The Cardinal's Angels (27 page)

“The clever always think they are far above everyone else. It is simple phrasing that he uses to inform the recipient that the other letters are important.
So simple and so foolish.”
The doctor looked down his long nose at Ned and began a slow finger tapping on the Cardinal’s letter. For a moment Ned was brought to mind of the inquisitorial habits of his Uncle Richard at the Courts.

“Let us speak plainly Master Bedwell.”

Ned blinked at the statement. “I was led to understand that we were, Doctor Caerleon.”

“I know the Cardinal’s mind and I can solve his puzzles, however…” The doctor’s words terminated with a pregnant pause, and Ned’s face froze in that blandly pleasant smile he’d learnt from his uncle. Here we are. Already he knew it would come to this, the cautious bargaining of gentlemen, stiff with observed protocol. Ned returned a small courtier’s bow and took up where Caerleon left off. “I am certain that a favour given can be rewarded with my earnest friendship.”

“You are indeed an honourable gentleman, Master Bedwell, so I shall only call upon your friendship three times.”

Ned gave another bow at the acceptance and froze. “I beg your pardon doctor. Did you say
three
times?”

“Yes, I did.”

Ned worked very hard not to frown at Dr Caerleon’s counter offer. Three favours to repay one was an exacting exchange rate. “You mean like in the old tales of the faerie?”

Caerleon nodded with a satisfied smile. “Yes Master Bedwell, very much
like
those, if that is the way you care to understand it. If I aid you in this, you must serve me when I require for three, shall we say favours.”

Ned mulled that one over. Before this startling offer he’d been more than ready to pass over two of the candles and think it cheap. However the doctor asked for repayment in a different coin. It was not that bargains like this between gentlemen were in any way unusual. It was just that both his shoulder daemon and better angel were both metaphorically jumping up and down screaming in unison that this was a really bad idea and smacked of selling one’s soul to the devil. Certainly, when it came to a man who was suspected by many of tracking with demons, Ned had to pause and consider. All the while the ‘good physician’ continued to smile benignly at him, patiently waiting like a spider in its web of charts and symbols.

In the end it came down to a simple question. Was he or either of the Blacks going to survive without the Astrologer’s help? Ahh
yes, that
was indeed the important question that his chorus of opposition railed against. Too risky they
said,
too much chance of betrayal. Chances, it came down to chances. Did they have enough with their current knowledge to even the odds against the Cardinal’s machinations? Then what about Suffolk and the rest? As much as Ned would prefer to lose his right hand than say it, he was forced to concede that Caerleon’s tainted aid may sway them towards ah…survival. Not
so
much as worth a wager, but better than shooting the London race–
again
.

Ned reluctantly put his hand out to seal the pact. His personal chorus ratcheted up their warnings to a crescendo hammering the inside of his skull. He ignored them. If he survived a week then maybe he would reconsider. Until then he’d suffer the risks.

“This arrangement covers the Blacks, both of them. They’re clear of any debt to you including whatever bargain you struck with Mistress Black this evening.” Ned didn’t really know why he put that it in and he could tell just for an instant that it surprised Caerleon. The offer damned near terrified him, and he’d said it!

The old physician quickly regained his suave mask and smiled. Damn well so he should, the canny trickster! Red Ned Bedwell as a servant for three tasks! By the saints, that sounded exactly like those quests in the romance tales where three impossible challenges were given to a hero to get rid of him.

“Like a true gentlemen,
Sir
Bedwell! Shall we look to them?” Caerleon replied putting his hand forward and the pact was sealed.

Ned prayed that he hadn’t just sold his soul, though from the look of gloating satisfaction in the physician’s eyes, that may have been the case.

Since it was now done and pledged, Ned slowly pulled out the most suspect bill of lading. The thin paper trembled in his grasp. While the agreement may have been concluded, trust was still as far and distant as the horizon. The old astrologer accepted the proffered document, and holding it between his long fingers, reviewed the offering. Suddenly his eyebrows arched abruptly, and seizing a handy quill he scratched out notes on a loose sheet of paper, one of the many that seemed to litter the room. Caerleon made ‘
ttching
’ sounds through his teeth as he referred to the false bill.

The room may have been well lit, but once more the shadows twitched and quivered in the corners. Ned got up and trimmed some of the candles as well as the wick of the hanging oil lamp for better illumination, anything rather than just sitting and waiting. He wondered what need or question had driven Mistress Black here earlier. Was it the demons of the past, contingencies of the present or threats of the future? He could certainly understand her desire for knowledge. If he was smuggling in forbidden and heretical books, he’d want as good a view on the future as gold could buy. With Sir Thomas More and Bishop Stokesley calling the hunt for heretics it must be a dangerous occupation, and from hints in the earlier conversation, Dr Caerleon had been part of that secret network.

Ned hadn’t been privy to Mistress Black’s nocturnal conversation, but he’d wager fifty angels it concerned Caerleon’s imprisonment, and having seen her inquisitive style, he’d have loved to watch the physician convince her of his closemouthed honesty.

While Caerleon’s quill scratched, reflections in that direction helped Ned keep the night time demons away as he tried to work through the changes in his life this week. This venture had already forced him to look more closely at his life and beliefs and to question casually accepted truths and doctrine. For instance, exactly how large was this heretical network? So far they had crossed the city four times and each occasion had found a ready sanctuary. Even coming here Mistress Black showed not the slightest hesitation. He had no doubt that within a block or so, she could have discovered another refuge if the need arose.

That prompted a few further thoughts. All his life the church had been hunting heretics in London and the counties around it. There was the usual cry that the battle against sin and the devil was never ending, while if it was true in fact, exactly who were the sinners that filled up the Bishop’s Lollard Towers?

Like the rest of the apprentice lawyers at the Inns, he’d read through some of the old trials to get an idea of how canon law worked. A few went back more than a hundred years. In those records the usual agents of the devil’s work to lead people astray weren’t lords or prelates, rather humble tradesmen, apprentices, merchants, respectable goodwives and widows. That was a very strange selection. Satan’s servants seemed to totally miss out the masters of the realm. Perhaps they’d been working with a lean purse, and rather than offering power and riches they’d had to manage with the extra serving of salted cod or the envy of a beggar?

“It’s done.” The old man’s soft voice cut through his musings and Ned returned to the here and now. He pulled the stool closer and peered curiously at the astrologer’s efforts. The scrap page was a jumble of letters with some circled.

“It was a simple enough exercise. Wolsey is getting careless to use such a simple code. His secretary Cromwell could have done better. I’m amazed he wasn’t given this task.” Caerleon shook his head in the manner of an amused school teacher who’d caught out a student confusing his Latin verbs.

Ned however ignored the smirking smile and noted the casual familiarity that the doctor used when referring to Wolsey’s senior servants and his ciphers. “What is it?”

Ned had instinctively sheered away from any thoughts regarding Thomas Cromwell, his uncle’s good friend and Wolsey’s most faithful secretary. It was best if there were as few connections as possible between this conspiracy and the Rich clan.

The old Astrologer carefully refolded the bill of lading with his scrap of paper inside and returned it to Ned. He weighed it in his hand for a moment as Dr Caerleon gave his prognosis. “This ciphered list promises to deliver letters from H to someone called Lady AB and that RO will be the courier to AS and CI then mentions a further more useful set will be available from F within five days to aid the enterprise.”

That had Ned floored. He opened the bill and looked at the astrologer’s jottings. He’d marked off the list in slanting lines, and using some unknown method, picked out the said letters to make up the message. Ned didn’t claim to be a master of ciphers, but even he could see the method used wasn’t random. There was a set pattern. As to the message, it didn’t need a doctor or physician of alchemical
learnings
to figure out the simple code.

H = Henry

Lady AB = Lady Anne Boleyn

RO = Rodolpho, Cardinal Campeggio son and secretary

F = no idea really, maybe Fidelius, or Friend

As for AS and CI, if you followed the simple logic of the code then they had to be the Apostolic See and Clement.

Ned shivered. If this was correct, and whoever murdered Smeaton thought so, then Wolsey was supplying to a foreign lord the missives between the King and his lady love. His daemon added a coda–add to that a considerable sum of golden angels for purposes unknown.

It appeared that they had a piece of paper that was worth more trouble than all the Cardinal’s Angels. This list promised power and influence by blackmail or coercion. It didn’t just hint of treason or warily skirt the grey areas on its border. No, it was full out hanging, drawing and quartering treason, premeditated, cold bloodedly deliberate, and organised by the man who was his Sovereign Majesty’s highest servant.

Ned felt very, very cold. Men would kill for this, had killed for this in fact. Without thinking he could list over a hundred lords at court and overseas who would willingly wade through a river of blood for such a lever to a royal prince. His mouth went dry and his tongue felt like a piece of long dead timber.

So unknowing a question slipped out. “What do I do with it?”

It must have been the cue Dr Caerleon was waiting for. He lent across and with a long fingered hand on Ned’s shoulder gave a kindly fatherly smile. Ned wasn’t fooled. The light of warmth barely flickered within those hooded dark eyes. “Master Bedwell, you have before you Paris’s choice. On whom do you bestow the golden apple?”

Great, thought Ned, a cryptic answer wrapped in a classical allusion. The night just got better and better. This wasn’t a selection of competitors for reward, just a choice of who
wouldn’t
kill him soonest. As expected his daemon whispered in his ear urging him to desert the Black siblings, find the Cardinal and cut his own deal, while his better angel sat on the opposite shoulder reminding him of honour, loyalty and the rewards of compassion. That wasn’t fair–the daemon held all the best cards like survival and advancement!

“Couldn’t you cast a horoscope for me?” That request came out edged with panic and a hint of despair.

Caerleon’s smile widened by the slightest margin at Ned’s sour expression and the astrologer continued. “Fortunately for you I have been
scrying
the heavens and have, by my arts and skill, discovered some advantages.”

Ned couldn’t help it. Despite his almost complete lack of trust in the astrologer, at this hint he lent closer.

Caerleon’s smile showed teeth as he asked his next question. “What do you want me to tell you, Master Bedwell–what you want to hear or need to know?” This was said in a mocking tone that gave back
his own
words from earlier in the day.

Ned recognised the heavy irony and revenge in the reply and for an instant thought that he had gained a partial insight into the astrologer. Caerleon was, by his profession, a complex man who’d weathered the whims of princes and no doubt many different desires drove him. But this night Ned caught a whiff of his strongest driver–revenge. Now he felt they were on a more equal footing. That was an emotion he understood well. Ned put the incriminating parchment back in his satchel and wearily shook his head like a good obedient student.