Bartholomew Fair (8 page)

I woke once during that night and sat up, listening, not sure what had roused me. Then I realised that the rain, which had been lashing against my window, driven by a strong east wind, was no longer so noisy. I had been woken by silence. I climbed out of bed and padded across to the window. The boards were still cold under my bare feet, but perhaps not as cold as they had been in the unseasonable weather of the last few days.

I opened the shutters, then unlatched the window and pushed it open. The wind had dropped. The air which flowed in from outside was slightly warmer than the air inside the room. It was still raining, but it was a soft, warm, summer rain, not the cold bluster which had felt more like November than August. Although the wind had calmed here below, in the high airs the clouds still chased each other across the sky, playing tag with the moon, which gave enough light for me to see down into the street below. The kennel down the centre was running with water like a small stream and the cobbles shone slick with wet, like so many fragments of the moon itself, cast down upon the earth. If the rain continued to die away, there was every chance that the grounds of Smithfield would dry up enough for the booths and stalls to be erected today and tomorrow, ready for the Fair.

Leaving the shutters open, so the warmer air could flow into the room, I padded back to bed. Already the boards felt less cold. I pulled the feather bed up round my shoulders and turned on my side. Before I could put two thoughts together, I was asleep.

At breakfast, a note was delivered from Ambrose, addressed to both Anne and me. I handed it to Anne to open, since he was her brother. She read it quickly.

‘Ambrose says he will come tomorrow afternoon, and the three of us can go to see the Fair being set up. Then he will stay the night here, so the following morning we can leave early, in good time for us to reach Newgate before the Lord Mayor arrives to open the Fair. Mistress Hawes will arrive later, in her father’s carriage.’ She gave a wicked grin. ‘It seems that Mistress Hawes is not accustomed to having to walk through the dirty streets of London.’

‘Hmm,’ I said, ‘I am not sure that bodes well. She will have to walk on her own two feet about the Fair, and I cannot say that the ground of Smithfield is the cleanest in London. They will shovel away the worst of the dirty straw and dung, but all the rest of the year it is a market for beasts. One cannot expect it to resemble Whitehall Palace! Have you met the lady?’

‘Once only. She
is
rather fine. I think my brother is somewhat in awe of her.’

‘I hope she may not put a damper on our holiday.’

‘If she tries to, we will leave them to their own devices,’ she said. ‘You and I, and your friend Peter.’

‘Peter may also bring a young lady, though I think he is a little shy of asking her.’

‘We shall be three couples, then. You must be my beau!’

I laughed, for I knew she was only teasing. ‘What would your affianced say to that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, we are not strictly affianced yet,’ she said, reddening a little. ‘Though, to be sure, Master Francisco Pinto de Brito is a match much more to my taste than that elderly banker in Lyons that my father was talking about last year.’

I was not sure whether the banker from Lyons was as elderly as Anne made out, but I knew how she had hated thought of being sent off to France, to marry some unknown man whom Ruy had picked merely to strengthen his own trading and political alliances. Anne’s current prospect, Master Francisco Pinto de Brito, would be much more to her taste. She knew him and liked him, though I am not sure that she was in love with him. However, she longed fervently to remain in England and had been horrified at Ruy’s plans to move the entire family to Portugal on completion of the successful restoration of Dom Antonio to the throne. Like her mother, Anne had been born in England and regarded herself as English, whatever her father might say. She did not even speak Portuguese, apart from a few simple words.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I will squire you to the Fair, but should we encounter Master Francisco, you must excuse me if I run away before he can draw his sword.’

She laughed, and I went off to pen a note to Peter. He would not be able to take time off to come with us for our preliminary look around the fairground, but would join us for the opening by the Lord Mayor. I suggested that we meet by the hospital gatekeeper’s lodge before the ceremony, so that we would have time to find a good place to see and hear everything.

I borrowed some sealing wax from Sara and sealed my letter, stamping it with the seal Arthur Gregory had made for me before my visits to the Low Countries last year, which I had retrieved from Phelippes’s office. I gave the kitchen boy a farthing to deliver it for me to Bartholomew Hospital. Leaving Sara’s cloak behind, I set off for Walsingham’s house under a warm sun, which was quickly drying the muddy streets.

Chapter Five

A
s he had promised, Ambrose arrived shortly after noon the next day and joined us for a meal before we set out. I had not seen him since the spring, and in the meantime he had grown a beard, exquisitely trimmed to a neat point by some modish barber. His clothes too were of the latest fashion. I need not have worried about borrowing his old clothes to replace my rags during the previous month, while my own new ones were made. So fine a gentleman would not deign to wear such plain garments! Today he wore a doublet of tawny velvet, its sleeves puffed out with excessive padding and slashed so that the lining of purple satin could be pulled through. The buttons were gold – or perhaps gilt silver – embossed with the Tudor rose, blazoning forth his loyalty to the crown

Even his breeches were velvet, of a dark forest green, and his hose (which displayed a fine, shapely leg) were of white silk. I feared they might suffer in Smithfield, for – although the returned sun had done much to dry the streets – there is usually a goodly layer of mixed mud and dung paving the whole area where the Fair is held, which was unlikely to be fully hardened yet.

I hid my smile at all this finery, but Anne, with a sister’s licence for frankness, did not.

‘’Sblood, Ambrose, you are got up for a day at court!’ she said, as we rose from the table. ‘What are you doing here in Wood Street? Do you mistake us for Whitehall or Hampton Court? Kit and I shall be obliged to follow humbly along behind, like your household servants.’

Ambrose looked half annoyed and half embarrassed.

‘Just because you dress like a shopkeeper’s daughter, my maid, that does not mean the rest of the family must do the same.’

Privately, I thought this unjust, for Anne was very suitably dressed in an overskirt and bodice of the finest wool, a rich blue, picking up the colour of her eyes, and her hair was neatly tucked into a net of lace sewn with pearls, while the embroidered underskirt which showed beneath the front opening in her skirt was of silk the colour of cream. Taking my advice, she was wearing stout boots.

I knew that brother and sister were very fond of each other, despite this exchange, and for a moment my heart ached, remembering those long-lost days when I too had a brother and sister to tease.

Ambrose drew himself up to his full height.

‘You must know, little sister, that I
do
often have business at Whitehall and Hampton Court, and Greenwich Palace too, for our grandfather often sends me in his place these days. One must dress the part. I deal only with the senior members of Her Majesty’s entourage, and one must not appear slovenly and underdressed.’

‘Her
entourage
!’ Anne said, drawing the word out. ‘By Heaven, brother, where did you learn that long word? Are we to be permitted to walk with you at all, then?’

He laughed and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. ‘Enough. Time we were off. Is your friend to meet us today, Kit?’

‘Nay,’ I said, ‘he would not be able to leave his work, but he has arranged matters so that he can join us tomorrow, and the other days of the Fair, if we decide to return again.’

‘Excellent,’ Ambrose said. ‘Well, let us be on our way.’

Young Anthony was waiting by the door as we left, and begged to come with us.

‘Not today, Anthony,’ Anne said. ‘Mama has said she will take you and the little ones tomorrow when the Fair opens.’

‘Will you bring me back some gingerbread?’ Anthony was clearly sulking.

‘The gingerbread stalls won’t be open until tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Today the men will just be building the booths and setting up the stalls and tents.’

‘Then why are you going?’

It was a fair question. We were going merely for amusement’s sake, but we would not be the only ones. There is something magical about seeing a dull and familiar place – in the case of Smithfield, quite an ugly place – transformed into something strange and wonderful. When the Fair was over, it would vanish away again, like those palaces that disappear in the old tales, seen for a time as if in a dream, yet solid and real, only to fade away like a puff of smoke.

We set off down Wood Street until we reached the corner where I had parted with Peter after the wedding, then turned west along Cheapside. This led us to Newgate Street, then past Newgate Prison and under the gate in the City wall. Just inside the gate I saw the man who sold roast chestnuts in winter. Today he had a tray of candied plums. They looked a little withered, but we bought a paper cone of them, for he looked very forlorn, as if he were doing little business. He recognised me, for I often bought chestnuts from him.

‘Thank ’ee, young master’, he said, his grin showed the gaps between his teeth. ‘Business a’nt good these days.’

‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Come the Fair tomorrow, you’ll be doing a roaring trade.’

‘I’ve no money to rent a stall,’ he said glumly, ‘nor even the sixpence for a licence to carry my tray round the fairground.’

‘Here,’ said Ambrose, opening his purse and handing the man a sixpence. ‘That will buy you a licence for the whole Fair, and good luck to your trade.’

That was more like the younger Ambrose, I thought. The fine clothes were no more than dressing over the honest man beneath.

The chestnut seller seemed astonished, gazing at the coin on his palm as if he expected it to melt away. ‘Why, I thank ’ee, sir,’ he said, tugging at his cap in a kind of clumsy salute. ‘That’ll do finely. I be much obliged, sir.’

He would have gone on heaping thanks on us, but we smiled and took our leave. Ambrose looked truly embarrassed.

‘It was but sixpence,’ he muttered, as we turned up past the cookshops in Pie Corner.

‘To a man like that,’ I said, ‘sixpence may make all the difference between life and death.’

‘You exaggerate, Kit,’ he said.

‘Nay, I do not.’

I thought of how close I had been to such desperation myself, just a few weeks earlier, and how much I owed to Ambrose’s mother. With my wages from my work at Seething Lane I was beginning to pay off my debt to her, but I had kept a little back to spend at the Fair.

Although there was still a day to go before the Fair began, the whole of Smithfield was a-buzz. It was as noisy as a market day, but instead of the mooing and baaing that usually deafened those making their way to Bartholomew’s hospital or the church of St Bartholomew-the-Great, there was shouting, hammering, cursing, the rattle of carts, and the crash as loads of timber were dumped. Smithfield is probably one of the noisiest places in London, whether given over to the regular market, the annual Fair, or the occasional more sinister purpose – the burning of heretics.

I suppose the place has always been used for a livestock market, lying as it does just outside the City wall, but close enough for the convenient supply of meat. I’ve often wondered whether it was already here when the original Priory of St Bartholomew was built beside it, all those centuries ago. A priory, I suppose, is meant for a place of quiet contemplation and prayer, but it cannot have been very peaceful for the monks who dwelt here in such close proximity to the market. Though in truth they had always been an outward looking group, those monks of St Bartholomew, for hundreds of years maintaining their large hospital to relieve the suffering of the poor citizens of London, and their extensive giving of alms and care for widowed women and destitute orphans. All that had ended with King Harry’s reforms.

For a time after the priory was dissolved, so I had been told, the fate of the very church itself lay in the balance, as the monastic buildings began to be demolished and the hospital lay abandoned. Part of the church was torn down and a cluster of small houses built in the priory grounds, using the salvaged stone from priory and church. The loss of help for the poor half a century ago from all the monastic institutions had led to the streets of London becoming filled with beggars and the sick, spreading disease and crime throughout the City.

A few good men had reopened the hospital, pleading for funds and medical services from any who would support it. It must have been a hard task and often thankless, but at length even the Privy Council had seen the advantage of providing help for those who could not afford the attentions of a private physician. Nowadays the hospital was organised and staffed on a permanent basis, although funds were always short. And the racket from Smithfield could still be heard in the wards on market days.

Along with the other sightseers, we picked our way through the crowds of workmen, who must have been mightily annoyed by us. From time to time one of them would shout at us to get out of the way. One fellow dropped a plank so close to Ambrose that he jumped back in alarm as the dust spattered his fine hose. I did not think it was entirely an accident. His finery might well have been seen as a provocation to these workmen, many of them in nothing but tunics of rough sacking, their legs and feet bare. In the summer heat and labouring hard, they would be warm enough, but what of the cold, when winter came? The weather-wise were forecasting a bitter winter to follow this hot summer, commenting on the thick clusters of berries and hips already beginning to form on the City’s trees and bushes.

‘God’s provision for the birds,’ they said. ‘Sure sign of a bad winter.’

I could not but pity any man in a sacking tunic and no hose if they were to be proved right.

‘Look,’ said Anne, ‘they are building the booths in the Cloth Fair.’

I followed her pointing finger and we began to walk toward the most important part of the Fair.

‘Bartholomew Fair started originally simply as a cloth fair, did it not?’ Anne said.

‘Aye.’ Ambrose nodded. ‘It’s one of the specialist fairs found all over Europe. Our father has had dealings with the spice fairs. There are wine fairs and beer fairs and cheese fairs and fairs for gold and silver work, but the great annual cloth fair in London is based on the importance of our fine English wool and woollen cloth, so the cloth merchants, and the Drapers’ Company of London, still hold the most important place in the fairground.’

‘But it has grown and changed over time,’ I said. ‘The people of London wanted more from their fair than cloth. So that is why the Fair now sells goods of every sort and serves as much for entertainment as for buying and selling.’

‘It is the same in other countries,’ Ambrose said. ‘I was sent by our grandfather to the Frankfurt fair last year, and everything you can imagine was on sale there, including cloth from England. Just as foreign cloth merchants also come here with their goods – silks and damasks from Arab lands, French tapestries, even cotton cloth from North Africa. In Frankfurt there were musicians and jugglers and fortune-tellers too, just as we have here.’

‘I have heard that these foreign traders pay a heavy tax,’ Anne said, as we reached the most favoured area of the fairground, ‘yet they occupy booths on the very fringes of the Cloth Fair.

The double street of the Cloth Fair, the area set aside for the cloth merchants, ran along one side of the church, on slightly higher ground than the muddy area of Smithfield, and here men were at work erecting the elegant booths. The best places were still reserved for our English merchants, although it must be said that even the booths for the foreigners were handsome affairs.

‘Indeed,’ Ambrose said with a grin. ‘Our merchants want all the advantages for Londoners. I am certain they pay a high tax when they go to Frankfurt.’

‘The booths are like little shops themselves!’ Anne exclaimed in delight. ‘They even have more than one room. I never noticed that before.’

Ambrose nodded. ‘A drop down counter at the front, like the shops in Cheapside, to display their general goods, then the main shop in the front room, with shelves for the rest of the stock. Or in other shops, barrels, I suppose, for other sorts of goods. But here, shelves for the bolts of cloth.’

‘And the room at the back?’ she asked.

‘For more expensive items, I’d wager, and the cash box, and a cot for the watchman who stays in the booth overnight.’

‘People live here?’

‘Just for the duration of the Fair. A merchant could not pack up his goods and move them away every night, could he? Nor would he dare leave them unguarded. One of his trusted journeymen will stay to guard them.’

‘I suppose that is very true. So – men will be sleeping here tonight?’

‘It would seem so,’ I said. ‘They cannot wait until tomorrow to set out their goods. All must be ready when the Lord Mayor opens the Fair in the morning.’

I had never given it any thought before, but the Fair was even more like the enchanted town of a fairy tale than I had imagined. Before dusk the place would be populated. Someone must also provide food and drink, although the stalls selling roast pig and ale and other victuals would not be free to serve until tomorrow. Some provision must be made for the dozens of watchmen tonight.

Thinking of this, I glanced over my shoulder to where a temporary street of stalls was growing before my eyes on the open area of Smithfield. Officers of the Fair were bustling about with plans in their hands, sharply directing the erection of the less grand stalls for ordinary traders, making sure that they lay along prescribed lines and were not put up higgledy-piggledy. The traders would each have rented a certain patch of ground and woe betide any man who tried to push his stall to the front or claim a better position than he had paid for.