On the Sunday, I had already sent a report to Sir Thomas Parry, advising him of the difficulty with which we were presented owing to the disappearance of our assassin. Accepting which, I proposed that we should seek another man to achieve our ends of removing Sir Edmund de Vere.
In my experience of lower London circles, I had often been in contact with the outcasts, Egyptians, rogues and vagabonds who populated that cesspit of criminality. Many were the men I have met who would gladly accept a penny to thrust a knife into a man’s back or cut his throat. Usually, in my experience, they could be discovered in the meaner alehouses, especially near the river, where sailors would congregate. There were men there who depended for their life and sustenance on a constant diet of strong beer or brandy. Most were barely capable of speaking without lengthy pauses while their addled brains tried to keep up with their mouths, and usually failed.
I repaired to a notably foul tavern, the Hawser, near Puddle Dock, and sat on a stool, eyeing the others in the room. None of the characters was inspiring.
It could be said that Jack Blackjack was my best acquisition for Princess Elizabeth’s household, a man capable of mingling with the richest in the land as well as the poorest. He had a certain elegance, which translated to many as a proof of trustworthiness. To my certain knowledge, a large number of his victims had been persuaded by his easy-going appearance and open smile, to their cost. His was a face which men and women felt they could have faith in. They would believe in his honesty up until the moment when their lives ended. Only then would they recognize their error.
Key aspects of his brilliance as an assassin were his apparent stupidity, evident cowardice and clear incompetence. Better still, for my purposes, was the fact that it was contrived. He was a profoundly clever and devious agent. Many were the times when I had sent him on a task, and later, when the deed was done, discovered through multiple witnesses that he was a mile or more away from the scene of the assault. Perhaps he was a most competent briber of witnesses, but I doubted that. Which meant that he presumably was able to ensure that the victim was dead earlier or later than others assumed. It certainly made him, so far, one of my most prolific intelligencers, and probably the most fortunate.
Certainly there was no one in the tavern who could compete with him. Jack would never stand out. He was one of those men who was suited to the shadows, but when seen in broad daylight, he was all but unnoticeable. His was the type of face and demeanour that was simply easy to overlook – rather like a trusted retainer, or bottler or maidservant. They may be there in the room, but they were as worthy of attention as a candlestick; no more than dumb, insensate artifacts. Here, however, all the drunks were as unobtrusive as flaming torches at dead of night. All were loud, crude, uncaring and foolish with drink.
Reluctantly, I stepped out of the Hawser and into the alleyway. De Vere was a problem that must be resolved. I had other men I could call upon, but this was a matter of some delicacy. I did not wish de Vere’s murderer to be a fool who could be caught and identify me or any others from Princess Elizabeth’s household. That lady was too dear to me to see her put at risk. She had suffered so much in her short life, born as a princess, raised in a happy marriage until the King her father decided to find a new wife to grant him the son and heir he so craved. After that, Elizabeth had fallen out of favour. When her half-sister took the throne, her position worsened still more.
Mary had been Henry’s first princess, but after his wedding to Mary’s mother was declared null and void, and his subsequent marriage to Anne Boleyn, Mary and her mother had become non-people. Once a royal princess, now Mary was declared illegitimate. If Henry’s marriage to her mother was illegal, Mary had no status. Her jewels were taken and given to Elizabeth, she was dismissed from the royal court – even her title of ‘princess’ was removed – and all were given to Elizabeth in her place.
But when Mary was crowned queen, she showed the same cruelty to her half-sister. Where Princess Mary had become Lady, so now did Princess Elizabeth discover what it was like to lose title, jewels, lands and freedom.
It was clear that, were she to be discovered to have plotted to remove a confidante and ally of the queen, her own life would be forfeit. The weak blood ties of the half-sisters would not be enough to protect her. And de Vere was definitely an ally to the queen.
I must seek another man like Jack. A reliable, competent fellow who could be trusted with this bloody deed.
It was just as I reached this decision that I heard the steps behind me.
I am a competent traveller. In my days I have wandered far and wide through the kingdom, and rarely had to worry about my personal safety. However, there were more than a single person’s steps behind me, and this was a haunt of rogues and jacks. I was not going to take chances. I turned into a slender alley. It would be hard here for two men to come upon me at the same time. I ran up this to a still narrower section between walls, before turning to face the danger.
It gave me a good distance to gauge the threat. I was correct: there were two of them, one bareheaded, one wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The latter had a staff in his hands, while the other carried a sword. The quick dash to this point had given me time to prepare, and now I drew my sword, a short but serviceable weapon with a heavy blade. I held it before me and waited. If I had the opportunity, I would welcome closing with the man with the staff first, because although the sword was a more fearsome weapon, the staff had a longer reach.
To my relief the man with the stave pushed forward, snarling, the weapon held forward in the quarter staff attack, one quarter held between his hands, half facing me. He looked competent, but I waited as he approached, watching his movements. As he was almost with me, he jerked the staff at me as though it was a spear. I grabbed at it with one hand, deflecting it to the left of my face, and lunged. My sword entered his shoulder, and I wrenched it sharply, hearing his scream of pain with satisfaction. He shouted some sailor-like language about my parents as I withdrew my blade.
His companion took his place with considerably less confidence. He watched me with great attention as I slowly changed my position, and then reached behind me to unsheathe my dagger. It had extended quillons bent back to lie parallel with the blade, which could trap an opponent’s blade. Twice, when I had used this, I had actually snapped a cheaper sword. I didn’t know whether I could do so today, but it was a fearsome weapon, and with that in my left hand, my sword in my right, I began to proceed slowly towards my foe.
‘Who sent you?’ I demanded as he gave way before me.
‘Don’t tell him anything! Just kill him,’ the man with the staff spat. He had relinquished his weapon now, and was trying to staunch the flow of blood from his wound, leaning against the wall near his friend.
‘Who?’ I repeated.
As I did so, his blade flashed at me. I blocked it with my sword, trying to cut at his flank, but he withdrew quickly, panting. He was slow, too slow for his own good, I felt. Probably the drink had done for him. It would be easy to finish him off. Thinking that, I stepped forward briskly.
It was a mistake. His apparent slowness was nothing more than a ruse to tempt me closer, and I was almost eviscerated as his sword’s point flashed to my belt.
However, my reactions were not dulled, and as the blade rose past me, I pressed onwards fast, trapping his blade in my dagger, twisting it sharply, and thrust firmly with my sword. Its point caught him in the breast, and I felt the resistance as the point pushed between his ribs. He gave a sigh, then a gasp and a cough, and fell back. ‘You’ve killed me!’
‘Yes,’ I said, kicking at his sword, sending it out of his reach. The blood was smearing his shirt and jack, and he sank to the ground as I strode past him to his companion, my sword all bloody as I pointed it at him. ‘Who sent you?’
‘We just saw you in the tavern.’
‘You weren’t in there. I would have seen you,’ I said. It was a guess, but the way the two had launched their attack, especially the way that the swordsman had feinted like that, persuaded me that these were more than common footpads.
He sneered at me. ‘How many enemies do you have?’
That would have taken some time to consider. All of Queen Mary’s men, certainly, and probably a number of others too. I sheathed my dagger and set the edge of my sword on his throat.
His eyes widened as I slowly dragged the edge across his flesh. ‘Stop!’
‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know. He paid us in cash to kill you.’
‘How?’
‘We was in a tavern up Aldgate and he pointed you out and told us to follow you and kill you.’
‘How did he know you would agree?’
‘He knew Bold Bob. They’d done it before.’
‘Who is Bold Bob?’
‘Him,’ the man said and pointed to the other, now-expired assailant.
It was a source of irritation, I confess, to learn I had killed the wrong man. If this one had died and the swordsman survived, I might have learned more.
‘What did this man look like?’
‘I don’t know. It was Bob saw him, not me. He was a merchant. Man called Luffrin or some such.’
I allowed him to live, and left him there, gripping his punctured shoulder. He was no more risk to me, and his companion Bold Bob was even less of a threat. Meanwhile I still had the problem of finding a suitable assassin for Sir Edmund de Vere.
And I must wonder about a merchant called ‘Luffrin’ or some such – and then I wondered – Luffrin: could that be Loughgren?
The attack was enough to persuade me that remaining down towards the docks was not a sensible plan. In preference I made my way homewards where I could sit and think through the men I knew who might be able to assist me in finding a man who could replace Jack Blackjack and remove de Vere.
At my house I have several men who are well-versed in all the martial arts. Two were members of the Masters of Defence under the good King Henry, and it was partly these two who taught me my skills at fighting.
I entered my house, pushing past the man standing at my door, and strode into my parlour. Sitting at my desk, I called sharply for Joel.
Joel is one of those men who looks like a small mountain come to life. I have heard foreign tales of giants built of stone, and Joel is one such fellow. He came to me after a lifetime of fighting for small purses. His ears have long since been pummelled into miserable rags of flesh, his nose broken so often that it lies squashed over his features, and his brows have been so regularly punched and cut that they project almost as far as his nose, so scarred are they.
However, Joel’s brain is as clear and sharp as ever it was. He entered now, gave the room a quick glance, and then walked to my desk. Joel always stood close. For such a large man, he was surprisingly quietly spoken, and he appreciated the benefits of caution when discussing matters of importance. He also knew that when I called him to my parlour, it was usually for reasons that were better not bruited about.
‘Joel,’ I began, ‘we have a need of a man who can remove our enemies, but someone who can do so subtly. A man we can hire, someone who is not immediately obvious as a man of Elizabeth’s.’
‘I will do it.’
I looked at the cragged – or cracked – features. It was tempting to think of using him, but were anything to go wrong, it would immediately make people think of me. All knew that Joel was my servant, that he worked for me. If I sent him to kill de Vere, it would immediately be clear to the meanest intellect that it was my fault. No, I must seek another.
‘I am grateful, but no,’ I said, explaining my reservations.
He nodded, his brows drawn into a fierce glower of concentration. ‘There is one man I know of,’ he said.
I took his advice and, with him leading the way, was soon in a tavern not far from St Paul’s cross, where a vicar was giving an interminable sermon, and after asking the man at the bar, I was directed to a back room where, as soon as I entered, I was confronted by a shadowy figure leaning back against the wall opposite.
‘I seek Master Humfrie?’ I said.
The man nodded. He had a worn face, like a man who has seen too many summers, but his expression was affable enough as he looked from Joel to me and back. I walked to him and sat opposite him at his table. ‘I understand that you can be hired for certain functions,’ I said.
‘Oh? Well, that would depend.’
‘The sum I would offer would be substantial.’
‘That would help,’ he said. His eyes went back to Joel. ‘Perhaps you would like to discuss this in private?’
‘I trust my companion.’
‘Who you trust ain’t any interest to me,’ Humfrie said.
It was enough to make me give a fleeting scowl. ‘I would prefer to have him with me.’
‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘In that case, master, many thanks and God speed.’
‘What?’
He was rising. He set his empty pot on the table and picked up a hat. ‘You have a need of help. I have a need of privacy while discussing such matters.’
It was tempting to command him to sit again, but there was a certain set to his shoulders that told me it would be a fruitless effort. I looked at Joel and said, ‘Wait in the main bar.’
Joel, understandably, was irritated to be dismissed since our presence in that tavern, talking to Humfrie, was his idea, but there was nothing to be done. I jerked my head towards the door, and he lumbered out.
‘That man has seen too many fights,’ Humfrie said.
‘He has seen his share.’
‘And lost many, from his face. What can I do for you?’
‘There is a man who … how can I put it? Who would be of greater service to me and my master if he were no more.’
‘You would like him removed?’
‘Yes.’
‘There will be a goodly fee.’
‘I understand that.’
‘And it will take me a little while to arrange.’
‘Be as quick as you can.’
‘Tell me who and where I can find him.’
I left him some minutes later, lighter in my purse, but happily confident that my problems would soon be cured. Humfrie struck me as a most competent fellow. And cheaper than Jack.