{"id":107,"date":"2016-07-27T16:57:45","date_gmt":"2016-07-27T16:57:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/?p=107"},"modified":"2016-07-27T16:57:45","modified_gmt":"2016-07-27T16:57:45","slug":"broken-instrument-chapter-8-poley-described-by-a-gran","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/a-broken-instrument\/broken-instrument-chapter-8-poley-described-by-a-gran\/","title":{"rendered":"(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 8: POLEY: DESCRIBED BY A GRAN"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Westminster\"<\/a>
Westminster<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

…the very different approach of another privy councillor who sponsored a spy network, the still youthful earl of Essex. Quite simply, Essex was enthusiastic about the use and importance of spies, and spent heavily in allowing his close friends the Bacon brothers, in particular, to build up a network for him in the early fifteen-nineties.<\/i><\/p>\n

An Elizabethan Spy Who Came in from the Cold: the Return of Anthony Standen to England in 1593<\/i><\/p>\n

Paul Hammer<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd that\u2019s how I gained the Queen\u2019s favor. And it was hard earned, I tell you, for winkling that Italian poisoner out of his hole was no easy task! The Queen gave me her hand to kiss and said that there was none braver.\u201d<\/p>\n

Molly giggled and squeezed his cock. \u201cWhy, Bob Poley, I should be honored then, that the same lips that kissed Good Bess\u2019s hand were not ten minutes ago kissing my bubbies.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes. Powerful honored, I should think.\u201d<\/p>\n

The main room of The Ram and Daggers was packed with men sitting at their mid day meal, making the room loud and smoky. It had all the signs of a London Ordinary: scattering of tables in the middle of the main large room, booths providing a modicum of privacy lining the walls, servers busy bringing food and drink to the tables, clearing away dirty dishes, filling empty cups, a bustling hubbub of noise. But there was one way in which the Ram differed from other London ordinaries, and that was in the attire of the servers. They were all women, young pretty ones, and their bodices were low cut. So low cut that their breasts were exposed entire. That accounted for how happy the patrons were to pay double for food that could be found cheaper elsewhere.<\/p>\n

Poley was in his element. He had his back to a wall and a woman on his lap. To be sure, he had troubles enough to kill a stoat. He was masterless, flat-pursed, and some foul fucker was undoing all his hard work in the Low Countries.<\/p>\n

But for all that, at this moment he had the diverting presence of Molly on his lap and the pleasant memory of their recent tumble made him easy in his bones like a cat in the sun. Despite his troubles he was not unduly worried. He had triumphed over worse. At least he was not in prison and free to confound his enemies and increase his renown. And so while to the uneducated eye, he appeared to be merely whoring around with not a care in the world, he was at the Ram with a purpose beyond the merely carnal.<\/p>\n

He kept an eye on the door and finally saw the man he was waiting for. Arthur Gregory, a small man, balding and prim, dressed in neat brown. He had the steadiest hands Poley had ever seen, which he had to admit, was a trait to be desired in the man who was given the task by Walsingham to lift the seals on any important letters and then lay them back down again with no sign of any tampering.<\/p>\n

Gregory looked around and spotted Poley. He made his way to Poley\u2019s booth, his eyes ever moving from one bosom to another. By the time he got to Poley, his color was uncommonly high. He cleared his throat. \u201cBob.\u201d His gaze slid from Poley to Molly, never reaching higher than her chin.<\/p>\n

\u201cArt.\u201d Poley shifted Molly off his lap. \u201cMy love, I would be most appreciative if you would go and fetch us some ale and something from the kitchen.\u201d He gestured to Gregory. \u201cPlease, take a seat. The ale here is uncommonly fine and the food not bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I truly found it so on the times that Thomas and I have met here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThomas? Thomas Phellipes?\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, yes, none other. There were quite a few times when he was puzzled by some piece of business and sought my counsel. We would oft times meet here.\u201d Gregory looked up at Molly as she laid two tankards of ale on the table. \u201cThank you.\u201d He addressed her tits.<\/p>\n

Poley picked up his tankard and hid his irritation in its depths. Now I KNOW you\u2019re lying, Art Gregory. That smug bastard Phellipes wouldn\u2019t ask your advice even if you held a pistol to his head. And given the way that your eyes are starting out of your head at the wares on display, you\u2019ve never been here before.<\/i> He put his beer on the table and leaned back.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh, now that you mention it, he did tell me of that when we met at Sir Francis\u2019 funeral.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn memory of the service that I had done for both him and his daughter\u2019s household, I was invited. It was a powerfully solemn ceremony, in the Puritan tradition.\u201d<\/p>\n

They toasted to the memory of Sir Francis. The look in Gregory\u2019s eye showed that he believed Poley\u2019s story as much as Poley believed his. Then the food was delivered to them and they set to. Molly winked at Poley from behind Gregory\u2019s head and then went off to tend to another customer.<\/p>\n

Poley finished his piece of bread and reached for his ale. \u201cSo what do you hear regarding the future of our service? Who on the Privy Council is going to take over from Sir Francis?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory preened a bit with self-satisfaction. \u201cWell, there might be a few pieces of knowledge that I\u2019ve picked up in my councils with them that know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley concentrated on his food to hide his reaction. You don\u2019t have to like the baker to buy his bread.<\/i> The basic rule of his tradecraft but sometimes damn hard to follow, especially when approaching the baker cap in hand and the baker being an officious smug prick. He repeated the refrain to himself over and over until he was able to master himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not surprised that someone of your worth has come to the attention of those who matter.\u201d He let the insincerity of his flattery peek forth for the barest instance and inwardly grinned to see Gregory color a bit.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s what I know. It looks like there are two on the Privy Council who are interested in continuing Sir Francis\u2019 business: Burghley and Essex. Burghley because he feels that anything having to do with overseas affairs is his bailiwick since he\u2019s Lord Secretary and Essex because he sees it as a way to the Queen\u2019s favor. And, from what I\u2019ve heard, because he\u2019s genuinely interested in it. He likes knowing the secrets.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich will get it, do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBurghley. After all, who else? He\u2019s been at the Queen\u2019s side since the beginning, all power that matters flows into his hands one way or the other eventually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2019ve heard he\u2019s awfully stingy with the purse. And none of us will be able to do our jobs without gold.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye.\u201d Gregory looked worried for a moment. \u201cI\u2019ve heard that as well. And you\u2019re right. How would we be able to cozen secrets without the inducement that gold offers?\u201d<\/p>\n

We? Cozen? Art, you\u2019re a fucking clerk! You\u2019ve never worked in the field. <\/i>None of those thoughts showed in Poley\u2019s voice. \u201cYou seem to have the right of it, Art. I knew it was a good thing, inviting you here. I\u2019m lucky that you had the time to meet with me.\u201d<\/p>\n

What a waste of time. The stupid turd knows nothing.<\/i><\/p>\n

Gregory\u2019s next words were a jolt. \u201cActually, I\u2019m surprised that you have the time to meet with me, Bob, given how busy you must be right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not really. Pretty much at loose ends, these days. Visiting my favorite boozing kens, waiting to see who at Court might be interested in my services. Why do you think I would be busy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory chuckled. \u201cOh, you\u2019re a smooth cove, all right, Bob Poley, but it\u2019s no use protesting. There\u2019s few that don\u2019t know about you and the Low Countries.\u201d<\/p>\n

Breathing slow and even, Poley kept a quizzical look on his face. Excitement sparked in his belly. He could feel his fingertips tingle. He knew these feelings of old. His instincts were telling him that he had grasped the first thread and that if he followed it, carefully, fully intent, he would find what he was seeking. \u201cAmong us in our business, my dealings in the Low Countries are no real secret. But I get the feeling that\u2019s not what you\u2019re talking about.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, please, no need to be so coy.\u201d A spark of vindictive pleasure crept into Gregory\u2019s eyes. \u201cEveryone knows that your network in the Low Countries has been rumbled with all killed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI honestly have no idea what you\u2019re talking about. I have no network in the Low Countries. I talk to some merchants occasionally, but that is all. In the interests of keeping my name clean, though, when you say everyone knows, who do you mean by everyone? Who told you this lie?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory put on a considering face. He over acts any more, I\u2019m going to suggest he try to find work with Burbage at his theatre. <\/i>\u00a0\u201cYou know, I\u2019m not precisely certain. Maybe it was the Chancery clerk I spoke to the other day when I was there inquiring about a matter. Or maybe it was old Wat, you know, him that was Sir Francis\u2019 stableman here in the City.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow you\u2019re just fucking with me. Who told you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it\u2019s not true, why should you care?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause,\u201d He kept his voice even and non-threatening with a supreme effort. \u201cif someone\u2019s besmirching my name and my talents, then I need to deal with them and put a stop to it. So tell me who.\u201d<\/p>\n

Perhaps his voice hadn\u2019t been as non-threatening as he had thought. Gregory leaned back a bit in his chair and raised a placating hand. \u201cPeace, Bob, peace. I\u2019ll tell you. It was Rafe Caxton.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho?\u201d Poley\u2019s bewilderment was genuine as he found himself unable to bring to mind the face that matched that name.<\/p>\n

\u201cRafe Caxton. Like I said, a Chancery clerk. He\u2019s one of the army of those who file and retrieve for the Privy Council.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait. Hold a minute. Fat man? A generation out of Cornwall?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, that\u2019s the man.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? That wanker? And you believed him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe did seem to know what he was talking about, Bob.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, of course he seemed to know what he was talking about! He tells everyone that he went to Cambridge and studied with the great and mighty there. Putting forth a believable line of bullshit is what he\u2019s been doing all his life. But now, tell me all he said. I need to know for it touches directly on my personal honor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory shrugged a bit. \u201cI recall not much more than what I\u2019ve said. You were running a network in the Low Countries and the Spanish rolled it up entire. All your men either dead or captured.\u201d He furrowed his brow for a moment. \u201cHe did mention Antwerp and Brussels in particular. But then he would, wouldn\u2019t he, if lying? The two largest cities, of course there are English spies there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, you see? You have the truth of it.\u201d Poley\u2019s confident tone hid his inner excitement. How does Caxton know so much? He\u2019s not the one behind my defeats, doesn\u2019t fit Liam\u2019s description. Have to question Caxton as soon as possible.<\/i><\/p>\n

Gregory finished his beer and leaned back, considered for a minute. \u201cHere\u2019s something I\u2019ll give you for free. Guess who approached me not ten days ago?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, I\u2019ll play. Who?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory took his time answering, brushed the crumbs from his front, fussed with his doublet, ignored a bare breasted woman carrying a tray of mugs, all signs that he was worried. And the name he dropped made Poley know he had good reason to be. \u201cOliver Streight.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley froze and then leaned forward intently, kept his voice low with an effort. \u201cOllie the Straight? From Mad Meg?\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory leaned forward to match Poley, his fingers knotted together on the table. \u201cThe very same. Came up to me outside St Paul\u2019s, smooth as butter, doffed his hat, addressed me as Master Gregory. And asked me if I\u2019d like a position seeing as how my previous employer, bless him \u2013 that\u2019s what he said, Bob, bless him \u2013 had passed from this earth.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he say what kind of job they had in mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing specific, just that someone with my skills could find a lucrative position with one such as his mistress.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck me rigid. Not only does that crazy perverted bitch know that Sir Francis is dead but she also knows what you did for him. How in the name of the sodomized Pope would she know that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve no idea, Bob. Maybe Sir Francis used her and her people for jobs on occasion? But I really don\u2019t give a toss how she knows. All I want to know is what I should do now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s easy, Art. Find a position and find it soon. And make sure it\u2019s with someone with enough clout to make Meg swerve off. Crookback Cecil or that mollyboy Bacon are both likely choices.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory stared glumly at the tabletop. \u201cFuck. I guess you\u2019ve the right of it. But it does make my piss run cold to know that I\u2019ve come to the attention of Mad Meg.\u201d<\/p>\n

Seated as he was with his back to wall, Poley had a good view, deliberately so, of everyone entering and leaving the tavern. A big shape caught his eye, entering with the sunlight behind him. He nodded minutely to Ralph and the man nodded back and then ducked back outside.<\/p>\n

Poley stood up and scattered some coins on the table, making free with them to hide that they came from a diminishing supply. If Gregory had gotten in the habit of running his mouth, better that the news be that Bob Poley was flush with coin and not desperate. \u201cI\u2019m off. Art, thank you for meeting me and passing on the news. I\u2019ll be sure to inform you if I hear of anything that might be to your benefit. And good luck with the Mad Meg affair. I hope you get out from under that cunt\u2019s eyes soon enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gregory barely looked up, lost as he was in his worries.<\/p>\n

Poley grinned at Molly and tipped his hat at her as he walked towards the door. She mimed a kiss at him and then turned to another customer. He left the Ram and Ralph fell into step next to him. \u201cHow now, Ralph?\u201d Recent events had left him a good mood. Fucking Molly and the first bit of intelligence to lead him towards the enemy agent.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell enough. You?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot bad. Not bad at all. I did as you suggested and put Moody into play. What a line of bullshit I had to lay in the ear of my contact in the Tower to get him out. Hopefully, he\u2019s across the Channel and looking for Nick Applethorpe. Though there\u2019s niggling voice in the back of my mind that tells me I might need to put a watcher on Moody.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph shrugged. \u201cHe\u2019s a completely untrustworthy piece of shit. A watcher sounds like a good idea.\u201d<\/p>\n

They stood aside to let a coach carrying the Essex coat of arms go past. \u201cBut to have a watcher, I must have coin. That\u2019s an ever pressing worry; but for another time. How goes your search?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI might have something. I did as you suggested and asked around where Liam was attacked. I found an old gran who saw the whole affray. She gave a fair description of the man who was bossing around the two bravos.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a piece of good news to go along with what I\u2019ve learned. I just had Art Gregory tell me of some clerk up in Whitehall who has been spreading word of my misfortunes. I mean to visit him and find out how he knows so much about that which he is supposed to know not. Your company up the river to Westminster would be greatly appreciated.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph shrugged. \u201cI\u2019m doing naught pressing this day. Though I would think that you would be able to put the frighteners on a poor clerk without my aid.\u201d<\/p>\n

They made their way towards the river. They walked down a street lined with small shops, mainly stationers, overflow from the main trade around St. Paul’s. At the end of the street, they reached the wide stone stairs that went down the bank and disappeared beneath the brown river water. Luck was with them and there were no other persons looking for passage on the Thames.<\/p>\n

Poley stood on the step just above the water and yelled. \u201cOars! Oars!\u201d<\/p>\n

In response to Poley\u2019s repeated cries, a wherryman rowed his craft to the stairs. He expertly brought it to a stop and looked up at Poley. \u201cWhere to?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWestminster. The Whitehall stairs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFive pence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFive? Well, I\u2019ll wait for the next oarsman, since you\u2019ve clearly just escaped from Bedlam.\u201d He made to look around over the river, as if to get the attention of another wherryman.<\/p>\n

The oarsman was unconvinced, his face set in a mask of unconcern. \u201cIt\u2019s up against the current, powerful hard rowing. And two passengers, one really fucking big.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley gestured at the waves lapping at the stairs. \u201cBut the tide\u2019s coming in! Tuppence.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged. \u201cMakes so little difference, might as well not even be happening. But I\u2019ll be generous for \u2018tis St. Jude\u2019s day, the patron of those in need. Three pence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re next to being a pirate but I\u2019ve got no choice.\u201d Poley gingerly stepped into the boat and sat down on the cushioned bench. Ralph followed him and the boat rocked as he sat down across from Poley. The oarsman pushed off from the stairs and began to send them up the Thames with powerful strokes of his arms.<\/p>\n

There weren\u2019t any big ships on the river this side of the Bridge but a great number of other smaller craft moved over the river\u2019s surface. Barges carrying goods from further inland, other wherries and passenger craft going across the river in either direction, a luxuriously bedecked boat trailing laughter and music from one of the noble houses lining the Thames going in the same direction as Poley, towards the royal palace at Westminster.<\/p>\n

He observed and catalogued, but not with his full attention. Finally he looked at Ralph and gave voice to the thoughts rumbling around in his head. \u201cHow am I to get a position when it\u2019s being spread all over town that I can\u2019t handle my networks?\u201d He gestured at the passing scenery. \u201cLook at those mansions on the bank; Somerset, Russell, Durham. I\u2019ll never see the inside of any of those if I don\u2019t deal with this shit. And there\u2019s Bedlam, like a rotten tooth in a beautiful smile. The footpads and thieves living there will be the only ones to welcome me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph grinned at him. \u201cNot to worry, Bob. You\u2019ll fit right in. Be welcomed with open arms, no doubt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck you, you great lumpkin. I ever find myself there, I\u2019ll know that I\u2019m well and truly deep in the shit.\u201d Poley sat and brooded for a few more minutes, staring sightlessly at the ripples of the boat\u2019s passing and the drifting turds. Then, the broad outlines of his next few moves clear in his mind, he focused back on the big man. He kept his voice low, making sure his words stayed between him and Ralph, never reaching the boatman. \u201cWhen we\u2019ve finished with this Caxton, remind me that I need to send letters to the Governor at Vlissingen to find if Moody\u2019s been spotted there. It\u2019s too much to hope for that he\u2019ll send me word on his own accord. It\u2019d be best if I didn\u2019t have to cross the Channel to deal with things personally, but I might have to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph nodded.<\/p>\n

With a final and finely judged pull of his arms, the boatman brought them neatly against the stairs leading from the Thames up into the sprawl of buildings that was the center of the Queen\u2019s bureaucracy. \u201cWhitehall. And you owe me thruppence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley dug the coins out of his purse and paid the boatman. That done, Poley got out and followed Ralph up the wet stone stairs.<\/p>\n

There was the usual crush of courtiers, favor seekers, litigants, lawyers, pimps, and business men coming up and down the stairs. The two men eeled through the crowd, stopping once to make their bows to Thomas Gresham as he passed in a cloud of clerks and merchants. They went through the arched gateway and into the courtyard of Westminster palace.<\/p>\n

The crowd was as great there as on the stairs. He and Ralph stood for a bit, upwind of the great fountain in the center of the courtyard as the breeze driven spray was chilly. He looked around at all the men in the yard. It was a crush but not as bad as sometimes he\u2019d seen. The courts weren\u2019t in session so there were fewer lawyers, litigants, bribable jurymen, and pen pushers than at the busier times. But Westminster was still the center of power in England, the Queen held her court here, the Privy council met here, laws were written here, wars were declared here, and so it drew men like a corpse drew flies. Men dressed in their best, men dressed in what they hoped were their best, artfully darned and mended, the overt beggars, and the hidden beggars.<\/p>\n

Poley spotted a pair of confidence men he knew, Jack Brugham and Foul Neil, engaging a merchant in conversation. The merchant was from out of town, maybe Bristol, and the pair of swindlers were promising him introductions and advice on how to navigate around the mysteries of Westminster. And now they were suggesting retiring to a nearby tavern to make further plans. Neil caught sight of Poley as they ushered the merchant away and tipped him a wink. Poley hid a grin, and nodded back, grave as a Puritan.<\/p>\n

Ralph leaned in close to Poley\u2019s ear. \u201cDo you know where to start looking for this Caxton? I\u2019m seeing a whole shitload of clerks around here.\u201d He looked ill at ease, a scarred bull-baiting mastiff forced among well-fed lap dogs.<\/p>\n

Poley took extra care to make his voice confident, keeping Ralph steady. \u201cArt Gregory said that Caxton is a Chancery clerk. That fits with what little I remember. We\u2019ll start here, then go into Westminster Hall, then head across the street to the Chancery We\u2019ll run him to ground shortly, no worries.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then a clerk he knew came into sight and Poley made his way towards him. \u201cTom Stafford! It\u2019s good to see you. How fare you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom turned and squinted at Poley. \u201cBob Poley! I\u2019m doing all right, getting by, you know how it goes. And you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTolerably well. Are you still clerking for the Exchequer?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom lifted a satchel of documents. \u201cIndeed I am. I\u2019m taking these down to one of the Chancery Inns by the City, Lyon\u2019s Inn down on the Strand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was wondering if you could help me. Are you acquainted with a Rafe Caxton? He\u2019s a Chancery clerk. Might be one of them that works for the Privy Council and its secretaries. Stout. Cornish.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom pondered for a bit. \u201cI think I know who you mean. You\u2019re right, if we\u2019re thinking of the same man, he\u2019s an assistant to one of the Privy Council secretaries. This time of day, he should be around the other side of Whitehall.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCapital! I knew you\u2019d be the one to ask.\u201d Despite Ralph at his back, clearly itching to get a move on, Poley kept a pleasant smile on his face and just changed his position to get the sun out of his eyes. \u201cWhat\u2019s the gossip these days?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom shifted his parcel of documents to his other arm. \u201cFrance, in the main. What with the French king\u2019s victory against the League at Ivry, the big question is whether or not the Queen will continue to support the King with troops and money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what do they think she\u2019ll decide?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, there\u2019s this faction that says she will and there\u2019s this faction that says she won\u2019t. My personal opinion, for what it\u2019s worth, is that she\u2019ll wait to the very last minute to make a decision and that it\u2019ll be the decision that costs her the least money.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley chuckled appreciatively. \u201cI\u2019ve no doubt that you\u2019ve the right of it, Tom. Her Majesty and her government never have been free with coin for as long as I\u2019ve been employed by her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd how goes it with you, Bob? Still a pursuivant? Have you found another patron now that Sir Francis has gone on to his just reward?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo new patron as of yet, but with both Lords Burghley and Essex wishing to take up where Sir Francis left off, well, I\u2019m sure that I\u2019ll not be lacking for long.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally? Both of them?\u201d Tom lifted his eyebrows at Poley. \u201cI had not heard that. I had just assumed that Lord Burghley would take over Sir Francis\u2019 duties as chief intelligencer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe way I figure it, Lord Essex saw how highly the Queen thought of Sir Francis and the services he provided her.\u201d Poley leaned in close to Tom. \u201cSo his Lordship is thinking that those services AND the best pair of legs in the kingdom will ensure that he\u2019s never far from her thoughts.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tom sniggered and dug Poley in the ribs. \u201cAnd not far from her bed, either!\u201d<\/p>\n

The two men chuckled ribaldly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s been good talking with you, Bob, but I now must be off. Good luck with your search for a new patron. But I\u2019ll wager that you\u2019ll have no problem finding one, since it seems that you\u2019ve not lost your touch for coming up with the tasty morsels of intelligence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley and Ralph made their way to the buildings pointed out by Tom. In his career as an intelligencer, Poley had been in and out of Westminster enough times to become familiar with its byways and people. He also fit in, looking like some clerk or minor lawyer.<\/p>\n

Poley, taking the lead, walked down a path between two walls and turned the corner. Before them was a lawn, coming on nicely green, and beyond it, a low, wide building running back into a warren of other buildings. \u201cHere \u2018tis. Used to be a stable, during the time of Her Majesty\u2019s father, then turned into a space for clerks and lawyers when the Chancery expanded. An odd bit of magic this, with the horses gone, the amount of shit has increased tenfold.\u201d He spotted two men coming out of the main door of the building and pointed them out to Ralph. \u201cThere, those two. A bit of luck might have just walked our way. Do you think that the fatter of the two is our man?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph came around the corner behind Poley and looked in the direction he was pointing. He dropped a heavy hand on Poley\u2019s shoulder and leaned in close. \u201cMayhap. But that cully next to him? In the black doublet? He\u2019s who that gran described, right down to the clothes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat say you?\u201d Poley looked close at the man indicated by Ralph. \u201cWhat? Him? He\u2019s just some Court fop, here to lord it over the clerks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ralph shrugged phlegmatically. \u201cMight be. Might not. She had a pretty keen eye on her, that gran, and a sharp mind. I had her describe other people on the street as we stood there, and she was a shrewd judge. And to have the clerk who\u2019s guilty of knowing more than he should in here in the company of him who also knows more than he should and is dangerous with it\u2026\u201d Ralph let his voice trail off meaningfully. \u201cBut let\u2019s first find out if the fat one is this Caxton we\u2019ve been seeking.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley nodded decisively. \u201cAye. Right enough.\u201d He pasted a pleasant inquiring expression on his face and strode forth, across the greensward, towards the two men. Inwardly, he was awash with elation and caution. Could it be this easy? To just stumble upon my quarry at the first attempt? Can\u2019t just take him here, if he is indeed the traitor that I\u2019m seeking, the one who betrayed my networks in Flanders.<\/i><\/p>\n

In mock relief, he grabbed Ralph\u2019s arm as he and Ralph approached the two of them. \u201cSee, I told you that this was Rafe Craxton! And you didn\u2019t believe me.\u201d He let go of Ralph\u2019s arm and turned to the fat man, all the while observing his companion sidelong. \u201cIt is Master Rafe Caxton, is it not? Why I have heard so much of you from such notables!\u201d<\/p>\n

The fat man blushed, burningly clear against his fair skin, the red extending up into his thinning blond hair. \u201cI, yes, well, yes, I am Rafe Caxton.\u201d He fumbled with the satchel of papers he held in his hands. \u201cNotables, you say? Speaking of me?\u201d His watery blue eyes blinked rapidly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes! And most complimentary as well, I must say. Your fine legal mind, your grasp of details, your memory were all topics of recent conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n

An uncertain smile began to creep across his face. \u201cWell, I don\u2019t like to brag, but, yes, I am the most gifted among those who work in the Chancery.\u201d<\/p>\n

Out of the corner of his eye, Poley saw a small smile briefly quirk the lips of Caxton\u2019s companion. \u201cWhich made it all the more surprising when I heard that it was you who was running off at the mouth, telling such lies as would get you called Tom O\u2019Bedlam!\u201d<\/p>\n

Caxton\u2019s mouth dropped open and he clutched his satchel to his chest to ward off Poley\u2019s vehemence. \u201cI have no idea\u2026 I have never\u2026 Who are you to \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley leaned in close and bared his teeth in something resembling a smile. \u201cOh, that\u2019s right. I haven\u2019t introduced myself. My name is\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRobert Poley.\u201d The man standing next to Caxton stepped forward. His voice was smooth and amused, redolent with position and wealth. \u201cI do have that right, do I not? Robert Poley, late of the service of Sir Francis Walsingham, pursuivant, intelligencer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley swung to face him, aware of Ralph standing at his shoulder. He drew himself up and moderated his tone, smoothed his face. \u201cI have had the honor of serving Her Majesty in the way that you describe but I\u2019m afraid that you have the advantage of me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man still had his smirk spread across his face. Poley mastered the urge to remove it with his fists. \u201cYes, I suppose I do. In so many ways, actually. But no matter. I am inclined to be sporting in this. My name is Adam Denby.\u201d His bow was a masterpiece of mockery.<\/p>\n

Poley\u2019s returned bow was perfunctory, almost insulting, mechanical, while his eyes catalogued Denby\u2019s clothes. \u201cDenby, Denby\u2026 No, I am afraid that I am unfamiliar with that name. Dorset, by your accent.\u201d And then Poley\u2019s eye lit on the badge securing Denby\u2019s half-cloak and he realized just how challenging this was going to be. \u201cBut you seem to have overcome your provincial upbringing. I see that you are in the service of the Cecils.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSuch powers of observation.\u201d Denby\u2019s mocking tone showed that he had recovered from the sting of being revealed as having come from Dorset. \u201cNo wonder the Moor set you on the weak and pathetic.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley essayed a thrust. \u201cI would not describe those who plotted to kill her most gracious Majesty to be weak and pathetic. Traitors, yes. Servants of the Bishop of Rome and his pernicious teachings, yes. But weak, no. I feel pride in my small service in bringing such vermin to justice.\u201d Poley judged himself to have scored a touch when he saw Denby\u2019s hands clutch into fists at his sides. To add salt to the wound, he turned from Denby, dismissing him and turned back to his confrontation with the fat man. \u201cMaster Caxton, you needs must understand something. England has enemies and I fight against them. \u00a0And, yes, sometimes I meet with setbacks in that fight. I make no apologies for that and merely strive to do better next time. But to have my failures made into common gossip only gives aid to the enemies of Her Majesty. And there is a very specific legal term to describe those who give aid to England\u2019s enemies. Perhaps your fine legal mind, so admired, can tell me what that term is? Hmmm?\u201d<\/p>\n

Caxton\u2019s throat moved convulsively and his eyes darted everywhere, seeking escape. \u201cTraitors.\u201d His voice was a hoarse whisper.<\/p>\n

Poley leaned his ear towards Caxton. \u201cI\u2019m afraid that I did not catch that, Master Caxton. What is the term used to describe someone who gives aid to England\u2019s enemies?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTraitors.\u201d His voice stronger, though not more above a whisper.<\/p>\n

\u201cAye. Traitors. And I hunt traitors. Please ask Master Denby here, where those I hunt, like Arthur Babington, end up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s enough, Poley. You\u2019ve made your point.\u201d Poley took some small pleasure in the thread of annoyance that wove through Denby\u2019s aristocratic tone. \u201cMaster Caxton is a friend of mine and I won\u2019t have him bullied by some gutter scraping. You might wish to be careful about who you accuse of being a traitor. I\u2019m certain that my patron, Lord Burghley, would not take kindly to such an act coming from a masterless man such as yourself.\u201d A raised eyebrow. \u201cYou are masterless, are you not, with the death of Walsingham? You\u2019re nothing but some yapping stray cur.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley opened his mouth to retort, but Denby stopped him with a languidly raised hand. \u201cOh, I suppose that I shall be generous and call you better than some cur. You are more like to a sheep dog, are you not? Running around, trying to keep your flock safe. Not doing such a good job of it lately, are you, though? Why, your flock of fine Flemish sheep has quite disappeared.\u201d Denby tutted in mock sympathy.<\/p>\n

Poley made sure that his tone matched Denby\u2019s mock disinterest. \u201cA comparison closer to the mark might be that of a shepherd. A shepherd who has, as you say, lost some of his flock to some beast, but now sets traps to catch the beast. That beast\u2019s days are numbered and the number is a very small one.\u201d He tilted his head in polite inquiry. \u201cBut I must ask, how is it that you are so familiar with the state of my Flemish flock?\u201d<\/p>\n

As he\u2019d hoped, Denby couldn\u2019t resist the opportunity to gloat. \u201cWhy, who does not know of your failures as a shepherd? Here in Westminster, here in London, even over the water in Flanders, all know of your ineptitude. And perhaps they are so familiar with your doings or lack thereof because I have been unable to keep such happy news to myself. Does that answer your question, you pestiferous cur?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOne thing to keep in mind, though, is that some dogs have got teeth.\u201d Ralph had had enough of this byplay and moved in close to Denby. His tone was light, which told Poley that he was on the verge of an explosion. \u201cTeeth and they don\u2019t let go \u2018til their prey is down and bleeding. You best take care that you don\u2019t get bit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, really!\u201d Denby\u2019 laughter was light and disbelieving. \u201cIt talks! Stands quite upright and talks! Tell me, does it know any other tricks besides insulting its betters? You might want to teach your pet manners, Poley, before someone does it for you.\u201d And his hand lightly dropped onto his sword hilt.<\/p>\n

And the moment hung on a knife\u2019s edge. Poley wasn\u2019t carrying a sword, just a few necessaries tucked away here and there. Ralph was similarly unarmed, not that it mattered, given the man\u2019s speed and fearlessness. They could do it, leave this bastard broken and bleeding on the grass. But to kill a gentleman here, in the heart of governmental power, and not just a gentleman but a client of the Cecils, the most powerful family in the kingdom, well, that would be rankest stupidity. Neither Poley nor Ralph would survive the investigation into Denby\u2019s death. The fact that he was a clear traitor would not matter a whit. All these considerations flashed through Poley\u2019s mind. And he opened his mouth to tell Ralph to back down as Denby smiled, all teeth and mad dog anticipation, and edged his sword out, an inch or two. That small precise sound sounded louder than it was in the tension and it cut through the quiet of the yard. Everyone froze and the moment teetered.<\/p>\n

At that precise moment the door behind Denby and Caxton flew open and a flood of black gowned clerks poured out of the building. They filled the air with talk and shouts; all of them eager for their lunches. The tension snapped.<\/p>\n

Poley turned to Ralph and pitched his voice low under the noise of the crowd. \u201cLet\u2019s be away. We have what we came for.\u201d<\/p>\n

The big man\u2019s shoulders relaxed and the air of imminent violence surrounding him blew away. \u201cAye. Right enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley saw Denby realize that the moment had passed. He reseated his sword and guided Caxton away. But not before he looked back over his shoulder and smiled at Poley.<\/p>\n

Smile now, you fucker. Enjoy it while you can. <\/i>His inner braggadocio didn\u2019t dispel what he knew in his bones. This would be some of the most difficult work that he\u2019d ever had to do. Not only was Denby rich and protected, but with Sir Francis dead, Poley was completely alone and armed with only the resources he could conjure on his own. He hid his disquiet in a joking aside to Ralph. \u201cBe sure to return to your gran with an extra reward. She has the finest eyes in England.\u201d<\/p>\n

The weak essay at humor failed and died against Ralph\u2019s scowling face. \u201cThat bastard as good as admitted he\u2019s the one who\u2019s working against you. Fucking Papist traitor! And you want to laugh?\u201d<\/p>\n

Up ahead, Poley could see Charing Cross, visible through the maze of buildings and pathways. Before he and Ralph emerged into the bustle and noise of that crossroads, he pulled Ralph aside into a doorway. \u201cDo I want to laugh?\u201d Poley kept his voice to a low enraged monotone. \u201cDo I look like I fucking want to laugh?\u201d He stared unflinching up at the taller man, directly into his eyes. \u201cThat fucking piece of shit is not only a traitor, he\u2019s mucking about on my patch. So I\u2019m going to do him up right good and proper. But it\u2019s going to take a nice bit of close work, Ralph, make no mistake.\u201d Poley relaxed and leaned back against the wall. \u201cAye, he\u2019s got money and position, which makes him a difficult target. But I\u2019ve a fair bit of cunning. This is my meat and drink. He\u2019s just a crazed amateur, thinking he\u2019s a hard man. Well, we\u2019ll show him hard, won\u2019t we, Ralph?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, right enough. Fucker\u2019s a dead man walking.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poley pushed himself off the wall, shook himself, reseated his hat, breathed deep. \u201cRight. I\u2019ve got some glimmering of idea of how to go about this, but I\u2019m going to need money.\u201d He moved off towards the street, Ralph at his side. \u201cA name occurs, that I might cozen some coin from. The Alewife Harvey. Remember her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye.\u201d Ralph\u2019s face was an expressionless slab.<\/p>\n

\u201cLast I heard, she was doing well. She\u2019s a place to start.\u201d Poley nodded decisively. \u201cAnd then there\u2019s that bastard Moody, chasing my last agent. I hope that he finds Nick still alive.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

…the very different approach of another privy councillor who sponsored a spy network, the still youthful earl of Essex. Quite simply, Essex was enthusiastic about the use and importance of spies, and spent heavily in allowing his close friends the Bacon brothers, in particular, to build up a network for him in the early fifteen-nineties. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[5],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=107"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":109,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/107\/revisions\/109"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=107"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=107"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.jasonbrezinski.com\/novels\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=107"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}