Bartholomew Fair (11 page)

‘What’s amiss?’ Ambrose said, frowning.

Then through a gap in the cluster of officials, I saw an extraordinary sight.

Had we been in the Low Countries, as I had been once before, in the disputed territory between the Spanish forces and the United Provinces, I would have said that what confronted us was a line of battle. A vast number of men were drawn up in rank, blocking the southern entrance to Smithfield, and every one of them was armed. Some carried swords, some daggers, some no more than a cudgel, but a few had muskets and looked as though they knew how to handle them. They looked, in truth, like a professional army. My jaw dropped in astonishment and alarm.

During the long months of our abortive mission to Portugal, I had learned to estimate numbers, as the size of our army fell away. This army – as suddenly sprung from nowhere as the city of the Fair had sprung into being – must have numbered at least five hundred men. An army of five hundred men! Where had they come from?

Ambrose, who had been striding ahead to reach his young lady, saw them at the same moment as I did, and stopped dead. Anne clutched us each by the arm and whispered fearfully, ‘Who are they? What do they want? Are they going to attack?’

No one appeared to know what was going to happen next. The armed men stood in a solid phalanx, the Fair officials scuttled about. They did not seem to think they were about to be attacked, but they were clearly very frightened. Who would not be, suddenly confronted on the happy occasion of the opening of the Fair, by a grim-faced army, their weapons all too visible to everyone?

‘What is happening?’ Ambrose grabbed a passing constable by the elbow and made him stop,

‘They are demanding to speak to the Lord Mayor,’ he gasped. ‘We’ve sent to fetch him.’

‘But who are they?’ I asked.

‘Men from the Portuguese expedition,’ he said, his eyes rolling like those of a frightened horse. ‘Trained soldiers, all of them, and armed, as you can see. They say they were promised great booty if they enlisted with the expedition. Instead, they suffered enormous hardship, then were turned ashore with nothing but a handful of coin.’

‘And so they were,’ I said.

He squinted at me suspiciously.

‘And what do you know of it?’

His tone was unpardonably rude, but the situation was truly alarming.

‘I was with the expedition, as a physician.’ This was partly true, and it was none of his business to know anything more. ‘Why are they here? What do they want?’

‘They say that if they do not receive proper and full recompense for their service for England and the Queen, then they will wreck the Fair and pay themselves by looting its goods.’

‘And why do they want to speak to the Lord Mayor?’ Ambrose asked. ‘Neither he nor the Common Council would have the means to pay them.’

‘Aye,’ I said. ‘There must be five hundred men there.’

We all looked across at the soldiers. Their disciplined silence was more frightening than any clamour would have been.

‘They want the Lord Mayor, as the leading citizen of London, to plead their case with the Queen,’ the man said. ‘They believe there was treasure taken on the expedition.’

‘Aye,’ I muttered, under my breath. ‘There was. From Coruña, and from the treasure ship Drake captured. There is treasure which could be used to pay them. Yet . . . I wonder.’

Remembering how the common soldiers and sailors had fared under the command of Norreys and especially Drake, I had little hope of it. But an attack on the Fair would lead to much injury and death. The situation was fraught with danger and I feared that the Lord Mayor, a successful craftsman and merchant, would have little skill in dealing with a formidable force of armed and angry soldiers. I looked at them again. As I searched their faces more closely, I caught sight of the men who had watched me the day before, now standing in the front ranks. One carried a musket and looked prepared to use it. So this cast a new light on why they had been working to set up the Fair. They would have been scouting the layout of the ground, how the streets of stalls were arranged, where the richest pickings were to be found.

And there behind the men I recognised from the previous day were two men I had last seen stumbling ashore from the death ship in which I myself had travelled back to Plymouth. They had been sick and ragged then, and looked not much better now. Like many of the men blocking the entrance to Smithfield, they lacked shoes, and their clothes were no better than a beggar’s. Hunger had carved away the flesh of their faces, so that the cheekbones stood out sharply, and their eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. Although most of this rag tail army were young men, their hollowed cheeks showed where teeth had rotted and fallen away, giving them the look of ancient grandfathers. My heart twisted with the pity of it. They might be threatening the innocent fairgoers and the small stallholders and shopkeepers, but they had a righteous case. Their treatment had been disgraceful and they deserved justice.

For some time there was a stand-off, there at the entrance to the Fair, and Ambrose became more and more agitated. It was impossible to see past the ranks of soldiers, so we could not tell whether Mistress Hawes had arrived as she had said she would.

‘You must not worry, brother,’ Anne said, patting his arm. ‘As soon as she saw what was afoot, I am sure she will have told the coachman to drive her home again.’

‘I wish I might be sure.’ Ambrose groaned, and wiped his face with his hand. Trapped there in the crowd, confronted by the angry soldiers, we were growing hotter and hotter. His face was running with sweat.

At last a bustle and noise behind us made us turn. The mayor’s halberdiers were clearing a way through the crowd, followed by the Lord Mayor himself, on foot, accompanied by some of his officials. He reached the front of the crowd, face to face with the soldiers. Everyone fell silent.

‘What insolence and treason is this?’ he demanded in a voice of authority and scorn. Perhaps I had been wrong about him. A man does not rise to be Lord Mayor without some skill in handling men.

‘How dare you meddle with the opening of Bartholomew Fair, laid down by statute to take place this day? You come here – armed and in force – with your insolent demands! This is more than a breach of the peace.’ He shook his fist at them. ‘This is an act of treachery and treason against Her Majesty the Queen!’

At these words, some of the men eyed each other, worried expressions on their faces, but they remained steady and resolute. One of the men carrying a musket stepped forward. He kept it pointing downward, but everyone could see his powder horn and his belt of shot. A slow match smouldered beside the stock of the gun.

‘We have already told these fellows of our demands.’

He made a contemptuous gesture with his free hand toward the Fair officials. I realised from his manner of speaking that he came from the West Country, probably Devon. That meant he was most likely one of the sailors, who had been recruited from that part of the country, Drake’s own homeland. All these men, soldiers and sailors alike, had been put ashore in Plymouth. Instead of going home to their villages, they must have walked all those miles, perhaps as much as three hundred, to reach here. They were well organised. And where had they managed to get hold of their weapons? Any man may obtain a club, but swords and firearms are not so easily come by. Nor are gunpowder and bullets.

‘You say you have not been well enough recompensed for your late service?’ The Lord Mayor’s tone was disdainful. ‘You have received what your masters felt you deserved. It is not for you to question their decision.’

I thought at once: That is a mistake. These men have survived much and will not take kindly to being treated like street urchins or common servants
.

‘We were promised a goodly reward for our service,’ the soldier said. He kept his tone even, but I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘Four months we served in terrible conditions, dying of disease, starvation and unbearable heat, while a parcel of gentlemen squabbled over an ill-conceived and poorly commanded expedition.’

The man clearly had some education, and every word he said was true.

‘You say this,’ the mayor responded, curling his lip, ‘but we have no evidence of its truth. Neither evidence of any promise made to the men of the expedition, nor evidence that you were even amongst those men. You are just some rabble out to make trouble. You have no proof that you ever left these shores.’

As if on a signal, all the men reached inside their shirts and pulled out pieces of paper. Folded and dirty as they were, I knew what I was seeing. The licences to beg that Sir John Norreys had issued to each dismissed soldier and sailor, so that they had the right to beg from parish to parish as they made their way on foot to their several homes. Each would bear the declaration of who they were and the signature of Sir John Norreys. No one could ask for better proof of their service on the Portuguese expedition.

‘What is this?’ The mayor’s tone was still contemptuous, but I thought he sounded less certain of himself.

‘Proof that we are men of the Portuguese expedition,’ the man with the musket said proudly.

One of the mayor’s officials stepped forward and took the paper from his hand. After quickly scrutinising it, he nodded to the mayor.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Signed by Sir John Norreys.’ He handed the paper back.

‘It may be a forgery.’ The mayor was beginning to bluster now and the soldiers’ leader did not even bother to respond.

For some minutes there was no further exchange. The Lord Mayor was consulting with his officials and in the crowd of fairgoers which had gathered, there was some muttering which suggested a certain sympathy with the soldiers, mixed with dismay that the Fair might be overthrown by force. The soldiers continued to stand in silence, having tucked away their papers. It was the silence and their firm stance that made them all the more formidable.

At last the Lord Mayor stepped forward, until he stood just a few yards from the soldier with the musket. That took some courage, I thought, for the least mistaken reaction might bring that musket up and pointing at his chest.

‘Why do you come to me? What is it that I can do to address your grievances?’ His tone was more conciliatory now. Perhaps the evidence of the papers and the discipline of the men had forced on him the realisation that he was not dealing with an ungoverned rabble.

‘We would ask you,’ the soldier said with dignity, ‘to speak on our behalf to the Queen or Privy Council. We do not make outrageous demands, but many of us are craftsmen or fishermen or farmers or small merchants who lost all we would have earned, had we stayed at home instead of answering the call to avenge England against our ancient enemy of Spain. Queen and Council made the call, and we answered.’

His eyes turned toward me, and I realised he too must recognise me.

‘There are many who were there who will bear witness to all we suffered. I see one such standing there.’ He raised his hand and pointed at me. The Lord Mayor glanced at me and frowned, but he quickly turned back.

‘All we ask is recompense for what we lost by enlisting,’ the man said, ‘and something to compensate for our injuries and illness. Besides, there are the many widows and orphans left by the great losses we endured. Many are reduced to beggary. They too deserve some share in the treasure that was taken, for there
was
treasure taken. Not what was promised when we were urged to undertake the expedition, but treasure none the less. We do not ask the Common Council of London, or any other parish in the land, to undertake such a financial burden. Give us our rightful share of what was seized on the expedition and we will gladly disperse and go our ways.’

It was a fine speech and I heard some cheers from the crowd. The common folk of London would gladly support a claim on the treasure which would otherwise find its way into the pockets of the rich and powerful. Particularly if it meant the saving of their Fair.

The Lord Mayor turned aside again and held a low-voiced consultation with his officers. Finally he turned back to the soldiers.

‘Very well, I will see what I am able to do for you, but I do not hold out great hopes. We will need to have further consultation as to numbers of claimants and the sums of money you have in mind.’

I was surprised that he had taken such a conciliatory stance, but perhaps he was merely buying time, in order to avoid a more serious confrontation now.

‘Let you chose four of your number to consult with us, four of your leaders who can speak for all. You can return with us to London now and tomorrow we will talk of this further.’

The soldier who had spoken began to turn away, signalling to some of the others who were standing in the front line to come and join him.

‘You must leave your weapons behind,’ the Lord Mayor said sharply. ‘You may not carry weapons into conference with us.’

‘That is understood,’ the soldier said. He snuffed out his slow match and handed his musket, powder horn and bandolier of bullets to a soldier standing behind him. The other men he had chosen also laid aside their arms, and the four men stepped forward to join the Lord Mayor’s party.

‘As for the rest of you.’ The mayor had to raise his voice above the burst of talking amongst the crowd. ‘You other men. You must disperse at once and you must not enter the City. Is that understood?’