Chapter 8

With Emlyn, once more disguised as Ferri, a young page or serving boy, rode on Plodder by his side, Robert navigated their path down the Colchester road through the forest to London without trial or mishap. En route, they did find that the dead hedge-witches chest to be a burden, especially when coupled with the reward for the wolf’s head Gerlock, not to mention the rest of that dead bandit’s captured loot. Together it was more coin than the fortunate hunter could fathom, let alone conceive of spending, but when strapped on to the back of his horse Shadow, it was both most cumbersome… and a rather noisy, ever jingling open invitation to thieves.

They took a large freight wherry across the river and found an inn very near the Tower that would accept Robert’s writ without question or comment. He was on the King’s Business, he figured and their host could with his mark then bill the Chancery for their reasonable expenses accordingly. Visiting the tower briefly, Robert was told of another nearby inn where the guards and soldiers of the tower could be most oft’ found when off duty, and just by showing his writ from Sir Hugo and proffering a hand of small gleaming silver coins, he readily hired a small troop of six off-duty guards to guide them through the city, to Westminster, on the ‘morrow.

It rained hard that night and on the morrow the streets were a wash of mud and liquefied feces, through which children, pigs and chickens ran without restraint. They needed to get across the city to reach the Strand Road and then the Kings Road, so that they could travel southwest, to Westminster. This was where the Chancery, and Robert’s lord and master, Sir Hugo Lambert commanded the private workings of the King’s Secret Seal, that which must be done in his name, for the realm, but not always by the word’s and commands of his mouth.

This was Robert’s first time in London and like Emlyn, he found the sights of the great city to be both strange, wonderful and yet a bit terrifying. He had been until last Christmas a master-less man, living nearly like an animal in the King’s Forest, unused to such a squalid mash of humanity, living all closely together. It was increasingly disquieting as the morning crowds in the street grew, as they traveled down Tower Street into Eastcheap, towards the center of London, and St. Paul’s.

As the crowds thickened in the rainy muck-filled streets, even their horses had a hard time pressing through. Now, the relatively small fee that he had paid the tower soldiers seemed to be a bargain, as the hearty men on foot wearing their chainmail and hard Norman steel helmets bearing King’s John’s crest, used the butts of their spears and falchions, and not a few swings of their maces, and cleared a pathway ahead of the riders, loudly, in the name of the King.

Grudgingly, a narrow pathway through the thongs of merchants, goodwives, curious children and their dogs formed, so that a good pace was attained as they crossed Watling Street. The crowds near Bread Street were nearly impassible, as a cart of fresh baked goods had overturned in the road and the poor teamster and bread merchant faced hopeless odds as the beggars, flea boys (urchins) and a host of young roaring boys descended upon the largely unprotected loaves and had already made off with much of their prizes.

His guards surged forward to enforce some order and protect the baker’s remaining goods, and with great swings of their sturdy wooden weapon shafts beat more than a dozen of the would-be thieves down into the muck, their bleeding scalps now adding to the rain and mud.

With everyone so distracted by these street entertainments, this was good cover for the ever-present thieves, nighthawks and cutpurses, to encroach in from the shadows and start plying their trade while the street audience was preoccupied. Only a sudden whinny from Shadow warned his alert rider that an especially enterprising pair of bold thieves had sidled up to the coin chest, and the pair had pulled knives in an attempt to quickly cut away the leather straps and them run off with the entire chest.

The nearest one was on his left side, where he could not draw his sword to swing at them, nor was there enough room to his flanks to turn his stallion quickly about. Robert did have access to a dagger, and he bent around hard and gave it a sideways toss at the thief. It struck, but only glancing upon the thief’s left shoulder.

The would be thief cried out with a loud yelp and ducked under Shadow, attempting to lose himself into the thicker crowds. His slightly younger partner on the right side wasn’t quite so lucky. Emlyn was a dead shot with her lady-sized small hunting crossbow and in a flash she had fired off a bolt that pierced the second thief in the center of his spine, right between his shoulder blades that felled him like a sack of potatoes into the street. The lad was still alive, but would likely never enjoy the use of his legs again, but he was certain to be a gallows’ bird anyway, to be captured and hung within the next week.

Order restored, the guards encouraged the onlookers to get moving, and the nighthawks had already made their escape, and with likely a ripe harvest of cut coin-purses. The soldiers gave the crippled thief in the street a few hard kicks but left him in the mud to be dealt with the local parish beadles, the local ill-paid ward men who were responsible for minor crimes in their parish.

By St. Paul’s, it seemed that nearly half of the city had turned out to see or be seen or just conduct their daily business in the green spaces of the great square. Pimps openly displayed their chattel, flocks of rather brazen whores exposing their charms in their bright red wigs. One of my bolder guards, knowing that he had good silver in his pockets already and certain of more soon to come, tossed one of the strumpets a copper and bid her to wait for him yet, another hour or two, to the laughter of his fellows.

Confidence men, tricksters, magic-men, and gleemen amused the crowds for worn coppers, and two rival pardoner’s mocked each other, both claiming that only their Indulgences, signed by the very hand of Pope Innocent III himself, could gain a poor sinner a pardon from the torments of hell! Hosts of clerks and merchants conducted their negotiations and signed contracts of agreement at small folding tables, while groups of young knights and squires took themselves to shelter from the rain under the trees to await their lovers or conduct minor business of their own.

As always, the many sanctuary men of the church, leaned forth against the iron rails surrounding St. Paul’s, jeering at the crowds and shouting insults. A guilty man might claim temporary sanctuary in a church by long established (and mostly respected) clerical law. These outlaws could not pass beyond that fence; else face with certainty the wrath of the King’s officials, and swift justice at the gallows. Within 30 days, each of these villains must accept exile or the King’s justice, as Reginald, the Earl’s disgraced former huntsman had done, to walk with nothing save a candle in hand to the nearest port, to abjure the kingdom forever, overseas. Most would likely never make it even beyond the city walls. Many of these men were accused murderers, and their victims would have kin waiting, nearby and ready to exact their own just revenge once the sanctuary sparrows had flow from their roosts of protection.

In good time, safe and secure, we reached the Fleet Street gate, near the vast great estates of the Black Friars, the Dominicans. Here Robert paid off the completion bonus for his hired guards, save for two, who remained to take the party on further to Westminster in return for an additional fee for their services.

Outside the city proper the land was lush here on what was called King’s Road, and this suburb featured many small estates of various moderately important nobles, mingled with large and beautiful gardens, and orchards belonging to various farms.

Reaching the bridge over the River Tyburn, we were soon on Thorney Island, where famed Westminster Abbey towered over all. Across from it near the Thames, was the Great Hall of Westminster, and also the Royal Palace and grounds. The remaining pair of friendly tower guards, Bertran & Giles, guided Robert and Emlyn to what passed for the best royal inn, a large friendly tavern just past the bridge along King’s Road called the Archbishop’s Miter. Apparently the old fool couldn’t skim enough at the Abbey and needed extra customers to keep flush with yet more new crimson robes!

It was nearly already late afternoon and Robert had planned to face Sir Hugo, his lord and master and keeper of the Sigillum Secretum, the king’s own privy or secret seal, in the morning, but a messenger arrived from the Hall nearly immediately to bid them both to attend him right away at once.

Robert barely had a chance to wash his face and change his mud spotted hose and Emlyn (still appearing as the lad Ferri) looked little better. Still, when duty calls…

Westminster Hall was big, with a tall roof that seemed to reach halfway up into the sky. It was also crowded, full of clerks, minor noblemen and priests, all in a hurry, dashing hither and yonder to various desks and stations, each with a scrap or two of parchment in their clutched hands. This frenzy had an orderly flow to it and Robert could see at a glance that he was not witnessing mere madness, but a controlled and very systematic dance of the clerks, as they attended to the minutia of the king’s government.

After a second and then a third measured glance he could spot where the royal judges were keeping court, at the far end of the hall, and yet also the areas where the clerks of the Exchequer and Wardrobe were each keeping their own account rolls. There was little or no chaos here! Sir Hugo had told him that the new King, John, had brought much order here since the disorder and bedlam that the late King Richard had tolerated, and perhaps even encouraged. For the first time, orderly accounts were required by all members of his government, and permanent records were to be thereafter kept.

To Robert’s astonishment, his guide informed him that everything here, all and sundry could be carried elsewhere from here in the blink of an eye, and the empty hall then prepared for service at a great royal banquet or feast! Such an event was common, during the brief times that Richard held court here in the past, but John preferred the more administrative function for this great hall and usually held his feasts at other palaces instead.

Sir Hugo did not keep his office here, in the turmoil of the Great Hall, but Robert and Emlyn were guided near the courts of law and they took an eastern side passage towards the river, where a new additional smaller stone hall with offices had been but recently constructed. A set of wooden steps led up to a second upstairs floor, but the pair remained below, and after a short walk they were guided to the furthermost right office.

There was no name marker or heraldic signpost to mark the great man’s workplace, save for a small square bit of black linen or wool, hand-embroidered in gold with the King’s Seal. This informed, to those very few in the know, that this office bore the Seal of Black Wax, the secret seal of the king.

There was a small waiting room inside, with an older rather sour-faced priest in minor clerical robes attending to various mounds of parchment, some arriving, others off to hundred distant (and not so) destinations, or just to be stored. The old priest gave the pair a mildly distasteful look, but he promptly announced their arrival to Sir Hugo, in his greater office beyond. After a few deliberate minutes of being left to wait, the nervous couple were shown to the inner office.

Sir Hugo had not much changed, save that perhaps his face was a touch thinner, as if he’d been quite busy with work or he had taken regular exercise recently, Robert thought to himself. He gave the pair a casual nod and then squinted his eyes at Robert’s new companion, Emlyn nea Ferri. Her disguise didn’t fool him for long, and he soon roared with laughter.

“My hunter!” He laughed, “Ever as always do you bring me useful things that I have not asked for! Your girl here has disguised herself well… so expertly that she could even fool strangers believing her to be seemingly as a woman, but in truth a man in such guise! Oh… the happy prospects of espionage, the villains and spies I could fool with such as her!”

“My good and faithful master…” Robert smiled, “ever eager to ripen the fallen fruit I have gathered, to season it ever for deceit and common trickery!”

“Common? Never!” He insisted, with a broad grin, “Just lend her to me for a few seasons and what a seductress and spy I could make of her, a hidden but ever-so sharp knife for a later time of need, invisible, unseen and unremarkable, hidden everywhere and nowhere… a blade from the shadows for piercing a traitor’s heart.”

If Emlyn had any reservations about being suddenly drafted to become one of Sir Hugo’s secret assassins, she didn’t betray any reluctance, but made in fact her best and lowest bow to him, in supplication. Sir Hugo was making a habit of this, finding rich wheat where Robert’s hands had gathered chaff, from both the sea and now from an inns stable!

With a snap of the fingers, his elderly secretarius was summoned, and with terse instructions and a hastily scribbled note, the priest was directed to take Emlyn off and deliver her to a waiting errand clerk, who would take her directly to a certain ‘Lady Anne, at the Tower’.

What this meant, Robert wasn’t quite sure… but surely it would be a while before he would have Emlyn warming his blankets again!

Sir Hugo and the hunter still had a great deal of old business to conclude, before he could learn what his next new duties would be.

“I understand that you’ve been making enquiries with a few of the local hedge-witches and wise-women, back in Essex, before your arrival here. Pray why, may I inquire?” Sir Hugo appeared unhappy about this, and Robert was at a loss to know the cause for his master’s clear dissatisfaction.

“The local such woman near the Earl’s castle, Orabilia and her daughter Maud, had shown much kindness to me on several occasions during the winter, and I found what I believe to be the elder’s grave early this spring, and thusly I had no small concern for the health and well-being of her daughter, Maud.”

“Ah, your lovely red Essex rose! I know of her… and be aware that she is gone, but safely, off with distant kin, so it is unlikely in the extreme that you’ll ever again prick your fingers upon her thorns. Best be certain of that, my bold young lad!”

Now that was curious indeed! Sir Hugo knew all of the kingdom’s secrets and held them well, but how could he know that Maud’s hair was of the richest red color? And why was he being expressly forbidden from searching for her, or finding her? Robert was certain though that he would get no answers here and now, and perhaps it would be better to somewhat change the subject!

“In my various limited inquiries, though, in a matter that should interest you to no small amount, I found in the town of Maldun a rather malodorous creature, certain a witch of the blackest sort, who was also much interested in Orabilia’s affairs. I considered this odd and conducted my own investigation and found that she had been hired, quite well paid in fact, to do this on behalf of a French ship’s captain and an attendant nobleman. With my lady servant’s skilled help, we slew most of these villains, save for the lordling, who made a fast escape back to his ship and they set sail before dawn for the continent.”

“Now this does much interest me!” Hugo exclaimed, in quite genuine shock and surprise. “Can you speak of this French master and describe him to me in any detail?

“I saw him just once, in the old witch’s house but for a moment, until his sea captain rushed to engage me with a blade; tall and thin, especially in the face with a narrow long nose and perhaps his chin as well. Short closely cut black hair, that of a soldier. Dressed well but all in black, costly but not ostentatious, save for the silver buttons. Bore a bejeweled dagger on his side, but the blade was sharp and not for show and he cut the witch’s throat with much practiced skill.”

“The morals and countenance of a weasel… I think I know this man well, too well… and he is likely to cross your path again in the future. He is both the blade master and paymaster of France’s agents and spies here in England, ever a subtle thorn in my side. A very able servant indeed of my counterpart in France, King Philippe II Auguste’s own Spymaster, whose name I do not know. This is his best agent in England, a strong but wicked right-hand man, Edgard d’Loches. I believe him to be a Baron, but he may hold other small titles as well. His birth station is uncertain, perhaps he is even a ‘new man’, like you, raised from the dust and rewarded for his abilities and competence; a dangerous man… very dangerous indeed. You have marked him as such… and he in turn will have marked you as well. He will suffer no affront or defeat to his honor he is certain to already hold you a grudge, and if someday you do not find him, then he shall certainly find you!”

“The witch kept an account-book, which I possess, but its secrets are kept in a code, which I cannot yet decipher. Shall I give it you?”

“Please. I have no small skill with codes and use many indeed in my own secretive labors. It shall be a pleasant toil for me during my evening hours.” Robert had brought along that manuscript and Sir Hugo accepted it with great interest.