Read Online The Cardinal's Angels by Gregory House - Free Book Online
Authors: Gregory House
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of Lord Chancellor’s men, pushing through the crowd. The man is, ah was, vainer than a peacock.”
His uncle gave a brief sneer and his eyes turned colder than flint. “What of it? Yes, that’s him, and you put a blade in the fellow, and we’re all ruined!”
With little to lose Ned took a chance. Stepping forward, away from his friend the wall, he knelt before his uncle in an unaccustomed show of humility. It wasn’t easy. The pain from his ribs made him grimace with the effort. As for his damaged pride, well he’d see. “I swear, Uncle, on my mother’s soul I didn’t kill him. I may be wayward and disobedient in your eyes, and that night I did slay a man, and will stand at any inquest to answer for it. Though that was more likely one of Canting Michael’s roisters from Southwark. Not Smeaton!” Ned deliberately made an exaggerated sign of the cross with his shackled hands. This had to work. Red Ned Bedwell wasn’t going to end his days eating French swill!
His uncle paused, his face a picture of disdain at his nephew and his habits. However now it held the slightest shadow of doubt.
Ned saw it was close, and knew that if he wished to remain in London for any length of time then he had to appear useful, even necessary and so he spoke another quicksilver thought. “Since we are beholden to the Cardinal, shouldn’t we try to find out who did kill his servant? Or maybe this is a plot against him? Another segment of memory flashed into being, the conversation at the bear baiting with Will and Geoffrey. “Since the failure of the Annulment Commission, His Eminence would be very keen to reward those who prove their loyalty.”
Ned could see that the lure of preferment had hooked his uncle’s interest. Though in truth, any man of rank kept a weather eye on the shifting alliances and enmities at court, preferment could come by many routes and rivals may not always strike in the open. Similar manoeuvring and strategic friendships had secured the support of Thomas Cromwell, the Cardinal’s principal secretary, an alliance that his uncle was at some pains to maintain. Ned had seen enough ploys at the law courts to understand the true workings of human nature and greed when it came to power and advantage. Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote of the complexity of man’s immortal soul and, like the philosophers of old, claimed that there had to be other facets motivating a man’s nature, like honour, love and compassion.
However in Ned’s estimation, Uncle Richard gave those only lip service, his guiding principle being advancement. When in doubt, which Ned had to admit was a rare occasion, his uncle followed some inner compass that dictated his friendships and allegiance, which, a disgruntled and resentful nephew had to agree, was often a correct reading of the political winds.
It was a silent struggle of minutes, damned long minutes. Every instant Ned witnessed the careful balancing of advantage in those cold, grey eyes. Finally Uncle Richard cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “You have ten days to find the murderer. If not, I’ll fill out the writ myself. Any news, give it to Perkins. He’ll be at the White Lamb from sunset till the Vespers bells from tomorrow.”
Ned bowed his head in a show of apparent respect and humility for his uncle, rather than let him see the present flame of anger and resentment. Apart from clearing his name, Ned was damned keen to visit some righteous retribution upon whoever set him up.
But Uncle Richard wasn’t finished yet. He bent over and tilted up Ned’s bruised face with a strong hand. “Edward, you do this with your own means. From this night I’ll not see you again unless you are successful.” His eyes had gone past the flint hard stare. They were flat and lifeless, like those snarling demons that tormented sinners in the figures sculpted into the crowns of St Paul’s pillars.
Ned didn’t need to nod. His uncle could see he’d got the import of this warning.
Uncle
His uncle gave a brief sneer and his eyes turned colder than flint. “What of it? Yes, that’s him, and you put a blade in the fellow, and we’re all ruined!”
With little to lose Ned took a chance. Stepping forward, away from his friend the wall, he knelt before his uncle in an unaccustomed show of humility. It wasn’t easy. The pain from his ribs made him grimace with the effort. As for his damaged pride, well he’d see. “I swear, Uncle, on my mother’s soul I didn’t kill him. I may be wayward and disobedient in your eyes, and that night I did slay a man, and will stand at any inquest to answer for it. Though that was more likely one of Canting Michael’s roisters from Southwark. Not Smeaton!” Ned deliberately made an exaggerated sign of the cross with his shackled hands. This had to work. Red Ned Bedwell wasn’t going to end his days eating French swill!
His uncle paused, his face a picture of disdain at his nephew and his habits. However now it held the slightest shadow of doubt.
Ned saw it was close, and knew that if he wished to remain in London for any length of time then he had to appear useful, even necessary and so he spoke another quicksilver thought. “Since we are beholden to the Cardinal, shouldn’t we try to find out who did kill his servant? Or maybe this is a plot against him? Another segment of memory flashed into being, the conversation at the bear baiting with Will and Geoffrey. “Since the failure of the Annulment Commission, His Eminence would be very keen to reward those who prove their loyalty.”
Ned could see that the lure of preferment had hooked his uncle’s interest. Though in truth, any man of rank kept a weather eye on the shifting alliances and enmities at court, preferment could come by many routes and rivals may not always strike in the open. Similar manoeuvring and strategic friendships had secured the support of Thomas Cromwell, the Cardinal’s principal secretary, an alliance that his uncle was at some pains to maintain. Ned had seen enough ploys at the law courts to understand the true workings of human nature and greed when it came to power and advantage. Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote of the complexity of man’s immortal soul and, like the philosophers of old, claimed that there had to be other facets motivating a man’s nature, like honour, love and compassion.
However in Ned’s estimation, Uncle Richard gave those only lip service, his guiding principle being advancement. When in doubt, which Ned had to admit was a rare occasion, his uncle followed some inner compass that dictated his friendships and allegiance, which, a disgruntled and resentful nephew had to agree, was often a correct reading of the political winds.
It was a silent struggle of minutes, damned long minutes. Every instant Ned witnessed the careful balancing of advantage in those cold, grey eyes. Finally Uncle Richard cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “You have ten days to find the murderer. If not, I’ll fill out the writ myself. Any news, give it to Perkins. He’ll be at the White Lamb from sunset till the Vespers bells from tomorrow.”
Ned bowed his head in a show of apparent respect and humility for his uncle, rather than let him see the present flame of anger and resentment. Apart from clearing his name, Ned was damned keen to visit some righteous retribution upon whoever set him up.
But Uncle Richard wasn’t finished yet. He bent over and tilted up Ned’s bruised face with a strong hand. “Edward, you do this with your own means. From this night I’ll not see you again unless you are successful.” His eyes had gone past the flint hard stare. They were flat and lifeless, like those snarling demons that tormented sinners in the figures sculpted into the crowns of St Paul’s pillars.
Ned didn’t need to nod. His uncle could see he’d got the import of this warning.
Uncle
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