Thus it was that the next day, freshly clothed in my suit, now cleaned and of good appearance, thanks to the careful and solicitous efforts of the brothel staff – for an exorbitant fee, I must add – I made my way by wherry over to the north bank of the river, and by degrees, carefully keeping an eye open for any threatening-looking fellows who might have shown too much interest in me, up to the great gateway of St James’s Palace.
I’ve never liked this palace. It’s said that Queen Mary was in two minds about using it because her father had ordered it built, and over the arched gate were the initials H and A – Henry, and the A for Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth’s mother, whom he married after having his marriage to Mary’s mother annulled – thus declaring her illegitimate. But for all the unpleasant connotations of those symbols for the queen, it was yet a pleasant palace, built around a number of courtyards, the buildings modern and comfortable. It was no surprise that the queen would like to spend her time here, rather than the gloomy and cold Whitehall.
However, for a man like me, arriving before the red-brick gatehouse already filled with trepidation at the thought of the meeting to come, this fortress, elegant though it was, was daunting. If I could, I would have turned about and left to find a decent alehouse somewhere near. I felt the need of a stiff drink to settle my liver. I had woken with a nervous twitching, and my hands shook slightly, which was not helped by the dreadful headache that assailed me from the moment I first saw the sun that morning. I attempted a meat pie to break my fast, but most of that was deposited into the Thames during the wherry trip to the north bank of the river. It must have been the anxiety of needing to beg an audience with the queen.
Not that it was likely to be granted. I knew that, of course. The queen would not make herself available to every – or, indeed, any – gentleman who appeared at her palace doors, as was made quite clear when I stood at the gate and tried to explain why I was there.
‘Really,’ the sergeant said. ‘A plot, eh?’
‘I have to speak with the queen, yes,’ I said.
‘Bugger off!’
I looked him up and down with all the hauteur of a duke meeting a peasant. ‘Bring a grown-up for me to talk to.’
‘You what?’
‘I wish to speak to your superior about this.’
‘Look,’ the sergeant said. He was a tallish fellow of about three-and-thirty or so, with a scar that ran along the side of his face and pulled his mouth into a permanent sneer. For all that, he appeared a fairly kindly man, in the way that he took hold of my jack in both hands. Then he leaned forward, pulling me towards him at the same time.
He had eaten a lot of garlic recently.
‘Sarn’t!’
The shout came from behind him, and I could not see who it was, but the sergeant dropped me like a hot coal and stood at an approximation of attention. ‘Sir.’
When he reached us, I studied the newcomer with interest. He was clad in an old leather jack with heavy fustian hosen. His boots were of a good size, and the leather looked of good quality, and when I looked at his face, I thought him little more than a child, but when I glimpsed his eyes, my first impression was not a good one. He was one of those men who has a cold, uninterested look about him. Not that it matters hugely in general, but when you find a soldier looking at you with that kind of hollow-eyed expression, believe me, it’s time to start running.
‘Don’t blame me, pretty boy,’ the sergeant muttered from the corner of his mouth. It was enough to make me want to spin around and bolt for the open fields, but it was too late already. I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder, and the officer was connected to the fingers that pinched my flesh.
He had an amiable grin on his face. ‘Now, sir, what can we do for you?’
‘I am here to speak with the queen.’
‘I see. Did you hear that, Sergeant? He has an appointment with Her Royal Highness. And you were going to hold him here, or worse, send him away. I hope you feel thoroughly ashamed! And you, sir. You are expected?’
‘No, but this is a matter of—’
‘Ah,’ he interrupted. ‘That sounds less hopeful. The queen is not expecting you. If that is the case, there are certain matters a guard should check.’
‘I have met her before, you know,’ I said forcefully. ‘You can tell her it is Jack Blackjack here. I met her during the Wyatt battles. I was a defender of London.’
‘Ah, the mouse squeaks,’ he said, and I was irritated. This was the second time I had heard my protestations described thus, and it struck me as insulting.
‘Look here, good fellow,’ I said. ‘Take me to the queen. I have intelligence for her which will protect her and her heir.’
‘Oho! I’m a “fellow” now, eh? I should be wary, Sergeant. This pipsqueak wants to warn me of my danger if I don’t listen to him, eh? Now, little squeaker, little mouse – or are you a rat? Rats are not scared of showing their teeth when they’re cornered, after all. Do you have teeth, master?’
‘What?’
Look, it had been a long day yesterday, and now, here I was, with an officer who was determined to speak in riddles. I had lost much of my patience already, and now, listening to this fool, I was rapidly losing the rest of it.
‘This,’ I said, ‘is ridiculous!’ I lifted both arms at the same time, breaking his grip of my shoulder, and began to stride to the entrance.
I say ‘began’, because suddenly I was aware that I was arrested in my progress. There was a sort of braking effect on me, and although my feet moved, they did not help to propel me forward. It was most peculiar, rather as though all the wine, brandy and ale of the previous day had suddenly returned to me with full force. I wanted to move, and tried to move, but I went nowhere.
Turning, I was just in time to see the officer, who was smiling with the sort of look I had seen on a crocodile’s face at the menagerie some years ago, holding on to my jack. I would have remonstrated with him, but for the fact that he was currently engaged on swinging a cudgel at my head.
It struck. I felt a dullness at my brow, and then I blinked, and the world turned into flashes and sparkles, as if all the stars of night had come to earth and now circled my head. I vaguely remember thinking, ‘They are pretty!’ before they were all snuffed out simultaneously, and I fell into darkness.
When I came to my senses again, I was not sure at first that I had. First, I was aware of the pain in my head. That was, yes, the most obvious injury that I had suffered. Next, I became aware that my jack had been wrenched from my body, and now I was in hosen and shirt, with both arms above my head. Oh, and that was when I became aware of the pain in both shoulders, and at my wrists, since all my weight was being held by them.
Looking up, I saw that my wrists were bound by strong leather straps, both far enough apart to make it impossible for either hand to reach over to the other. I would not be able to unfasten the buckles on either. The anguish which had woken me was caused by my body’s weight dangling from my wrists. My shoulders were being torn from my body by the simple matter of my own weight. I quickly lifted myself and, if I had hoped that the pain would subside, I was to be sorely disappointed. The pain continued: with the sudden easing of the strain on the shoulders, it appeared to exacerbate, as if now the tendons and muscles felt they could complain and let me know how much they had been suffering while I was happily unconscious.
I am a strong man, of course, but I could not help but permit a small expression of my distress to whimper from my lips.
‘Ah, awake, eh?’
It was my friend from the gateway. He had been resting with his buttocks on a low ledge below a window, and now he walked to me with the lazy motion of a feline seeing a trapped mouse. There was no hurry; he was fully intending to enjoy himself as best he might.
‘Master Blackjack, I believe.’
‘Yes. And I have urgent news for the queen.’
‘I am sure you did. Perhaps they involved this little toy?’ he asked, and brought out my handgun from behind him. ‘A devilish little device. Very cleverly made. A spring, a chain linked to a spinning wheel of steel, a dog gripping some pyrites or flint, and soon you have a gun ready to fire. Sadly, you allowed the priming powder to leak from the frizzen, but I have replenished it.’
‘Yes, but I need to speak to the queen!’
‘You had a sword, a dagger, and a gun when you came here demanding to speak with her. Tell me, what were you going to tell her? That lead or iron might end her life? There are other fools who came here seeking to injure or murder the queen. We will know who sent you.’
‘No one sent me! I came to warn her!’
‘Yet you are an accused murderer. All because a man did not pay you enough rent.’
‘Yes, he did! I had no argument with Vanderstilt!’
‘Eh? A Hollander? You mean he was not a Catholic, but one of the continental heretics? Are you also a heretic?’
‘No! I am a loyal subject! I simply want to help Her Royal Highness!’
‘I think,’ he said, and now he stood right before me, ‘I think you are an assassin, Jack Blackjack, and I don’t like assassins.’
And with that, his gloved fist hit the side of my jaw, and I fell unconscious again.
This was not a good day.
I don’t know how long I was unconscious that time, but when I came to, it felt as though both shoulders had been racked. I had to stand up, groggy and unsteady. Both legs had turned to canvas, and could barely support my weight, added to which the pain in my arms increased as soon as I reduced the pressure on them, as if they had waited patiently for me to return to consciousness so that they could express their feelings at being left to strain on their own. Then again, at least my hangover seemed to have faded into the background. Sadly it was only because of the pain in my head and swollen jaw.
There was no sign of the officer, to my relief. I could moan without running the risk of a fresh punch. However, I heard steps in a nearby corridor, and soon a shambling figure entered. He was clad in a leather apron, rather like a blacksmith, and had a kindly face. I tried to engage him in conversation, but he smiled and shook his head, a finger to his lips, before making his way to a brazier. He used flint and steel to strike sparks into some tinder and blew on it carefully before setting it into the brazier, and adding a few sticks of kindling. All the while, he was silent, and barely even glanced in my direction.
It was an entirely domestic scene, and at first it was comforting. I felt the pain in my shoulders begin to diminish, and allowed my head to sink back to rest against the stones of the wall to which I was chained.
And then my eyes snapped wide and I could not prevent a wail slip from me as I realized that this was no servant preparing a meal – this was a torturer getting his tools ready.
Ready for me.