Read Online The Relic Murders by Paul C. Doherty - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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and stared round at the other men and women waiting to be hired. 'A little dispute in Ipswich whilst my master's abroad in Italy…!' 'And you are too proud to beg?' 'Yes, Sir Hubert, I am too proud to beg.'
'You are a rascal, Shallot.' Berkeley came closer: he pressed a silver piece into my hand. 'You are a rascal born and bred but, so Master Daunbey has told me, a good man in a fight and you are of the court. I've been searching for an honest bullyboy like you!'
I swallowed hard. I wished my master wouldn't boast about me. (You know old Shallot! Oh, I'll fight all right but so will a mouse when it's cornered!)
'I'm a bachelor,' Berkeley continued. 'I live with my maids and servants, apprentices and journeymen.'76 'Why do you need a bullyboy?' Berkeley's eyes slid away. I felt a faint tingle along my spine. 'Secret business.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'King's business, Shallot: that's why I'm hiring you.' He pointed to my hand. 'You can keep that coin for friendship's sake. I'll need you for a month. You'll receive two of those every week.'
An hour later, having sent a message to Boscombe, I was in Sir Hubert Berkeley's house. There is nothing like silver to calm the fears in my cowardly soul. I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth and, at the time, I thought Berkeley was the nearest thing to divine intervention. (I only wish I had listened to him more carefully when he hired me.) The goldsmith had a truly spacious house and shop which stood in its own grounds. The base was of red brick, the other three storeys a mixture of white-and-red plaster and black-oaked timbers with a tiled roof and new-fangled chimney pots. Every window had paned, mullioned glass. The floor of each room was covered in red tiles whilst dark wooden wainscoting, the panels carved in the linen fashion, covered two-thirds of every wall. Soft carpets deadened the sound, and gaily coloured tapestries from the looms of the Low Countries gladdened the eye. Window sills and ledges were filled with baskets of flowers whilst the furniture had obviously been fashioned by the best carpenters in London.
Berkeley was a scholar, a collector of books and the lord of a very harmonious household. There was no distinction between those who served and the master. We all sat at the same table in Sir Hubert's long hall and ate the same appetising food and drank the same good wines. Every man, woman and child had their own bed and chest. I was given a clean-swept garret at the top of the house, and was as happy as a little pig in its sty as I became immersed in the routine of the household. Up before dawn, morning prayers, Mass at a nearby church and then work right through to sunset. Of course we were allowed to break our fast and we dined at noon on a light collation. Once dusk fell the shop was closed and we all gathered round the table for the evening meal.
My duties were light. I was given a war-belt, sword and dagger and I had to look brave, supervising the apprentices and journeymen as they set out the stalls in the two great rooms in front of the house that served as the shop. Now, looking brave, walking with a swagger and glaring fiercely at some ragged-arsed urchin, was easy for old Shallot. I'll be honest, when I saw Will Shakespeare's Henry IV and watched old Nym and Bardolph tread the boards, I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks as I recognised myself.
Nevertheless, I am quick of wit. I wondered why Sir Hubert should hire me now? A young serving wench, with breasts like plums and a kiss as sweet as sugar, whispered that I was the first such bullyboy to be taken into the household, though Sir Hubert had been looking for someone trustworthy for weeks.
'So why now?' I asked, unlacing her bodice and wistfully thinking of Lucy Witherspoon.
'I don't know,' she simpered back. 'But the master has something hidden away in his secret chamber down in the cellars.' 'What?'I asked.
'I don't know,' she repeated, putting soft arms round my
'You are a rascal, Shallot.' Berkeley came closer: he pressed a silver piece into my hand. 'You are a rascal born and bred but, so Master Daunbey has told me, a good man in a fight and you are of the court. I've been searching for an honest bullyboy like you!'
I swallowed hard. I wished my master wouldn't boast about me. (You know old Shallot! Oh, I'll fight all right but so will a mouse when it's cornered!)
'I'm a bachelor,' Berkeley continued. 'I live with my maids and servants, apprentices and journeymen.'76 'Why do you need a bullyboy?' Berkeley's eyes slid away. I felt a faint tingle along my spine. 'Secret business.' His voice dropped to a whisper. 'King's business, Shallot: that's why I'm hiring you.' He pointed to my hand. 'You can keep that coin for friendship's sake. I'll need you for a month. You'll receive two of those every week.'
An hour later, having sent a message to Boscombe, I was in Sir Hubert Berkeley's house. There is nothing like silver to calm the fears in my cowardly soul. I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth and, at the time, I thought Berkeley was the nearest thing to divine intervention. (I only wish I had listened to him more carefully when he hired me.) The goldsmith had a truly spacious house and shop which stood in its own grounds. The base was of red brick, the other three storeys a mixture of white-and-red plaster and black-oaked timbers with a tiled roof and new-fangled chimney pots. Every window had paned, mullioned glass. The floor of each room was covered in red tiles whilst dark wooden wainscoting, the panels carved in the linen fashion, covered two-thirds of every wall. Soft carpets deadened the sound, and gaily coloured tapestries from the looms of the Low Countries gladdened the eye. Window sills and ledges were filled with baskets of flowers whilst the furniture had obviously been fashioned by the best carpenters in London.
Berkeley was a scholar, a collector of books and the lord of a very harmonious household. There was no distinction between those who served and the master. We all sat at the same table in Sir Hubert's long hall and ate the same appetising food and drank the same good wines. Every man, woman and child had their own bed and chest. I was given a clean-swept garret at the top of the house, and was as happy as a little pig in its sty as I became immersed in the routine of the household. Up before dawn, morning prayers, Mass at a nearby church and then work right through to sunset. Of course we were allowed to break our fast and we dined at noon on a light collation. Once dusk fell the shop was closed and we all gathered round the table for the evening meal.
My duties were light. I was given a war-belt, sword and dagger and I had to look brave, supervising the apprentices and journeymen as they set out the stalls in the two great rooms in front of the house that served as the shop. Now, looking brave, walking with a swagger and glaring fiercely at some ragged-arsed urchin, was easy for old Shallot. I'll be honest, when I saw Will Shakespeare's Henry IV and watched old Nym and Bardolph tread the boards, I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks as I recognised myself.
Nevertheless, I am quick of wit. I wondered why Sir Hubert should hire me now? A young serving wench, with breasts like plums and a kiss as sweet as sugar, whispered that I was the first such bullyboy to be taken into the household, though Sir Hubert had been looking for someone trustworthy for weeks.
'So why now?' I asked, unlacing her bodice and wistfully thinking of Lucy Witherspoon.
'I don't know,' she simpered back. 'But the master has something hidden away in his secret chamber down in the cellars.' 'What?'I asked.
'I don't know,' she repeated, putting soft arms round my
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