of some deeper cozenage that would put them all in his thrall.
Now some ignorant measles may discount the beggarly fraternity as a company of the maimed, the lame and the blind, fit only for loitering on church steps and conduit corners. Flaunty wasn’t near that stupid. At any rough estimate Old Bent Bart held the fealty of hundreds as well as his backing roisters and knifemen such as the formidable Kut Karl. The German was as savage and bloodthirsty a wretch as ever drew breath. He did in four men in one brawl, throats opened to the air in less time than it took to curse, or so it was said. So an alliance betwixt them made it clear to the other masters, Earless Nick in particular, who had a proper claim to the title, Upright Man of London.
Thus in his estimation the offer from the Beggar master to support Flaunty over Earless wasn’t one to baulk at. So within the hour he’d rallied his lads for the rendezvous at Newgate, wherein the newly forged alliance would deal with the Bedwell brat once and for all.
So as the grey towers of Newgate crested the skyline to the east, Phil smiled. He could almost taste that victory feast now. Between his lads and the best o’ the beggars, Bedwell and any that stood with him would fall like scythed grass. By St Anthony, today was a most excellent day and if his eyes played him aright, his allies were assembling at the top of the hill to cheer on his venture. By tonight Flaunty Phil would be the one to wear the silver crown of the Upright Man!
Chapter Twelve. Mischance on Snow Hill
At the first round of cheers Hugh tried to hide behind the cover of the barrel. A firm hand on his doublet collar dragged him upright then hugged him around the shoulder in a parody of comradeship. Damn but that hurt. “Now, now, my little rat we wants yr’ friends downhill to see y’ plain and clear.”
Hugh still tried to flinch away but Hawks’ strong arm had him locked in place. He shivered and whether in fright or chill it didn’t matter. Hugh fervently prayed to be well away from the feral grin of Hawks. He’d heard some strange stories about the Liberties knife man. Bloody handed deeds were to be had in a fair swag of them, though others hinted at Hawks’ involvement with Lollards, alchemists and dark necromancers over Southwark way. More tales talked of strange disappearances of young minchins and morts from the streets on nights of the dark of the moon. Gone and never seen again, not even floating in the Thames.
Now he couldn’t actually prove any connection, not at least one that’d stand up at the Court of the King’s Bench but the stories of Hawks’ recent activities coincided with the blackest of nights. Hugh most certainly didn’t want to suddenly vanish from his accustomed haunts, lost to all his friends and companions. Thus, as bidden he stood tall and waved and cheered like all the rest. Not even the hot breath of Kut Karl on his neck could’ve swayed Hugh from his present urgent task of keeping Hawks happy and appreciative of the service of this, his most reluctant recruit.
*
The vocal crowd must’ve been having a buoying effect on the party down the hill. Clearly pleased with their reception the company of the Wool’s Fleece headed by the gaudy, colourful figure of their master of rogues waved back at their cheering audience. Even from some thirty yards away Hugh could see the satisfied grin on the face of Flaunty Phil. It was almost like the celebration around the procession of the Misrule boy bishop. Behind them the windows were open and full of figures leaning over to catch a glimpse of the reason for the raucous cheering. More than a few joined in for no better reason than their neighbour was shouting as well. So by the time Flaunty Phil had travelled a dozen more paces up the hill over a hundred spectators had gathered in the spontaneous manner of London crowds. Usually these instant crowds were a boon for the begging fraternity since they provided a
Now some ignorant measles may discount the beggarly fraternity as a company of the maimed, the lame and the blind, fit only for loitering on church steps and conduit corners. Flaunty wasn’t near that stupid. At any rough estimate Old Bent Bart held the fealty of hundreds as well as his backing roisters and knifemen such as the formidable Kut Karl. The German was as savage and bloodthirsty a wretch as ever drew breath. He did in four men in one brawl, throats opened to the air in less time than it took to curse, or so it was said. So an alliance betwixt them made it clear to the other masters, Earless Nick in particular, who had a proper claim to the title, Upright Man of London.
Thus in his estimation the offer from the Beggar master to support Flaunty over Earless wasn’t one to baulk at. So within the hour he’d rallied his lads for the rendezvous at Newgate, wherein the newly forged alliance would deal with the Bedwell brat once and for all.
So as the grey towers of Newgate crested the skyline to the east, Phil smiled. He could almost taste that victory feast now. Between his lads and the best o’ the beggars, Bedwell and any that stood with him would fall like scythed grass. By St Anthony, today was a most excellent day and if his eyes played him aright, his allies were assembling at the top of the hill to cheer on his venture. By tonight Flaunty Phil would be the one to wear the silver crown of the Upright Man!
Chapter Twelve. Mischance on Snow Hill
At the first round of cheers Hugh tried to hide behind the cover of the barrel. A firm hand on his doublet collar dragged him upright then hugged him around the shoulder in a parody of comradeship. Damn but that hurt. “Now, now, my little rat we wants yr’ friends downhill to see y’ plain and clear.”
Hugh still tried to flinch away but Hawks’ strong arm had him locked in place. He shivered and whether in fright or chill it didn’t matter. Hugh fervently prayed to be well away from the feral grin of Hawks. He’d heard some strange stories about the Liberties knife man. Bloody handed deeds were to be had in a fair swag of them, though others hinted at Hawks’ involvement with Lollards, alchemists and dark necromancers over Southwark way. More tales talked of strange disappearances of young minchins and morts from the streets on nights of the dark of the moon. Gone and never seen again, not even floating in the Thames.
Now he couldn’t actually prove any connection, not at least one that’d stand up at the Court of the King’s Bench but the stories of Hawks’ recent activities coincided with the blackest of nights. Hugh most certainly didn’t want to suddenly vanish from his accustomed haunts, lost to all his friends and companions. Thus, as bidden he stood tall and waved and cheered like all the rest. Not even the hot breath of Kut Karl on his neck could’ve swayed Hugh from his present urgent task of keeping Hawks happy and appreciative of the service of this, his most reluctant recruit.
*
The vocal crowd must’ve been having a buoying effect on the party down the hill. Clearly pleased with their reception the company of the Wool’s Fleece headed by the gaudy, colourful figure of their master of rogues waved back at their cheering audience. Even from some thirty yards away Hugh could see the satisfied grin on the face of Flaunty Phil. It was almost like the celebration around the procession of the Misrule boy bishop. Behind them the windows were open and full of figures leaning over to catch a glimpse of the reason for the raucous cheering. More than a few joined in for no better reason than their neighbour was shouting as well. So by the time Flaunty Phil had travelled a dozen more paces up the hill over a hundred spectators had gathered in the spontaneous manner of London crowds. Usually these instant crowds were a boon for the begging fraternity since they provided a
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