‘That’s settled then,’ said Scrope, who sometimes behaved as if he were not quite so foolish as he looked. ‘We’ll include the clause in the new agreement. A splendid idea, Sir Robert; thank you.’
Pennycook and his men glowered at him in unison and he favoured them with a particularly sweet smile.
‘Ehm,’ said Pennycook, his voice rather higher than normal. ‘This is all verra weel, Sir Robert, my Lord Warden, but we canna go about putting in new clauses to the victualling contracts wi’ nae mair than a wave of a hand... The advocates to draft it will cost a fair sum, d’ye not think?’
Mr Pennycook had small brown watery eyes and a pale bony face gone very waxy. There was a pause while he seemed to be struggling for words. ‘Sir Robert?’ he said, drawing his rich brocade gown tight about him. ‘Surely ye canna be threatening me wi’ legal action?’
‘Threatening you, Mr Pennycook?’ Carey laughed artificially. ‘Nothing could be further from my mind. I was only agreeing that while we’re briefing lawyers to draw up the new wastage clauses in the victualling contracts, we should get our money’s worth and have them look at the contracts as a whole as well. Wasn’t that what you said?’
Mr Pennycook had in fact paid good money to the young lord Scrope’s father and Sir Richard Lowther to keep the contracts unexamined. He made a little rattle in his throat.
‘After all,’ Carey added confidingly, ‘clerical errors do creep in, don’t they, what with copying and recopying.’
For a horrible moment Mr Pennycook wondered if this strange creature had actually read the contracts, and then decided it was impossible. Nobody except a lawyer could understand a word of them. He fixed on high indignation as the only possible escape.
‘And now ye’re dooting ma word.’
‘Far from it, Mr Pennycook,’ Carey said affably. ‘Why would I do that? Have some more ale.’
‘I’ll not sit here and be insulted,’ Pennycook said, rising to his feet with dignity. ‘Good day to ye, my Lord Warden, Deputy.’ He fixed the thoughtful Michael Kerr with a glare and said, ‘Are ye with me, Michael?’
Kerr stood, made his own bows and followed Pennycook from the chamber in a rush of dark brocade and velvet. Scrope sat staring at the green meat before him and frowned worriedly.
‘Was that wise, Robin?’ he asked and began twiddling his knife in and out of his spidery fingers. ‘Our stores are nearly empty.’
‘Well, my lord,’ Carey said. ‘Sir Roger told me that until the contract’s signed, you have them at a disadvantage. They need you more than you need them. Pennycook has warehouses full of food that no one can sell anywhere else, bought dirt cheap, and harvests paid for in advance. If his contract is not renewed, then he’s a ruined man.’
‘Hm. I never thought of that. So you think he’ll come round?’
‘Definitely.’
‘There isn’t more in this, is there, Robin?’
I wish you wouldn’t call me by that name, Carey thought, but shrugged.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re not after the victualling contract yourself, are you? Or for somebody you... heh... know?’
Carey made a little shake of his head. He hadn’t in fact thought of it that way, but it was an interesting idea. Everyone knew victualling contracts were pure gold...
‘I don’t know, my lord,’ he said honestly. ‘But it’s a thought, isn’t it?’
Scrope beamed at him. ‘Get Simon to clear this dreadful rubbish away,’ he said. ‘I’m not at all hungry.’
MONDAY, 3RD JULY 1592, MORNING
Pennycook walked speedily away from the Castle, trailing his factor and junior clerk, collected two further henchmen at the gate and went to his house.
‘How much d’ye think the new Deputy Warden wants?’ Pennycook asked Michael Kerr as they sat with spiced wine and wafers to settle their stomachs. Michael was his son-in-law and he valued the young man’s advice.
Kerr shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s so simple as that,’ he said. ‘I heard Thomas the Merchant offered him the usual pension and he turned it down flat.’
Pennycook half choked on his wine. ‘Eh? But he’s a courtier, is he no’?’
Michael Kerr shrugged. ‘He is, but that’s what I heard.’
‘Good... Heavens.’
‘Perhaps it’s Lord Scrope putting him up to it. Perhaps he’s turning the screw on the price.’
Pennycook sat back in the carved chair, looking relieved. ‘Ay,’ he said. ‘That must be it. He’ll get the difference between what the Queen pays and what we ask, and he’ll have put his Deputy up to the game... I dinna like this talk of lawyers, though.’
‘Well, you started it,’ Kerr pointed out. He was pacing up and down, looking very worried. ‘I wish ye hadnae. That young Deputy’s mad...’
‘Don’t trouble your head, Michael. It’s Lord Scrope.’
‘No, but...’ Michael Kerr was rethinking his own theory. ‘It must have been a surprise to him, when he saw the... the... er, vittles brought in. I saw his face. He’s not that good an actor, and he was angry wi’ his little wife as well. No. It’s the Deputy. And I know what he’s up to.’
‘What?’
‘See, if it was just a bribe he was after, he would have come to you privately and said, this is what I’ll do unless... And you would have argued a bit and then paid it. This was too public. If he suddenly changed his tune, him or Scrope, and says the vittles is fine, well, it’s an embarrassment.’
‘So?’ asked Pennycook warily.
Michael Kerr drank some wine.
‘He’s after the victualling contract himself,’ Kerr said grimly. ‘Or he’s doing it for some big London merchant.’
