(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 26: POLEY: FIGHT AT THE PISSING WALL

Joachim Meyer - Gründtliche Beschreibung des Fechtens 1570
Joachim Meyer – Gründtliche Beschreibung des Fechtens 1570

The term liberty referred to certain regions of the city … that, by charter or proscription, were independent of city and royal control. Some regions were exempt from specific taxes; others were private municipalities of particular crafts; still others were free zones immune from city policing and authority.

The Canting Crew

John L. McMullan

Time passed and it was coming on evening but before the dinner rush. The ale house was empty except for the serious drinkers. Jacob passed through the room, sweeping up old rushes and laying down new ones. Poley’s belly gnawed at him, reminding him that he had not eaten except for some small beer and bread early in the morning. He caught Jacob’s eye and had the boy bring him some stew and bread. He felt other pressures as well and went out back for a piss.

They came at him when he was mid-stream. For an instant, he was surprised at the lack of surprise he felt. A part of him had been expecting this.

At the sound of a footfall behind him, he sent a casual glance over his shoulder. He caught the barest glimpse of a large figure and then a thunderous punch sent him careening into the wall he’d just been pissing against. His stream cut off and his cock flapped around his codpiece. He caught himself against the damp and malodorous wall and saved his face from being smashed against it. His new doublet took more stains, these probably beyond the skill of any laundress. As quick as he could, he shoved himself back and around, to face those that were attacking him.

He got no chance to set himself and pull his dagger before another fist got planted in his stomach and all his breath went out his lungs. It was two men administering the violence, both large dogs.

The larger of the two grabbed a handful of his doublet and threw him back against the wall. “This is the message, whoreson. There’s those up the river that don’t like their name being dragged through the mud. He reckons that those too stupid to know that are too stupid to live.” The ox finished his words with a blow to Poley’s head that left him spitting blood.

He retained enough of his wits to realize from what was said that Denby had decided to move beyond the warning stage and had decided to take Poley off the board entirely. He spat blood and tried some words. “Your master doesn’t know who he’s fucking with.”

“Oh, I think he knows full well. Just some stupid piece of shit that needs to be scraped off his shoe.” Now daggers had been drawn and the two men moved forward.

Poley held out a warding hand. “I’ve taken service with Mad Meg and am under her protection. You two really want to kill someone who belongs to that mad bitch?”

His instant of relief when the two men paused to look questioningly at each other was just that, a mere instant. “We work for them in Whitehall. What do we care of London gutter trash?” And then they came at him.

But by then Poley was looking beyond them. Ralph left his dagger in the neck of the one on the left. Which left both of his hands free to grab the one on the right. One fist looped in the bravo’s hair and yanked his head back. The other fist hammered into the exposed throat. And as quick as that, there were two bodies on the ground in front of Poley.

Ralph bent and retrieved his dagger. A quick thrust, and the one trying to breathe through a crushed throat tried no more. Ralph wasn’t even breathing hard. “I saw them come after you when you went to piss. Thought I’d follow just in case they were going to do more than just enquire as to the price of a shag.”

Poley’s spit was bloody and he tongued teeth to essay just how loose they might be. “And yet again I’m glad that you’re looking after my arse. But was it necessary to kill them?”

“Just how much did that blow to head rattle your wits? You mentioned Meg. If I’d just taken some eyes and broken some bones and then sent them back to their master as a warning, he’d know that you have allies. And powerful ones at that.”

Poley grimaced and blew bloody snot from one nostril then the other. “Fuck me. I’m getting old. Used to be, almost getting killed wouldn’t have turned me into an imbecile.” He nodded at the corpses. “Since it seems to be the time for you to be the one who knows what they’re about, how do you plan to get rid of these?

“Easy enough.” Ralph jerked his head in the direction of the plots of land running behind the houses down from Kate’s. “There’s a family nearby who keep a some pigs. The swine will be glad for a change from their usual mash.”

“Lucky that you know so much about the neighborhood.” Poley looked down at his doublet and tried to tug it back to the shape of his body. “Damn, this was new yesterday.”

Ralph was occupied with dragging one of the bodies away and his tone was distant. “Aye, lucky enough.”

Poley took the time to collect himself before going back into the tavern. He raked his fingers through his hair and picked up his hat from where it had landed when he’d first been struck. At least it had fallen far from the pissing wall and was still unstained. He pasted an unconcerned look onto his face and went back into the tavern where his bowl of stew was waiting.  

He had just finished the food and was pushing the bowl to one side of the table when a man rushed through the door, peered around and gave a loud cry of relief when he spied Poley. Poley cocked his head to one side enquiringly as Barnstable from the Tower came towards him. Barnstable looked hot and out of sorts, much more than the trip from the Tower would warrant.

“Bob! Thank God that I’ve finally found you! I’ve been looking for you all over the city! We must have words, something dreadful has happened!”

Poley held up a hand to forestall any more hasty and over loud words. “William, take a seat and tell me what has you so lathered up. But first, perhaps some of the best ale in the city?”

Barnstable pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “Yes, ale would do very nicely.”

Poley waved to Kate, who was working behind the bar preparing for the evening trade, and held up two fingers. After they had been served and Barnstable had taken his first gulp and then a second, much surprised pull, Poley leaned forward.”So, now, tell me. What’s happened?”

“Damn me, you were right, this brew is fucking amazing.” Barnstable put the mug down almost empty. “Here’s what’s the matter. Michael Moody has been spotted in London.”

Poley didn’t blink. “Doing what?”

“I don’t know. A City Provost friend of mine was on duty over by Moorgate and spotted him.”

“Any idea if he was entering or leaving the city?”

“My friend didn’t say.” Barnstable thought for a minute. “He did mention that Moody was on a horse that looked like it had put in a hard day’s work.”

“So then entering the city, most likely. And if he’s coming in through Moorgate, he’s coming in from the north. Interesting. He must have…” Poley let his voice trail off as he realized something else. I wonder how good Denby is? Is he good enough to have made friends among the City Provosts? If so, he’ll know soon that Moody’s loose in the city. I have to assume that he is, he has, and he does. He returned his attention to Barnstable. “So Moody’s been spotted in the city, why are you in such a panic?”

Barnstable looked dumbstruck for a moment. “Are you fucking having me on?” He gripped the table, got a grip on his emotions, lowered his voice. “Because he’s supposed to be in the Tower! Except he’s not and it’s my name signed with no higher authorization that allowed him out of the walls. So perhaps you see now why I’m in such a panic. Didn’t I fucking say this was going to happen? Didn’t I warn you? And now, like I said, it’s going to be my neck on the block. And don’t you think for a moment, Bob Poley, that I’m going under the axe alone.”

“Don’t threaten me, William. I don’t take kindly to that.” Poley’s warning was almost automatic because his mind was suddenly elsewhere. All of the pieces became clear, like the weave of a tapestry becoming the full picture when looked at from the right distance. He knew how to take Adam Denby. “But I hear what you are saying and I take your distress seriously, don’t think I don’t.” Poley gestured for another mug for Barnstable. As Kate was busy at one end of the bar with another customer and Jacob nowhere in sight, Ralph brought it over. “Since I got you into this trouble, I’ll get you out. And you will look like a hero, in the end, having had a hand in capturing a most deadly traitor.”

“What are you on about? I just want Moody back in the Tower as soon as possible.” Barnstable was practically whining.

“And you’ll have him. Him and glory. All I need to make that happen is for you to be at a certain place at a certain time with a troop of the Tower Yeomen.”

“A certain place.” Barnstable’s voice was a flat monotone. He took a drink and didn’t look up from his mug. “You mean a certain place outside the Tower Liberty. A certain place where the Yeomen have no actual authority.” His voice rose a bit and he looked at Poley. “And I’ll bet you that this certain place is inside London’s walls where me and my men are certain to be caught and imprisoned.”

Poley returned Barnstable’s look with a forthright one of his own. “Right now, I only know that you and your Yeomen can do the Crown a great service, and in doing so, also cover yourself in glory. Where that action will take place, inside the Tower Liberty or out, inside the City or out, I know not. But what does that matter? Are you putting some legalistic hairsplitting above your duty?”

“Duty? You talk to me of duty? I see no duty here. All I see is someone asking me to risk even more, to pile risk upon risk, with only airy promises to console me. I’m the one taking all the risks, while you sit here swilling ale!”

Poley let some steel creep into his voice. “You have no idea of the risks that I’m taking, William. And it’s going to stay that way. All you need to know is that if you aid me, you protect the Crown. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Isn’t that what the Yeomen uniforms mean? You stand on the law, worry about where your writ does and does not run, and the Crown bleeds.” A motion in the door caught Poley’s eye. He looked up and, with a complete lack of surprise, saw Michael Moody enter the tavern. “Speak of the devil. No, don’t turn around and look, you twat. Just get up and go to that table over there.”

A look on his face that mixed dumbfounded and outraged, Barnstable got up and did as he was told. Moody, a satisfied smile on his face, sauntered over and claimed the seat. “Good day, You look well, Bob.”  

Poley produced a pleasant smile of his own. “And a good day to you, Michael. You seem much improved since last I saw you in the Tower. Your travels seem to have agreed with you.”

“Oh, indeed they have! Nothing like being out of doors and an ocean voyage to lift one’s spirits. Speaking of being out of doors, I’m sure that I recognize the man who was just sitting here. From the Tower, perhaps?”

Poley made himself serious and prepared to untangle the skein of lies that he knew Moody was going to lay in front of him. “Not in the slightest. An acquaintance of mine from Westminster, of no importance. Now, to you and your travels. I set you a task. Find out what has occurred with one of my agents in  the Low Countries. I was expecting to be informed by letter. But now you are here, and so I guess you met with some success?”

“Oh, you might say that.” Moody leaned back in his chair, all expansive, fingers laced across his stomach. “I say, isn’t the raddled bitch who runs this sty supposed to brew a passable ale? Why don’t we get a couple of mugs of pisswater while I tell you about my success?”

“Michael. Don’t fuck about. What happened? Where’s Nick Crossby?”

“Niiiiiiiiiiiiick Crossssssby.” Moody drew the name out and grinned all vulpine. “Him. Well, here’s what happened. I have him tucked away here in London. And I’ve sold him to Hugh Owen. Owen’s agents are in London now, to deal with him. I really think we should have some ale, don’t you?”

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