Rebellion's Message. Michael Jecks

I was so feeble-looking that no one would think me capable. Then she smiled sympathetically and glanced across at Bill. I thought then she was trying to lift my mood and was worried that he could read too much into our quiet chat. No matter! I was in no mood to listen. She was a woman and couldn’t understand this sort of violence. She had no idea how it felt to have been placed in such a position, and in a while she grew exasperated with my grumpiness and rejoined the others about our little fire.

      ‘The Duke of Norfolk was leading the Whitecoats,’ Wat said.

      Bill snorted. ‘Him? He must be eighty if he’s a day.’

      ‘He’s the queen’s most trusted commander,’ Wat said.

      Gil chuckled roughly. ‘Most trusted? The only one she’d trust, more like.’

      ‘If she thinks he will be vigorous enough to stop a man like Wyatt at the head of five thousand men,’ Bill said, ‘she’s going to get a nasty surprise, I reckon.’

      ‘The rebels will fail against real soldiers,’ Wat said confidently.

      ‘You think so? Everywhere they go, they win more friends and allies,’ Gil said with a sneer in his voice. ‘The Whitecoats are marching on Rochester, but when they get there, they’ll be cold, tired and inclined not to fight the people, you can be sure of it.’

      ‘You seem to know a lot about these people,’ Bill said.

      ‘I had a talk with three men in a tavern, and they knew a lot about it.’

      ‘Who?’ Bill said.

      ‘I don’t know. They were just men in a tavern. You know how it is.’

      ‘Yes. I do. To go and drink in a tavern, you need money. But I haven’t given you any,’ Bill said.

      ‘I have money of my own sometimes,’ Gil said. There was an edge to his voice that I heard clearly as a threat. I looked up to watch.

      ‘We all share and share alike,’ Bill said, which wasn’t strictly true. We shared, and he took the lion’s portion. But he was our banker, and we all knew it was to our benefit.

      ‘Yes, and I keep some by,’ Gil said.

      It was so fast that I almost leaped from my skin and rapped my skull on the ceiling. Bill sprang up, leaped over the fire and caught Gill a blow across the face that sent him sprawling. In his half-drunk state, he could not defend himself as Bill kicked him four times swiftly in the belly, before lifting him and holding a fist to his face. ‘You want some more? If you want to stay here with us, you’ll have to learn a little more respect!’

      ‘All right,’ Gil said, his eyes averted.

      ‘Where’s the rest of it?’

      ‘I don’t have any.’

      ‘Give me your purse.’

      Gil reluctantly removed it from his belt and Bill took it, weighing it in his hand. Then he looked down. ‘This isn’t yours,’ he said. ‘It’s the one Jack stole.’

      ‘I liked it,’ Gil said.

      ‘Make sure you aren’t seen with it. You spent all your money?’

      ‘I hardly had to. The men all bought me wine. They had been gambling in the cockpits – cleaned out the house, they said. They were all three buying drinks for me and others. I stayed with them while they were throwing their coins around. Who wouldn’t?’

      ‘Three of them?’ I asked.

      ‘What of it?’ Gil snapped.

      ‘Did one of them wear a wide-brimmed hat that concealed his face?’ I asked, struck by a horrible suspicion. You don’t survive as a felon for long without learning to doubt the nature of coincidence. Those who lose the critical facility to wonder about men who suddenly appear and buy drinks for strangers often find that their life can become foreshortened.

      ‘What of it?’

      I sat up and stared at Bill. ‘It’s the man from the tavern.’

      ‘Did you tell them where we live?’ Bill demanded.

      Gil shook his head. ‘You think I’m soft in the head like Jack? I wouldn’t tell anyone where we live.’

      But later, when I glanced at him, I saw his eyes slide away from me. There was something in them. Naked greed, I thought. If someone were to offer him money to hear of my whereabouts, I didn’t doubt that for a single silver penny he’d sell me and his own mother as a job lot.

      NINE

       Monday 29th January

      The next day, Monday, the others rose as usual with the dawn. Or near to it. Bill and Moll were awake, but clearly had no intention of getting out from beneath their blankets for quite a while, such was the giggling and wriggling that was going on. I averted my eyes, trying to dispose of the jealousy that threatened to engulf me. Wat was already awake and chewing at a piece of dried bread, blowing unenthusiastically at the coals in an attempt to light the fire, but his tinder was too thin and the cinders wouldn’t catch the flame. In the end, I pushed him aside and broke some small twigs to lay it afresh. Before long, I had some charcloth smouldering and a small flame was soon igniting some shavings. Gil, meanwhile, rose like a bear with a sore head, and hawked and spat, narrowly missing me.

      I wouldn’t react to his ill humour. It was pointless. If he wanted to beat me to a pulp, there was little I’d be able to do to defend myself. Bill could launch himself at the idle git, but if I tried a similar thing, I’d end up sprawling and then be beaten still more furiously. No, I would do better to ignore him.

      He had the purse I had pinched, I noticed. It looked entirely out of place on his belt. It was too bright and richly decorated for a man with such faded britches and worn jack. Not that it was my concern. I rather hoped he would be seen. Perhaps someone who knew the dead man, and who would think Gil must have been the killer. That would let me off the hook. Until he pointed the finger at me. Knowing my luck, everyone would assume he was telling the truth, and either hang me or hang us both as irrelevant nuisances.

      Bill was eventually finished, and while Moll lay back contentedly, he rose and dressed himself, hunkering down beside me. He put his arm over my shoulders, which came as a surprise, and spoke almost kindly.

      ‘Jack, you’re a good lad. You understand you have to stay here hidden, right? Don’t go into the street while the folks are looking for you. If you do, you’ll be an easy target. Keep to the house and you’ll be safe.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I’ll see what I can learn about this man who was so friendly with Ann.’

      ‘What of the other three? The man with the wide-brimmed hat and his friends?’

      ‘They showed bleeding poor taste, wasting their money filling Gil with beer and wine, but apart from that I don’t see that they come into this. They just happened to be in the tavern.’

      ‘In two taverns. It’s strange that the same men should appear in both taverns.’

      ‘If they were the same three men,’ Bill pointed out. ‘Don’t go thinking that every fellow with a wide-brimmed hat must be the same man. There are enough men who wear hats like that in London.’

      ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘You stay here, keep away from beadles and constables, and it’ll soon blow over, I expect.’

      Bill patted my back, and then called to Wat and Gil. ‘Come on, lads. Time to get to work.’

      I watched them enviously as they trooped from the door. They would be going to church later. Bill liked to visit St Paul’s, while Gil and Wat had a liking for St Mary Magdalene’s and St Augustine’s. All tended to have full congregations during Mass, and the opportunities for