The Deptford Histories Read online

  Will drank all this in with wide and ogling eyes. Since he and the miller had passed through the old, high walls of the medieval city he had encountered a thousand new things. One of the most ghastly was to be found upon the walls themselves; upon those lofty ramparts there were the limbs of villains and traitors. Heads, legs and arms had been stuck on great spikes for all the populace to see and Will could not stop himself from staring at these grisly totems. A tingling thrill was coursing through his veins; seizing him like a fever it took absolute control. He was besotted with it all—fascinated beyond measure by this wealth of experience unfolding before him.

  They came to a butcher’s shop and he coughed into the handkerchief which he held to his nose—the miller had been right about one thing, London stank! But it wasn’t just the stench of the dubious meat which hung from the huge hooks outside the butcher’s shop, everything smelled atrociously. The fish market filled the air with a reek that had to be experienced to be believed, and to make matters worse, if such a thing was possible, an open sewer ran down each and every street. Yet even this could not bring the boy to his senses.

  Mr Balker shifted in his seat and called, “What think you of London now, Will lad? Is she as dainty a lady as you once thought?”

  He only laughed in reply then asked, “How much further is this tavern?”

  “The Sickle Moon? Oh, “tain’t too far,” the miller told him. “To tell you the truth, I’ll be glad of a tankard this night. The road’s been a dusty one this day.”

  Through the overshadowed lanes they rode and the sun sank low behind the tiled rooftops, its pale red fire dancing in the countless diamond panes of the leaded windows all around. To Will they were like jewels and whilst they dazzled him he failed to see that the glass in which the light burned was smothered in dirt. London had cast her spell with great success, never was there a more willing victim to her charms. Yet the magic never lasted for long; she would tantalise and tease, then just as you were enslaved you were cruelly abandoned and she sought for other insects to entice into her web.

  The Sickle Moon tavern was situated on the corner of Bow Lane and Cheapside. From all outward appearances it seemed to be a cheerless, almost forbidding place. It was the only building on the street which was untouched by the soft rays of the failing sun. No smoke issued from its crooked chimneys and weeds cascaded from the eaves. As soon as Will saw it he shuddered, taking an instant dislike to the shabby establishment.

  “Be dark soon,” observed Mr Balker as he dismounted from the cart. “Best get indoors. Looks like the stables are through that archway. Come on, lad.”

  But Will hung back reluctantly. “I don’t like this place, John,” he said. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”

  “Not if you want to meet yer uncle,” the miller answered flatly before leading his horse away. He didn’t care what the tavern looked like—if the ale was good then that was enough for him.

  In one of the second-floor rooms a lamp was lit and Will glanced nervously at the ruddy glow which glinted from the narrow window. An unreasoning fear stole over him. It was as if the building had awoken. “It knows I’m here,” he whispered to himself. “It’s watching me.” The voice of Mr Balker called to him from the stable yard and the boy gave a sigh of resignation. For the first time since his arrival Will wished he had not come.

  Even when the horses had been stabled Will was far from happy; the straw there was filthy and the stable-lad a foul-mouthed youth who glanced covetously at Mace and ran his fingers through her mane with a wide, sneering grin on his face.

  Will felt as though he were coming out of a fair dream, the enchantment which had possessed him and burned so fiercely in his blood disappeared and the scales of glamour fell from his eyes. Everything now seemed unfriendly and as the shadows lengthened in the stable yard they seemed to reach inside and a chill touched his heart. He dragged his heels behind the miller with an uncomfortable sense of dread and apprehension mounting in him.

  Mr Balker pushed open the heavy, studded door and stepped inside the tavern.

  The interior of the Sickle Moon was poky and small. Oak beams supported the bulging ceiling which had been blackened by the flames of a thousand candles. On one side there was a large fireplace where some logs were now burning. But the wood was wet and the flames spluttered, filling the room with smoke and the smell of damp. Sawdust was strewn on the floor and seated upon the plain benches and low stools was a collection of villainous-looking men. The dregs of London must have been there that night.

  Around one of the tables sat three old soldiers fallen on hard times. Once they had served under Cromwell in the New Model Army. At Naseby one of them had lost an arm but by the end of the war all three had lost their livings. Begging and thievery was their calling now and they pursued it as vigorously as their previous careers. A gang of drunken street traders huddled together by the fire and told each other evil and bawdy stories which were interspersed from time to time by horrible guffaws. A strange-looking man with bulging eyes, tufts of red hair and a wide, slobbering mouth dribbled into his drink by the door and picked distractedly at the frayed rips in his shirt, whilst in the furthest corner two cloaked and stony-faced men stared before them not saying a word to each other—as though waiting for something to happen.

  As soon as Will and the miller entered, nineteen pairs of squinting, suspicious eyes swivelled round in their direction. The buzz of talk stopped at once. Curious and aggressive faces scrutinised the strangers with undisguised interest. Will felt very uncomfortable. It was obviously a very dangerous place. Surely they had come to the wrong tavern; there must be two Sickle Moons hereabouts. He edged closer to Mr Balker to voice this opinion, but the miller hissed him into silence then clapped his hands together and waved a greeting to them all.

  “Pray don’t let us stop your tippling, gentlemen,” he told them merrily. “We are but travellers who want nothing more than a bite to eat and to sample the London ale.” Gradually the crowd returned their attentions to the mugs in their hands and, little by little, the conversations began again.

  “Have a care,” the miller said to Will through a fixed smile. “Don’t look so jumpy. Won’t do no good to let these folk see ye’re nervous. There’s a seat by the window over there, let’s make ourselves comfortable—that cart has shook my bones all day.”

  Mr Balker sprawled on the bench and drew up a stool to rest his feet on. Will sat opposite and began gazing around him.

  “Keep yer eyeballs looking this way, lad,” the miller whispered anxiously, “or you might just lose them! This is no place for the curious.” He scratched his chin and muttered under his breath, “This is plain madness, what’s yer uncle thinkin’ of invitin’ you here? He’d best come soon, that’s all I can say.”

  “You don’t think he’s already here?”

  “No, unless it’s that carrot-topped fellow with the face of a frog over there. He seems to be the only one of any note—oh I know he’s nothing now but them rags on his back were fine once and his lily white hands ain’t never seen hard work. Mebbe yer uncle’s down on his luck.”

  Will sneaked a glance at the pop-eyed man and grimaced. “I hope it isn’t him,” he whispered, “he isn’t at all what I was expecting.”

  “You never know, there are many strange paths a man might take in his life—who’s to tell what Samuel Godwin has been up to these last thirty years. I don’t think your father even knew... hush now.”

  “Evenin’ sirs,” cried a strange, thin voice at Will’s shoulder. “What’s yer pleasure?”

  The boy shifted on the stool to see who had spoken.

  A vulgar woman of middle age was standing behind him. Once upon a time she may have been handsome but the years and the rigours of life had robbed her. Peggy Blister had lost her looks but she spent many hours in front of the glass trying to reclaim them. Sadly, the more years that passed the longer this process took. Will was so startled by her appearance that he nearly fell to the floor. She looked l
ike a hideously painted doll and so thickly were the pastes and rouges applied that she was forced to keep her face very still in case the garish mask cracked and flaked away. Consequently she spoke very strangely as she had to keep her teeth clenched together.

  The miller pretended not to notice and kicked Will under the table to mind his manners.

  “A jug of your finest ale, mistress, if it pleases you,” he asked politely.

  “Oooh hark at him,” came the tight lipped response. “Peg ain’t had no fancy talk like that in a month o’ Sundays. You can come ’ere again, sweetheart.” And she swaggered off to fetch the drinks, avoiding the table where the red-haired man was sitting.

  Will giggled. “She looks like Mr Swales the blacksmith,” he said unkindly. “Remember when he did that mummers’ play and had to get dressed up in ribbons and his wife’s clothes?”

  But the miller did not share his mirth. “Hold yer tongue Will,” he said. “She’m can’t help it.”

  The boy opened his mouth to argue but before he could say anything Peg had returned.

  “Here we are, my gallants,” she murmured. “I done brought you the Humming Ale, that’ll slake yer thirst and more besides—Dragon’s Milk my reg’lars call it.”

  “Bless you,” nodded the miller, “this looks to be a fine brew—and so prettily presented.”

  Peg shrieked with delight then leaned over and tickled the miller’s whiskered jowls. “My but yer a proper charmer, a girl has to be on her guard round you.”

  Will was astonished, he had never seen this side of Mr Balker before. He knew that his weakness was the ale jug but never dreamt that he dallied with serving wenches. The boy wondered what the miller’s pious sister would say if she were here. The ridiculous-looking pair continued to laugh and joke with one another before Peg went to fetch something for them to eat.

  “What are you doing?” Will asked when she was out of earshot.

  The miller raised his tankard before answering. “Ah,” he breathed smacking his lips,” ’tain’t a bad little brew after all.” He studied the boy’s face and leaned across the table. “Listen to me, young master,” he said. “I know what I’m about, so just you stay quiet.” The portly man took another drink then raised his head to catch a further glimpse of Peg. Strangely enough it wasn’t desire that Will saw in his eyes but an expression of overwhelming sorrow and compassion.

  A sudden commotion broke out behind him. Peg was on the way back but had passed too near to the frog-like man, who, with a delirious shout of joy, made a grab for her. “EEE!” she squealed, “Get away you ’orrid little demon!” There followed a loud ’CRACK’ as she struck his head with one of the wooden dishes she was carrying. Food flew everywhere and the man let go of her to nurse his bleeding nose. The rest of the customers laughed and she sauntered over to the miller and Will as though nothing had happened.

  “Sorry luvs,” she told them.” ’Fraid half yer supper’s on the floor.”

  “Dear lady, you are unharmed I hope?” Mr Balker inquired.

  “Oooh listen to ’im,” cooed Peg, gripping his podgy cheeks and wobbling them between her fingers. “What a dove you are. But don’t you worry none. I’ve nought to fear from the likes o’ that over there. He’s just a barmy old loon—Verney the Adamite he is, harmless but he do tend to tear yer clothes given half the chance. Now you sink yer teeth into this my darlin’ an I’ll fetch some more.”

  When she had gone Mr Balker raised his eyebrows. “So he’s not yer uncle then,” he murmured. “I wonder where Samuel Godwin can be?”

  “Do you mean that you were playing up to her just to find out who that man was?” asked Will impressed by the miller’s cunning. “And I thought you were...”

  “I know what you were thinkin’,” the man scowled, “an’ p’raps it weren’t all play actin’. I feel sorry for the Pegs o’ this world—’tain’t easy bein’ a single girl in London.”

  Will said nothing—he thought that it was a long time since Peg had been a girl. Instead he tucked into the bread and cheese.

  For two hours they sat there, waiting for Samuel Godwin to arrive, but the only newcomer was an old beggar woman who pestered the customers for money until Peg harshly threw her outside. Mr Balker drank more of the Humming Ale. He finished off the jug and called for another. Gradually a silly smile began to spread over his face and Will realised that the brew was so named because of the effect it had on your head. This tuppenny beer was far stronger than anything he was used to and after the first tankard he drank no more. Another hour dragged by with no sign of his uncle and Mr Balker’s eyes glazed over beneath their drooping lids. Will began to get very worried indeed.

  “Hah ha!” tittered the miller, tipping the jug and finding it empty. “More ale,” he shouted across to Peg. “Go milk that dragon of yours.”

  “Please don’t have any more,” the boy implored. “That’s two flagons you’ve had already, John.”

  Mr Balker drew himself up in his seat and tried to appear dignified. “What fer you deny... denyin’ me my beer lad?” he slurred. “Ain’t a man got the right to partake of a liddle beer when the fanshy takesh ’im?”

  “Of course he has but I think you’ve had enough.”

  “Enough!” scoffed the miller loudly. “If’n I’d had enough I wouldn’t be wantin’ more now would I, Master Clever Britches?” and he slapped the table moodily. “Folk’ll think I ain’t got no coin the way yer carryin’ on. Well I has see. I got me a purse stuffed wi’ dinky chinky money.” To Will’s horror he stood up, swaying from side to side, and fished a leather bag from beneath his riding cloak. “Don’t you worry, Peg!” he cried over the heads of the other drinkers. “I got me plenty in ’ere to pay my way,” and he shook the purse until the coins jingled inside it.

  Will dragged him back to his seat, “Are you mad?” he hissed. “What do you think you’re doing? This place is full of cut-purses and cut-throats. They’d kill for far less than what you’ve got there.” Mr Balker sulkily put his money away and Will glanced round to see if anyone was staring. Everything seemed normal, perhaps nobody had been taking any notice. No—there in the furthest corner, those two men who had not uttered a single word all evening were looking straight at him. Quickly the boy turned away, they were a fearful pair; one had a great scar down his cheek and the other was blind in one eye. Wildly Will wondered what he should do. If only the miller had not got himself drunk, as if things weren’t bad enough—this was becoming a nightmare.

  “’Ere’s another jug, my duck,” said Peg. “I see it’s put a fine shine on that nose of yours.”

  “Oh there’sh a luvverly lady for yer,” beamed Mr Balker. “Such a pretty, kind creature—oh Margaret won’t you come back wi’ me?”

  “Margaret?” she frowned putting her hands on her hips. “I ain’t your Margaret!” Peg slapped Will on the shoulder. “What’s he rattlin’ on about?” she asked.

  But the boy had absolutely no idea. “I don’t know,” he told her. “I’ve never heard him mention a Margaret before.”

  A large tear rolled down the miller’s purple nose and dripped into his ale. “Oh she won’t never come back to me now,” he blubbed. “My darling Margaret—can you ever forgive me? What’sh my poor liddle baby doin’ thish night?”

  Peg sniffed haughtily and the heavy black lines of her eyebrows arched with indignation. “Got another doxy has he?” she said coldly.

  Will shook his head. “I... I don’t think so,” he stammered, “but perhaps he’s had too much of your Dragon’s Milk.”

  Peg snapped her fingers at him and the humour died on her scarlet lips. “Oh you reckon do you, my little man?” she sneered unpleasantly. “He’ll have had too much when his money’s run out. So long as he can pay I’ll pour it down his oafish throat.” Then she tossed back her hair and walked huffily away.

  Will knew that it was time for them to leave. It didn’t look as though Samuel Godwin was going to show up at all. He pulled the tankard from Mr Balker’s
hands to grab his attention. “John,” he began, “do you know where my uncle’s lodgings are?” Slowly the man nodded. “Good, then we shall have to go there—we should have made for them straight away instead of stopping here.” He pushed the beer to the far end of the table and said with more confidence than he actually felt, “I do not like the way he has used us this night and I will tell him so.”

  With difficulty he managed to hoist the large man from the bench. The miller threw an arm about the boy’s neck and in a slow drawl blubbered, “You’m a good lad, Will. Yer father taught you right, that he did. A good man Daniel was to his family—if only I had been so kind to mine.”

  Will took no notice as he was too busy trying to get him to walk to the door. Twice they stumbled into tables and sent stools rolling across the sawdust. One of the old soldiers glared at them threateningly. “Douse him in the horse trough!” he spat at Will.

  “Come on John,” pleaded the boy, “we must get out, the night air will do you good.”

  “I knew a lass from Gloucestershire!” piped up the miller bursting into song.

  “Not far now John, that’s right—one foot after another.”

  “’Ere!” squawked Peg just as they reached the heavy oak door. “Where you two wretches off to? You ain’t paid!” The garish woman strode purposefully towards them brandishing a heavy stick in her hands.

  Frantically Will rummaged through his pockets to find his money and as he did so Mr Balker slid down and sprawled on the floor. “What’s the reckoning?” the boy asked in a panic.

  Peg pursed her painted lips, her face cracking a little. “That’ll be five shillings,” she demanded.

  “Five shillings!” exclaimed Will. “We don’t owe you that much!”