teased his lips before he resumed his tale. “My Lord Cardinal was so pleased at the solution for his captive astrologer that he forgot to inquire closely of all my past services in the medical field. Back then the captaine of the ‘
Kreker
’ companie engaged me to be their surgeon. Thus I have certain advantages in being their ‘prisoner’.”

Ned could only shake his head in admiration. That was the most cunning cony–catch he’d ever heard of. His daemon however reminded him that the good doctor had just proved he was able to easily subvert the actions of the greatest lord of the land.

This suspicious speculation was halted as the astrologer’s young assistant spoke up, jolting them all out of their seats in shock. So far in the discussion she’d not uttered a word since they arrived, playing the silent and dutiful servant. “My father owes the doctor his leg. He’ll not let them harm our Ollave. We’ll die afore any touch him!” That came out as a fierce challenge to all comers.

So friendship, old debts and Wolsey’s accustomed arrogance had tripped up the Cardinal’s plan. Ned wasn’t surprised. There was a common doggerel prophecy in the taverns about the pride of cardinals bringing them low, though his angel now sternly reminded him that courting the doctor’s attractive servant may not be the wisest move.

“Thank you Nerys.” Dr Caerleon gave an indulgent smile of approval and patted the shoulder of the young girl, who after a quick defiant glare directed at the interlopers, resumed her silence.

That outburst appeared to exhaust their host who slumped back into his chair looking very worn and tired. “My guests, you must excuse me. I am an old man and need my rest. I have arranged a room for you to use for the night. I can assure you naught threatens you here.”

Mistress Black was about to interject but the physician waved her down. “I’ll be here later, Margaret, to satisfy your eternal curiosity.”

For the first time in Ned’s limited acquaintance, Mistress Black curbed her tongue and led their company out of the sorcerer’s lair.

The doctor’s servant, Nerys, led them to a chamber further along the balcony. It was very similar to the quarters of the old astrologer except that it lacked all his paraphernalia and had extra pallets on the floor beside a simple bed. One could almost think Dr Caerleon had warning of their arrival. Ned was cautious in leaping to a conclusion on that front. So far the doctor was proving to be a superb manipulator. They all had a lot to mull over, and rather than a discussion to thrash out what they knew or didn’t know, each sat quietly on a bed, locked in thoughtful contemplation, even Mistress Black though her frown had returned.

As for Ned, he took his ease on the straw filled pallet along the far wall. It had been a very long day and he really needed the time to think. After the prompting of Gruesome Roger, the Black siblings agreed to join the rakish company below for the evening meal. Rob had asked him to accompany them, but Ned had waved his friend off pleading weariness. While in essence it was true, he’d also seen the glare from Rob’s sister at the suggestion. He felt that the Blacks brother and sister had some re–sorting of family history and it was best for all if one Red Ned Bedwell was busy elsewhere.

Like working through the conundrums of Doctor Lewys Caerleon and Doctor Agryppa.
The old family friend of the Blacks had terminated the conversation at the worst possible time, having given only enough information that brought new problems. If Ned wanted to survive it was time he used the skills God and painful training had given him.

The first order of business was figuring out who was planning what, and why. From the evidence and hints they’d accumulated already, the Lord Chancellor was engaged in a very dangerous play involving a clutch of treasonous charts and notes. Why take the risk, what was driving him? Ned wasn’t party to the direct whispers of the Royal Court, only those filtered and diluted by indirect passage via the Inns of Court. Based on clear facts, the public disaster of the annulment commission must have pushed the Cardinal into precipitous action. Wolsey no doubt saw the wolves of court circling and Suffolk’s outburst told him his old alliances were in shreds. Now there was one trick to play. Ned had to try and place himself in the mind of his opponent–Cardinal Wolsey.

Ned lay back resting his head on folded hands and tried to fit the Cardinal’s actions into some sort of framework that he recognised. He wished he’d read more histories–they might have been of real assistance now. It’d been said that the great always looked towards the past to gain inspiration on how to manipulate the present. This may have been true, but he angrily admitted he didn’t know enough. His angel archly sniffed that was because of too much time spent dicing and drinking.

One factor did emerge from his whirling thoughts–it was possible that the Cardinal had grown too proudly assured of his own brilliance and skill. The old astrologer had intimated as much. Perhaps the supreme figure of the kingdom had become too used to success and as entrenched habits do, it encouraged him to downplay his rivals and have an exaggerated sense of his own abilities. Everyone in the kingdom knew how he’d taken down the Duke of Buckingham several years ago. That lord was not so much guilty of treason as of underestimating his rival. The more Ned considered this possibility the more sense it made. Cardinal Wolsey had erred in thinking he was infallible. He’d trusted this plan to a faithful servant.

An image of the four men at Smeaton’s table emerged from his reknitting memory. They’d been deep in conversation. He’d thought Smeaton was well in his cups as if it had been a celebration. Smeaton had been smiling and laughing. Had the Cardinal’s servant agreed to sell out Wolsey? Was that the reason for the celebration?
Maybe?
He’d felt bold enough to grab Mistress Black and demand her ready compliance with impunity. Why? As he’d found out from Bethany, Blue Brocade, their table companion, collected the rents from the Cardinal’s Cap and was another lord’s man. That made the plot darker and more complex–especially since Blue Brocade slew Smeaton after they’d possibly agreed.
Once more, why?
Did the murderer seek to increase his share of the spoils or did he have another motive, so far clouded.

Then afore that murder came, according to Rob, Smeaton’s treacherous efforts to slay his reluctant ally Ned Bedwell. Tis a pity his memory of the talk before the fight was still lacking but anyway he’d been identified as a recognised retainer all be it at several removes distance from the Cardinal. What drove Smeaton to try for that, unless it was a guilty conscience that sought the removal of inconvenient witnesses? Did he suspect Ned was another spy for his betrayed master? He could go on from there and speculate that the seizing of Mistress Black may have been more deliberate and less spontaneous. Had Smeaton planned this as an elaborate cony trick with Blue Brocade, a dispute that lead to an impromptu duel where poor Ned would naturally loose and be legally slain?

It was possible. Smeaton had a reputation of twisty dealings. It was said at the Inns that several strange deaths could be tracked back to his hand. Then there were those darker unsettling rumours about the Cardinal’s servant’s part in the attainder of Treason of the Duke of Buckingham. Ned shivered. No, he had to maintain a rational perspective. Those were all perhaps fantasy or wild supposition. Instead he had to concentrate on certainties and the key one was the nefarious plan had been foiled by whoever organised that ambush outside. Lady Fortuna must be with him, even if obliquely.

Once more this murderous affair orbited around a so far still secret collection of documents and golden angels. If Caerleon was to be believed some of those included astrological charts of the dangerously high placed. What factor pushed Wolsey to have them drawn up? What was his desperate need to risk the charge of treason?

This labyrinthine plotting made little sense. Just what was the Cardinal working for–a Papal crown as suggested by Mistress Black or rewards from Emperor Charles according to Ben Robinson? It just didn’t add up. There wasn’t enough evidence, nothing of real substance to offer as a bargaining trade to be worth the risk. While it was true that possession of the horoscopes got you a guaranteed cell in the Tower, turning them over didn’t get you off the charge of treason. Why encourage them to stay in the Gryne Dragon. Exhausted with questions and conundrums, he drifted off into his first undisturbed sleep in a week.

Ned awoke with a start and grabbed for his poniard. He’d been lost in a maze of dreams that had him chasing after words that flitted and transmuted into large ominous axes, keen of edge and wickedly fast. It was not the most promising of visions and he found that his hands had cramped in the throes of the dream. With a shake he pulled himself awake and tried to figure out where he was, and why. As he heard the door quietly scrape shut, he remembered that they were still at the Gryne Dragone. Ned rubbed his head and sat up. By the dulcet tones of the snoring, Rob Black and Gruesome Roger were deep asleep, but once more, of Mistress Black there was no sign. He picked up the small horn–paned lantern, and with a bit of coaxing, encouraged the dim glow into a spluttering pool of light. This was the second time she had quietly slipped off. These late night excursions of hers seemed to be an annoying habit. Of all his present companions, Mistress Black was the one he had the most doubts about, and to be honest Rob’s advice about her caring for his injuries, hadn’t borne any fruit other than sour comments and glowering frowns. Then there was the matter of Mistress Black’s secret business.
For a lass
who so reluctantly decided not to have him murdered yesterday, his trust in Mistress Black was understandably low.

So her absence as well as a full bladder pushed him up out of the bed firstly in search of the jakes. The lantern gave some feeble assistance–at least he didn’t tumble down the stairs. At the foot he could dimly perceive a door at the back of the tavern and made his way there carefully, walking between a few bodies of those had succumbed to the night’s celebrations.

As soon as he stepped out he almost died of fright. A large hand emerged from the dark and firmly grasped his shoulder. Then a hooded lantern was shone in his face and a gruff voice asked his business. Ned stammered out his urgent need and was answered with a deep chuckle. The shadowed form suggested that the gutter five paces to his left was his best option. Wrestling with the laces of his cods was a bit difficult with the large dark shape watching his fumbling efforts, but Ned finally succeeded and fled back inside. It looked like Redbeard took his offer of protection very seriously. He wondered how many others were posted around the Inn and prayed that the fearsome reputation of Gryne’s Men really did hold off Canting Michael and Cavendish’s men.

Having dealt with his most urgent need, Ned searched the tables of the common room and found a half–full pitcher of ale. Not bad–it had a full rich flavour and tang that spoke of well–roasted grain. While Ned was sitting at a bench munching on an apple he heard a door open upstairs. Quickly shielding his lantern, Ned saw someone exit the Astrologer’s room and sneak along the balcony. They stopped briefly to blow out their lamp, throwing up a highlighted profile from the brief fragment of light, and so Mistress Black, the night skulker, returned to their room.

Her antics and presumptions went well past irritation as far as Ned was concerned and strayed into dangerous and wilful independence. She’d consistently displayed an annoying knack of being a step or so ahead of him. It was time he thought to catch up. So he drained the firkin and snuck up the stairs.

Ned tapped very lightly on the old physician’s door and slowly pushed it open. Then holding his lantern high stepped in. He needn’t have bothered with the light–the old man’s room was illuminated by over a dozen large candles and a couple of suspended oil lamps set in glass cones.

The yellow light transformed the space, glinting off the bronze instruments and a silver mirror, giving it a heavy hint of the ethereal otherworld that enchanters, sorcerers and their ilk were said to explore. Ned tried not to shiver as a deep sonorous voice called softly to him from beyond a cluttered table. “Yes Edward Bedwell. Are you looking for something?”

The rolling tones were a shock after the silence. Ned shivered briefly and thought that this play must serve the old astrologer well with his patrons, providing just that right feeling of awe and apprehension. Ned endeavoured to show he was of sterner mettle and with a short pause strode boldly into the yellow radiance by the nearest candles. “Why Dr Caerleon, like any man I’m searching for wisdom.”

The astrologer seemed to like that answer for he gave a satisfied chuckle. “Aren’t we all Master Bedwell, aren’t we all? But one man’s wisdom is another’s heresy. Which are you after, I wonder?”

Caerleon was cunning. He’d neatly turned that around and focused it right back on Ned’s fears. If heresy was trying to see things as they are, not as they’re proclaimed to be by doctrine, then he was already well down that road, thanks to Cardinal Wolsey. “I’ll take the option the Cardinal rejected.
The truth.”

The old Astrologer pursed his lips and very slowly nodded. “It is a bitter path you chose and from what I can divine, the stony path of truth will never be entirely free of threat or menace.”

Great, thought Ned. More trouble ahead, but then if he had wanted the honey–coated version, he could’ve gone to see some hedge witch at St Bartholomew’s
Fair
. Slowly he pulled out the first incriminating letter and handed it to the astrologer. The old man didn’t hesitate, not even for the blink of an eye, and calmly unfolded the sheets. He scanned through the official missive frowning, and then pulled one of his charts over and divided his attention between them.

It must have been close to a quarter of an hour before Dr Caerleon turned back to an increasingly nervous Ned. The apprentice lawyer had started off composed but as time passed the shadows at the edge of his vision had a tendency to flicker into the outlines of menacing beasts.

The Astrologer tapped the official letter with his long fingers and gave one of his quiet smiles. “This is the key to the Cardinal’s desires.”

Ned silently nodded. He suspected it was worth killing for.

The old astrologer let out a sigh. “He was a great man but as with so many others pride, greed and arrogance have been his undoing. How is your Latin?”

That last was a quickly shot question and Ned stammered out a reply. “It is well enough for law but not so polished as those in service to the great lords. Why?”

“It will be good enough to perceive the errors in this.” The Astrologer passed Ned the Cardinal’s letter. The red seal seemed to glow ominously in the flickering light. Now that the Astrologer mentioned them, the errors stood out glaringly in the polished text even to Ned who grimaced at the sloppy mistakes. Dr Caerleon gave another of enigmatic smiles and shook his head.