‘It’s not in vain, sir,’ said Bangtail, shocked, ‘I dinna swear sir, not falsely, my word’s as good as any other man’s in the March.’
‘I thought there was a complete dispensation for that on swearing to the Warden or his men.’
Bangtail blinked. ‘Eh?’
‘He means,’ translated Dodd, ‘that he knows fine ye’ll swear your oath till you’re blue in the face to the Warden but it doesna count in men’s minds if ye go and break it the next day. Not the way it would if ye swore to Jock of the Peartree or some other man that was your equal.’
‘Well, it’s not false, I swear by God and the Holy Bible, I told you all I know and that’s that,’ said Bangtail sullenly. ‘If ye dinna believe me, then ye can fetch in the Boot and go to hell.’
Surprisingly Carey smiled. ‘Well said, Bangtail.’ He nodded to Dodd, who grabbed Bangtail’s arm and led him to the door.
‘Will ye let me go?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Not yet, Bangtail,’ said Carey, the bastard Courtier, while his bastard servant finished what was left of his bread and sausage and the ale, God damn him. ‘When I’ve checked your story. Not that I don’t believe you, but you could be mistaken, and you don’t know the most important thing. Perhaps you could find out for me?’
‘In jail?’
‘Where else? I can hardly lodge Young Jock and Ekie in the town, they’d be out of the place in an hour.’
‘I doubt they know, sir,’ said Bangtail. ‘And they willna tell me if they see me come back... er...’
‘Untouched, as it were,’ said Carey. ‘We can arrange that.’
‘Well no, sir, I didna mean...’
‘No hard feelings, Bangtail,’ said Sergeant Dodd as he pushed Bangtail down the stairs and punched him on the face, ‘I wouldna want you under suspicion from Ekie.’
THURSDAY, 22ND JUNE, 10 A.M.
Thomas the Merchant had been seriously considering a quiet trip to his newly bought manor in Cumberland, but he knew a man in a hurry when he saw one and so he let the finely ruffed green-suited gentleman and his servant come sweeping into his study and called his own servant to fetch wine.
‘How may I serve you, sir?’ he asked.
The gentleman smiled. ‘Do you know me, Mr Hetherington?’
‘I have not had the pleasure...’
‘I am the new Deputy Warden.’
‘Ah,’ said Thomas the Merchant, smiling in perfect understanding, ‘I see.’
‘I am in search of some help.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Thomas the Merchant, pulling his ledger from the shelf, the one that gave details of his interests in the Carlisle garrisons. ‘I am delighted to see you, sir. Who was it recommended you to see me? Captain Carleton or Sir Richard?’
Carey opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again, wondering if Thomas the Merchant was carrying on the same conversation he was. Barnabus solicitously pulled up a gracefully carved chair that was standing by the wall and he sat down in it.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. ‘Well,’ said Thomas the Merchant, dusting his fingers, ‘as you know, I have always been very generous when it comes to the gentlemen who protect us from the Scots.’
Carey’s eyebrows went up but he said nothing, which made Thomas the Merchant a little uneasy. Thomas’s servant entered with the wine, served it out and made his bows. Carey drank cautiously, then drank again looking pleased and surprised.
Let’s get on with it, thought Thomas, surprised that the conversation was taking so long. ‘Have you a sum in mind, sir?’
‘For what?’ asked the Courtier. Behind him his servant was looking nervous.
‘For your... er... pension, of course,’ said Thomas, astonished at such obtuseness. ‘I must warn you that business has been very bad this year and I cannot afford to pay you as much as I paid Lowther while the old lord was sick. Shall we say three pounds a week, English?’
‘For me?’ asked Carey slowly.
Thomas sighed. ‘And of course, for your servant, I can offer one pound a week—really sir, I can afford no more.’ Thomas was hoping wildly that Lowther hadn’t told him the truth about what he was really getting from Thomas the Merchant.
He noticed that Carey’s fingers had gone bone white on the metal of the goblet. Well, happiness took people differently, perhaps Thomas had made the mistake of offering too much. Alas, too late now. Carey’s servant had backed into a corner next to the door and was looking terrified. Good, thought Thomas, that’s the way to deal with serving men, keep them in fear of you and then they have no time to be plotting rebellion or...
‘Have I understood you correctly, Mr Hetherington?’ asked Carey in a soft, almost breathless voice. ‘Are you offering me a free gift of 156 pounds per annum?’
Thomas the Merchant beamed. This one would last about three minutes; what possessed the Queen to send someone so naïve into the cockpit of her kingdom?
‘Well, nothing in this life is free, sir, except the Grace of God,’ he said. ‘I naturally hope to gain your... er... goodwill, perhaps even your friendship.’
‘And on the right occasions a little blindness, perhaps even the occasional tip-off.’
Did he have to spell it out so baldly? ‘Yes,’ said Thomas, embarrassed at such crassness, ‘of course.’
‘Naturally, although of course the matter is in confidence.’
Carey longed to bring his fist down on Thomas’s desk hard enough to make the windows rattle and the ledger hop in the air like a scared goat. He didn’t do it, though he knew Barnabus was tensed ready for him to roar. The insult of it! How dare the man? How dare he even think of buying the Queen’s cousin for less than ten pounds a week? And how dare he do it with such arrogant presumption, as if he were discussing no more than a business partnership.
‘Mr Hetherington,’ he began, and then changed his mind. He was up off his chair and had crossed the room to Thomas the Merchant’s desk and swept the ledger out from under his long thin nose before the Merchant could do more than take in a gasp of surprise. Carey flipped quickly through the pages, squinting at the crabbed Secretary hand, lighted on a few names and laughed. ‘I’d be in noble company, I see. I wonder, does Her Majesty know you have the Wardens of the West and Middle Marches in your pay?’
