Rebellion's Message. Michael Jecks

I don’t have eyes in the back of my head!’

      ‘Ann’s friend found you, you say?’

      ‘Yes. He left her outside the tavern when he came back in, according to her.’

      ‘Does she know who he was?’

      ‘Who cares? He came through the tavern. He couldn’t have flown from the tavern, out to the alley, then back in to knock me down and kill the other fellow,’ I said sharply.

      ‘Watch your temper, boy,’ he said.

      I swallowed my justifiable irritation. ‘I just spoke to her and she had no idea what the name of the man was, other than that he was called Henry.’

      ‘Henry? Are you sure?’

      ‘I think so,’ I said. I was a little perturbed to see how Bill leaned away, staring at me.

      He took a long pull at his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I thought his expression was too much like that which he wore when the carts rolled by with men being carried to the gallows: ‘There, but for the grace of God,’ he seemed to be thinking. Now he wore that same expression as he looked at me.

      ‘You’ll have to keep your head low, then. Perhaps you ought to go back to Kent and hide out there.’

      ‘But I can’t!’ That was unthinkable. ‘I can’t run away from the city! My father wouldn’t have me back now, and I don’t know anyone else.’

      Bill nodded and shrugged. ‘Well, you are going to be hunted now, and since you’re responsible for stealing a rich purse, they’ll look all the harder. You’d best stay here, hidden.’

      ‘I didn’t even steal it from him. I took it from Ann and her friend.’

      ‘I don’t think that will help save you from the rope.’

      EIGHT

      Bill’s view was straightforward enough. Unhelpful to me, but straightforward. He thought that I would be in great danger if I left Trig Lane, and that if I were to be caught, I’d be killed.

      ‘It’s either run far away, back home to Whitstable, or at least stay here and keep your head down,’ he said. ‘Do you still have that purse?’

      ‘No. Gil took it.’

      ‘The shit. Typical of him,’ Bill said. He eyed me a while in silence, before nodding to himself. ‘Right. First thing is, we ought to find out what’s being said on the street. You wait here. Understand me? You hang about here. I’ll go and see what I can learn.’

      I nodded, feeling only relief to think that he was on my side, glad to know that he would look after me. It was only after he’d gone that I realized I hadn’t told him about the strange code in the bottom of the purse. He knew about the money well enough, but the message was hidden. I pulled it out again and stared at it. Someone must be able to understand it, I thought. But I had no idea who. There were magicians and others who had skills in the strange art of deciphering such messages, but they were not the sort of fellows who would frequent the haunts where I was known.

      Alone, I was bad company for myself. It was impossible to settle. I meandered about the room, but no matter what I did or how I tried to drive it away, I couldn’t get rid of the memory of that man’s face, drained of blood, eyes wide, and the sight of all that blood everywhere. Whoever had tried to set me up as the murderer of the fellow had done an excellent job – that much was clear. I sank into a gloomy reflection, convinced that I was doomed now. I would be caught and hanged for a murder that was nothing to do with me.

      I was startled when the door opened and Bill came in again.

      ‘Well, we know a little more now,’ he said.

      ‘Are they still hunting me?’

      ‘In the city, yes. But no one seems to have known who you were, so you’re safe enough for now, I think.’ He eyed me bleakly. ‘But it is not good news for you. The fellow who died was called David of Exeter, apparently. He was servant to some family from the West Country: the Carews or somesuch.’

      ‘I’ve never heard of them.’

      He shrugged. ‘A thief will not often know the name of his victim, will he? But the rebellion in Kent – that is not the only one, is it? There’re many others elsewhere, if the stories are true.’

      ‘But the Kentish rebellion is the only one remaining. The others have all been crushed, haven’t they?’

      They had. The fighting in the rest of the country was snuffed out before it could take hold. Spies had discovered the conspiracy, it was said. The government was so efficient that the rebels had been defeated almost before they could gather, to the benefit of all. A country ignited by the flames of rebellion was not a safe country for anyone.

      He looked at me. ‘Yes. But the man who started the rebellion in Devon was a man called Carew.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, really, and if that is so, what was his servant doing here, do you think?’

      ‘Perhaps he was coming to … I don’t know!’

      ‘It’s likely he was bringing a message to someone, isn’t it? Perhaps he had a message – something to tell his co-conspirators, something to do with the rebellion?’

      The import of his words struck me. That strange piece of parchment must contain a coded message. I had no idea to whom it was addressed, of course, but if there was a rebellion, and men thought I had hurt one of their messengers, the rebels would want revenge. Not that it was likely. ‘There’s only one rebellion continuing, isn’t there? That’ll soon be crushed. We saw the army march.’

      ‘Yes. You are probably enormously lucky,’ Bill said.

      Yes, I thought. The army would crush the rebellion, and soon the whole matter would be forgotten. There was nothing for me to worry about.

      It was already growing dark when the others began to return. Gil was drunk, as usual, and demanded beer as soon as he arrived. He grabbed my costrel and shook it, throwing it at my head when he realized it was empty. I had to catch it quickly before it could hit the floor. So often the leather on a cheap costrel has been cooked too long and will shatter if dropped. Moll and Wat turned up a little after him, and Gil tried to make Wat give him some drink, but Moll got in his way and he backed down with bad grace, shoving me from his path as he went to lie down. He wouldn’t want to stir Moll. If she were to go and complain to Bill, he would suffer, and he knew that.

      Bill was there as the first men of the watch made themselves heard.

      It was strange that throughout the day the only noise in the area was the shouting of men, the rumble of barrels, the steady wash of the waves on the wharves, the snuffling of a few pigs, the squawking of chickens and the constant creaking of timbers and hempen cordage as ships and barges passed by. At night, all those sounds gradually dissipated and were replaced by occasional barking dogs, men singing, shouts and, every now and then, a baby bawling its head off from the place over the lane where a maidservant had been comforting her master too well and too vigorously.

      After some food, I sat on the floor and covered my face, wondering what would become of me. Moll saw my despondence and tried to get me to talk.

      ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said. She walked over and sat beside me. ‘The watch will look around for a while, but they’ll soon lose interest. How many bodies are found every week, and the murderer never found?’

      I knew she was right. ‘But I want to find the man who did that. He tried to see me killed.’

      ‘I doubt that. You were knocked down, but he didn’t kill you, this murderer,’ she said earnestly.

      ‘Stabbing the man with my dagger and putting it into my hand – that wasn’t supposed to see me hanged in his place?’