Category: A Broken Instrument

This Tower is a citadel to defend or command the city, a royal palace for assemblies or treaties, a prison of state for the most dangerous offenders, the only place of coinage for all England at this time, the armoury for warlike provision, the treasury of the ornaments and jewels of the crown, and general conserver of the most records of the king’s courts of justice at Westminster.

A Survey of London

John Stow

That false faced piece of shit.

Michael fucking Moody.

It’s a true sign of what a colossal cock-up this all is, that I’m coming cap in hand to such a treacherous bastard.

The sour stench of the moat mirrored the sourness of his thoughts as Poley approached the walled mass of buildings that was the London Tower. The Tower itself was an ancient fort, the foundations of which had been laid down by various kings many centuries past. The walls surrounding the fort were reinforced by several towers built at various times. The Liberty of the Tower comprised not only the fort but the land and buildings surrounding it. The Liberty was its own demesne, the writ of the city of London ran there not at all. He made his way across the bridge over the wet sludge from the Lion Tower through the Bayward Gate of the London Tower. He glanced to his right, towards the Thames and the Queen’s Stairs and saw that there was no flag indicating that Her Majesty was visiting the Tower on business. Even so, the way along the Outer Ward was crowded with a variety of people coming and going on. Lawyers, wives and children, Tower guards, messengers, a wagon of wood, another loaded high with beer barrels; Poley moved around them all, heading towards the Bloody Tower Gate. He stood aside and doffed his hat as the Gentleman Porter moved past, talking intently to the two lawyers flanking him. Affairs must be tense between the Liberty of the Tower and the City. Light flashed from the Porter’s rings as he gestured emphatically to accompany the point he was making. The two black gowned lawyers nodded like Tower ravens. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 4: POLEY: MOODY IN THE TOWER” →

On the whole, the States-General met every three years, mainly to discuss tax demands and there might be several meetings before the necessary unanimity was achieved. In the course of the haggling and debate a certain degree of unity and cooperation grew up among the delegates from the main provinces who habitually attended…

The Dutch Revolt

Geoffrey Parker

“Hoy, Nicholas! Where are you off to on this fine day?”

Fuck. Nick wearily closed his eyes.  I have even less time than I thought. He pasted a faint smile on his face and turned to face his questioner.

It was Braathuis and Edgewine, two of them that were always hanging around Owen looking to cadge coin or some small deed to raise them in his favor. Nick had always thought of them as the fleas that infest a particularly fast and dangerous hunting dog. Edgewine was dressed in his usual failed attempt to look better than he was; stained doublet and sagging hose and a codpiece that owed more to padding and Edgewine’s dreams than reality. Braathuis had found a large Italian hat somewhere; it sat on his head like some particularly despondent and diseased mushroom. The two of them stood in the doorway of the stable where Nick had just returned the nag.   Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 3: NICK: A GUTTING MAN” →

He will build a career out of cheating, though all in the name of ‘loyalty and behoveful service’ to the State.

The Reckoning

Charles Nicholl

       “All I can say is what he told me.”

        Robert Poley, short man, hard expression on his face, look in his eyes that forecast an explosion to come soon, dressed in brown and grey, made his way at a quick walk up the street. At his side was Ralph. “So tell me.”

        He’d used Ralph before, as muscle, at first. The bastard was big and broad, with hands like a smith’s hammer, and he had no hesitation in dealing out the necessary violence. But men like that were three a penny in London. What made him so very useful to Poley was the bright intelligence that lurked in the eyes hidden behind the stringy black hair. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 2: POLEY: MAM UPSHAW” →