Ok, after a request from my previous thread I have decided to post up Chapter One of "Sanctuary", a murder mystery in 15th century England in the time of Richard of York's Protectorship and is the first of a planned series set in the Wars of the Roses, chartering the life of Arthur Turnbull.

A few points, there are parts which probably aren't appropriate for those who dislike bad langauge and some which may offend younger people, so please read at your discretion. Another, smaller point, is that it isn't the finaly version, so yes there may be typos or errors which I will ammend at a later date, so hopefully they don't bother anyone too much.

Anyways, without anymore waffling, here is Chapter One of Sanctuary, your opinions are most welcome, infact feedback is what I am seeking, be honest, I will not be offended.

Chapter One

The fog had grown thick, twisting and turning as it swallowed up what was left of the street as the moonlight illuminated the grey vale that had descended upon London. As I checked for passersby, safe in the black cloak the alley provided, I begun to reminisce on the first assignment I had received upon my arrival in the capital 4 years ago. His name was Abbot Bartholomew Wesham, a local clergyman at St Andrew’s on Holborn Hill and he had upset the wrong people with his outspoken views on the sins of man which was directed towards my master in a rather scandalous fashion. I had never killed a man and I would be a liar if I said I had no reservations, after all killing a prominent member of the local clergy could hardly aid my eternal soul and would certainly find my neck in a noose should I fail to succeed, but I had to do it. My fears were soon put to rest when I begun to dig up dirt on Wesham who, it transpired, was a terrible womaniser and frequented many brothels across London, paying handsomely for the privilege and their discretion. Brothels, however, are hardly a place that would refuse a higher bid from another party, and as such I was easily able to extract the information about the Abbot I wanted and with that, his fate was sealed.

I remember the night very well, Wesham had just finished a sermon on the evils of adultery which was particularly amusing to me knowing the pompous pyre of piety was planning to head back to his quarters for a nocturnal rendezvous with a women under my pay, the key to my whole mission’s success. I would like to say that slitting the Abbot’s throat was the most distressing part of the whole affair, but it was the wait before the deed was to be done that was agonising, the terrible anxiety gripping my bravado as I hid from view watching for the signal. It proved to be folly, for the task went off without a hitch, the Abbot was dead, the girl was left to proclaim a jealous client had barged in on them and I was free to sink into the night as if I had never existed and that was how I preferred my life, but it is a rarity that one can truly get what they want.

‘Arthur.’ whispered a voice, piercing through the silence in which I had begun to be enveloped causing me to turn around, finding my colleague Adam Fletcher advancing towards me, a bloody knife in his right hand which shimmered morbidly in the moonlight. ‘It’s done, is it clear?’

‘Aye, not a soul is abroad at this hour.’ I replied, snapping out of my memories of days gone by.

‘That was far easier than I expected, I guess alcohol had a bad effect on him’ he said, cleaning the blade on his sleeve before placing it beneath the long brown jacket he was wearing, the hood hiding most of his face from view, though I could see a grin creeping across his lips.

‘Did you take his purse?’ I enquired, keen to leave the area as quickly as possible before somebody did stir.

‘You’re all business tonight hey Arthur?’ he said, shaking a small leather pouch towards me which clinked with the sound of gold coins clattering against one another. ‘Don’t worry, nobody heard us.’

I turned away from him, looking out into Lombard Street where many of the Italian merchants housed their businesses and wondered how the events of tonight would affect everyone here, for not only would they find a body on their doorsteps, but they would discover it was one of their own. I guessed that some would probably celebrate the man’s death, for merchants are never slow to pounce upon an opportunity to fill their pockets and his passing would certainly open up opportunities for many of the men who slept, unaware of the possible advancement of their own situations.

‘I am ready when you are’ said Adam, placing a hand on my shoulder before moving past me and out into Lombard Street. I turned behind us and could make out a faint outline of a man, slumped against several barrels but little else. I followed Adam slowly down towards Walbrook, being careful not to rouse anyone’s attention as we made our way cautiously away from the crime we had committed for we knew it was vital to be nowhere in the vicinity when the victim was discovered, lest blame be placed upon us for being unknowns to the locals. As we arrived on Dowgate our pace slowed as we grew confident we were safely out of danger and I caught up to Adam as he dropped the leather hood down to his shoulders.

Adam was a young man, even younger than I at eighteen but he had seen and done many things which men twice his age had never had to suffer, for our duty was not one which provided enjoyment. His long blonde hair flowed down over his shoulders and framed his handsome face which peered back through light blue eyes which never failed to have a hint of mischief, even in the most grim of situations and there were many times we found ourselves in such predicaments over the years we had known each other. He had joined the service of my master two years ago after I found him left for dead in the street, mugged to within an inch of his life with little to no wealth to speak of having been a drifter since his parents died when he was a child. I had offered him a job running errands for me, speaking with my contacts and relaying information though he proved himself to be far more useful than a mere dogsbody and my master hired him to aid me in my own work and we had been together ever since.

‘Are you lost in your own head again Arthur? You know you’ll never get out if you don’t stop daydreaming’ he laughed, smiling happily at me as I drew up alongside him.

‘Sorry Adam, you know me, I can’t help myself.’

‘You think too much, I often wonder what is going on up there’ he joked, patting my head playfully.

‘Never you mind’ I laughed, watching my step as the fog restricted my view of the way ahead, though I could hear the sound of running water and guessed that we were nearing the Thames where our boat was moored. We normally travelled around London on horseback, but when performing our assignments it was best to remain on foot, men on horses tended to attract unwanted attention. London was not the best of places to be on a night, muggings and random acts of violence were commonplace and it was only the incredibly stupid or the incredibly brave who ventured out at night alone, in truth I couldn’t say which one I was.

‘It is eerie isn’t it? This fog I mean’ declared Adam, crossing his arms as he shivered in the cool breeze which brought with it distinctive scent of the Thames, the filth which floated within it tainting the purity of the water itself. ‘No wonder everyone has stayed in bed tonight.’

‘I must admit, I have found myself double checking tonight, I could’ve sworn blind that I saw somebody following us on Walbrook.’

‘Aye, it has played tricks on me all night. I will be glad to get back, well away from it.’

‘Me too. We need all our senses about us, but this bloody stuff just seems to dampen them all, it’s bad enough that its night-time without all this stuff getting in the way.’

‘We got out okay though, let’s just hope that this stuff clears up for the next few nights. After all, I wouldn’t want you getting scared.’ Adam jested, eliciting a humoured scowl across my face.

‘It’ll take a bit more than a bit of fog and creepy noises to scare me, Adam.’ I replied, wrapping my coat around me. ‘After wandering these streets for so long, I don’t think much scares me anymore.’ I added as we approached the end of Dowgate and the banks of the Thames itself.

The river looked peaceful as the moon shimmered on the surface, empty of boats and ferries which littered it throughout the day brining new fabrics, wines and other delicacies from foreign shores which stretched from as near as Flanders to as far as Constantinople and beyond to the lands of the heathens. London’s merchant class had grown incredibly wealthy and held great sway within the city itself and the Thames had become the very lifeblood of the booming industry, bringing with it a great influx of outsiders from the Lowlands, the Baltic and Italy. In fact, it was one of this breed which had brought me and Adam to Lombard Street tonight in the first place, an area which had been named after settlers from the cities in Lombardy.

His name was Lorenzo di Michele and he was a prominent trader in the merchant circles, a rather flamboyant and outgoing man whose vanity was seemingly endless. He would often throw large parties for him and his Italian brethren who lived beside him and was famed for the great feasts he put on for them all as much as he was for his ruthless, but effective, business acumen. It was undeniable, Lorenzo was a clever man and was good at what he did, even if he was a slimy individual, but he had finally taken on more than he could handle. Some months ago he had loaned a substantial sum of money from one of my master’s friends in the city, one Bernard Harvey, with a view of getting involved in the wine market but the loss of Bordeaux to the French had hit him hard and he had failed to pay up. Despite numerous threats, Lorenzo had flouted the suggestion that he was in any danger should he fail to pay up, his arrogance had finally crossed the line and myself and Adam were order to dispose of him to allow Harvey to collect his debts in the form of Lorenzo’s supplies and customers. Harvey had his own men but it was deemed a job for more skilled hands and Adam and I found ourselves elected to remove the troublesome Venetian before the matter went any further and Harvey’s less delicate henchmen started something which could only escalate.

We had spent the past few days following Lorenzo has he went about his business, waiting to spot an opportunity to strike at him but he was proving a tougher challenge than we had both thought. Tonight, however, Lorenzo decided to go off on one of his drinking sessions alone, determined to display his incredible wealth to the poorer members of his neighbourhood, a terribly cruel act of self indulgence which he was apparently known to enjoy a few times a month. This bit of knowledge was just what we needed, for we knew it was perfectly conceivable for Lorenzo to have made many enemies on his arrogant outings amongst the destitute and his death would certainly be linked to them. We followed Lorenzo to a pub called the Horseshoe, a small little alehouse which had clearly begun to fall into disrepair, the roof displaying a variety of holes whilst the windows had fared little better. As Lorenzo drank himself into a stupor myself and Adam watched patiently in a corner out of sight, being careful not to draw any attention to ourselves for it was important that people forgot our faces. We watched as he insulted the poorly dressed customers and flirted shamelessly with the barmaids who rejected his advancements, only to be declared as whores as he shook his purse insultingly in their direction. I must admit that I found it difficult not to intervene but I had been in this game for too long to lose my cool now and I bided my time as he continued to infuriate everyone in his vicinity.

Eventually, we left our table and exited the pub so as to remain unsuspicious, suffering a torrent of abuse ourselves from the mouthy Italian who couldn’t help but remark on our muddy boots, a sly grin across his face. He was a short and poorly built man with a long, thin face and a pointy nose, his dark hair trimmed neatly and his jaw and cheeks neatly shaved, he certainly gave of an air of elegance but was far from intimidating. As we waited across the street in the dark we observed the door, waiting for our victim to leave from his night of vain pleasure and before long we got our wish. We heard a loud bang as the door flew open, a tall burly man grabbing Lorenzo by the scruff of his neck emerged before throwing him into the street. As the man turned to re-enter he was treated to a torrent of abuse from the disgusted Italian, who was enraged at what he describe as the audacious fouling of his fine garments which had found themselves bathing in the mud, though it had little effect on the man who had clearly had enough of the abuse everyone had spent the night receiving. Picking himself up, Lorenzo begun to stagger drunkenly along Fenchurch Street and back towards Lombard Street where his fine home was situated, though he wasn’t ever going to make it back to his lodgings alive. We pursued him slowly, taking care to remain out of sight before he made a journey into an alleyway not metres from his doorstep, clearly too drunk to notice and we took the opportunity to follow him as he emptied his bladder. The rest, as they say, is history.

‘Did he say anything to you?’ I asked Adam as we made our way down some steps towards a little boat which was moored at a small wharf a few metres away from London Bridge, which stood out clearly in the night’s sky even as the fog wrapped itself around the houses which littered its entire length.

‘Who? Lorenzo?’ he replied a little puzzled at my rather abrupt question

‘Aye. He doesn’t seem the type of man to go out quietly, it’d certainly be a change of character in the face of adversity.’

‘I think he was shocked that I had the audacity to have even approached him. To say he often went out alone in such finery he wasn’t very street smart, he just told me to watch where I was pissing!’ laughed Adam.

‘I take it he didn’t put up much of a struggle, I certainly didn’t hear much.’

‘No, but then how hard is it to overpower a drunk man? Alcohol may make a man rowdier, but it certainly doesn’t make him stronger. Why do you ask? You normally don’t want to know the details.’

‘I was just curious.’ I replied, though he was right, I preferred to stay ignorant to how he dispatched our targets. ‘I am just surprised he was stupid enough to go out alone, though I guess he thought he was untouchable after all.’

‘Nobody is untouchable Arthur, not for the right price’

‘You’re right, but let’s forget about that now, I don’t know about you but I can’t wait to get back, it is freezing out here next to the river.’

Adam nodded in agreement as we stepped down onto the rickety little wharf where a small wooden boat was moored, bobbing gently in the water, it was our ride back to Westminster which is where we had called home for many months now. We slowly lowered ourselves into the boat before Adam begun to unravel the rope which had held it in place, pushing the wharf forcefully with his foot which sent us slowly out into the Thames. As Adam picked up the oars to help move us on our way I lit a torch, the only bit of light in the great dark expanse which was the river at night, empty of any traffic but ourselves, though it was better to be safe than sorry. I looked around, scanning the London skyline and the grey coat that had wrapped around it and could make out little, though the Tower was lit ominously just beyond London Bridge and I found myself wondering what poor souls had found themselves in that dreadful place alongside my masters great enemy, the Duke of Somerset. It was truly indicative of how quickly power could shift, for it was not long ago that I dwelled in a ram shackled old house in Cheapside and he strutted around Westminster like an arrogant peacock whilst he now resided in the Tower and I mingled with London’s finest, at day at least.

‘I suppose we’ll be getting new orders tomorrow now we’re done with di Michele’ grunted Adam as he struggled to keep the boat steady, rowing powerfully against the river which bobbed us up and down sternly.

‘I imagine so, there is always somebody who has made too much of a nuisance of themselves. Though, that being so, I wouldn’t complain if we weren’t needed for a while.’

‘I don’t think I could sit around doing nothing, I’d go mad!’

‘Oh come now Adam, it would give you valuable time to chase the young ladies of the court, I know you have your admirers at Westminster.’ I teased, for Adam was a popular young man along the women and his charm seemed to ensnare many of them.

‘When you put it like that, I hope they don’t have anything for us. I’d much rather spend time in an alley with them than a pissed up foreigner.’ He laughed, grinning mischievously as he no doubt recounted the conquests he had already made.

As we discussed the latest girl to have caught his eye, though they changed more frequently than the sun rises, I saw Westminster emerge from the mist and with it the stairs which led from the river to the palace itself. It was an impressive building, truly fit for all the matters of state which were wrangled over within its walls and I always seemed to feel a sense of amazement that I had found myself dwelling within it. Finally we could see some form of life as guards walked carefully along their routes, being careful to check their surroundings thoroughly before moving on to their next checkpoint and I could sense a slight feeling of unease lift from mine and Adam’s shoulders, for the emptiness of London’s inner sanctum had clearly disturbed us a little, though neither of us would admit it. We slowly bobbed towards the stone wharf which led to another flight of steps, although naturally they were in much better condition than the one we had begun our journey from and along it several move boats were moored, ranging in size although most were similar to our own. As we approached a guard approached us, catching the rope we threw towards him as he began to tie us firmly to the wharf itself.

‘Good morning lads’ smiled the man, who I recognised as James Proudlock, a guard who we would regularly meet on our way to and from London. He placed his halberd against a wall and extended a hand to me, pulling me firmly from the boat and onto the stone wharf before extending the same courtesy to Adam.

‘How goes it James, I trust all is well ?’

‘Aye, the lads are a bit jumpy with all this mist, daft buggers.’

‘They should try walking back through Dowgate. That’d scare the shit right out of them.’ Laughed Adam as he secured the boat firmly to the wharf before lifting the torch from my seat and passing it to me, James wincing a little in the light as he readjusted. He was an old man, his face wrinkled and worn, who had been a guard at Westminster for nearly forty years but was a wise and gentle soul. I remember when I first met him, it was a harsh winter a year or so ago and despite there being a terrible snow storm he waited patiently at the gate for me, a torch in one hand to help guide me back and since then we had met each other on most nights, his warm smile greeting me whenever I returned from London to finally slip off to my slumber.

‘Did you lads have fun?’ James asked, blissfully unaware of the true nature of our nocturnal outings, as we headed up the steps and away from the river.

‘Just a quiet drink James, although I wish we’d just kept to our quarters all things considered.’

‘How come? A bit of fog never stopped you lads before.’

‘Let’s just say the talent on show was less than desirable tonight James old lad’ said Adam, patting him on the back before backing off playfully when he noticed the scowl on James’ face, for he hated having his age teased.

‘You’re a cocky little sod Adam, it is a good job that Arthur doesn’t let you mingle with the nobility, they don’t take kindly to lowly upstarts.’

‘Tell me about it.’ I replied before Adam dug himself into a deeper hole. ‘He isn’t the only one they look down their noses at, I know what they say about me when they aren’t kissing my arse. Having the gift of a silver tongue seems to be a pre-requisite for having noble blood these days.’

‘I stay out of their way.’ Said James, shaking his head. ‘The further you are away from that vipers nest the better I say Arthur, I don’t envy you lad.’

‘It is my duty James, to entertain the very embodiments of vanity and deceit. Besides, they know they can’t touch me.’

‘Aye, nobody dares say a word about you when you’re in earshot, brave men indeed.’ Grinned Adam. As we neared the end of a short gravel path we arrived at a gatehouse, where two guards stood besides the main entrance to Westminster from the Thames. They were huddled around a small fire which crackled comfortingly in the breeze that still whipped up from the river, their halberds resting against the wall. Whilst we approached one man caught a glimpse of us and he jumped from his huddled position in a scramble to grab his weapon, punching the other in the arm to grab his attention. Both looked at each other nervously as James started to stride towards him with the vigour of a man half his age, a fire in his eyes.

‘What are you two doing!?’ he bellowed, causing the men to start slightly in shock. ‘Why aren’t you paying more attention?’

‘I....I....I’m sorry sir.’ Stuttered one nervously, composing himself as best he could.

‘Don’t you know who this is?’ James said, thrusting a finger in my direction, his voice demanding respect.

‘No sir, forgive me but I don’t recognise his face.’

‘That, boy, is Sir Arthur Turnbull. What kind of impression do you think you are giving a knight of the realm by slacking around at the very gates of Westminster?’

‘I am sorry sir, we were just so cold and we had seen nobody for ours.’

‘Silence!’ interrupted James, his face turning red. ‘You do not drop your guard until you crawl into bed, do you understand? I don’t care if your feet go numb and your balls drop off, you do not stand around unprepared. Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Now get back to your posts and do not let me catch you pissing about again. I’ll be back later to check up on you.’ As soon as James had finished speaking the two men marched quickly back to their places at either side of the gate, you could sense their embarrassment as they retreated hastily with their tails between their legs. James sighed heavily, before turning back round to me and Adam, who stood awkwardly behind him, not sure how to react to his lambasting of the two guards. ‘Come on lads, let’s get you inside.’ He smiled, his usual warmth returning to his voice. We had begun to follow him, staying a few steps behind as he shot both the guards a disgusted scowl, guiding us through the gatehouse.

‘I thought he was going to explode.’ Whispered Adam, being careful to ensure James couldn’t hear him.

‘Don’t worry Adam, it is all for show. He just likes to remind his men who is in charge.’

‘I don’t think they’ll be questioning him anytime soon, they’ll be standing to attention like a monk in a nunnery every time he even so much as looks at them.’

I laughed as James turned back round to us, his usual calm had now descended back over him as he lifted a torch from a wall carefully. We had arrived in a small courtyard which led into the side of Westminster itself, which was engulfed in darkness, not a single soul stirring in the great home of English politics either. Before us was a large wooden door which led inside, it was covered with elegant carvings of the King’s coat of arms and other finery’s, a grand entrance to the inner sanctum of England’s government. James approached us, torch grasped firmly in his right hand, as we prepared to retire to our quarters which were not far from the courtyard itself.

‘I’d best be off back on my rounds lads. You two have a good night’s rest, I’ll no doubt see you again soon. Farewell.’ Declared James before marching off back towards the gatehouse, slowly disappearing into the mist.

~

Our room was a shambles, important papers littered across the fine oak desk I had spent many a night whilst jackets and other garments were slung across any object that could support them. The last few weeks had been particularly busy for both me and Adam, for our duties were not solely about removing dissenting souls from their pedestals but also investigating possible leaks and spies within Westminster itself and our masters social circle, a far more difficult task but one that I could at least attend to in my official capacity. At night, I found myself in the cloak and dagger world of assassins and it was always my way of escaping the world I felt uncomfortable in, but at day I could not escape the truth and as the night grew old I knew that reality would once again set in. I am Sir Arthur Turnbull, a knight and retainer to the Duke of York, Richard Plantagenet. Although the rank of knight brings with it many privileges and a degree of respect, my background has always seen me cast out by men of breeding for I was not of noble birth, my father was a soldier in the army of Henry V, knighted before the Battle of Agincourt forty years ago, and my mother was the daughter of a rich merchant in York. My simple background has brought with it a lack of respect from men who would call themselves my betters and even those of my own rank and title, none of which are capable of comprehending a knight who has earned his title on merit rather than a birth right. My crime is not crawling from the womb of the noble, and for that I am outcast by most of my peers, a punishment that does not be fit the crime.

‘I am shattered.’ Adam breathed heavily, slumping down with a thud before kicking his boots off towards the end of his bed. He yawned, stretching his long arms outwards before running his fingers through the long locks of blonde hair which cascaded from his scalp. ‘Do you need me in the morning?’

‘No, I should be fine. Don’t worry, you can sleep in you idle sod.’ I replied, kicking his boot back towards him as I walked towards my desk. I could hear him throw his jacket over the end of his bed before I reached my chair, it creaked softly as I lowered my aching body into it, a sense of relief washing over me as the weight was taken off my feet. I pushed a few parchments to one side before lighting a lone candle, the beeswax emitting a pleasant smell which wafted into my nostrils, a welcome invader after the stench of London’s streets. The room slowly filled with a warm glow and I was glad to be back inside, it was a relatively uncommon comfort which I enjoyed for as long as possible, opportunity to spend time there was time I cherished. I slid my own jacket off, placing it gently over the back of my seat before noticing that Adam had already prepared for sleep, laying upright in his bed which occupied the corner of the room just below the only window other than the large one which stretched across the wall behind me, looking out into the courtyard we had arrived in earlier. My own bed lay opposite of Adam’s though his was of poor quality, dragged from one of the lowly quarters occupied by those of a lesser rank than myself when he was placed under my command. My bed was a grand four poster with an elegant red quilt draped across it, a place of slumber truly fit for a knight and one which was more than adequate for my own back home in Fulford.

‘You not hitting the hay yet Arthur?’

‘No not yet, I am in no hurry, I’ll be out again before I know it no doubt.’

‘I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Do what?’ I asked, perplexed.

‘Live this double life, slink around at night and parade around at day. You must be exhausted with all this running about’.

‘I cope.’ I lied. He was right, I had spent the last month drifting off to sleep at any available moment. ‘Besides, what would you do without me? I can’t let you go off running about London killing people willy-nilly.’ I added, changing the subject.

‘Oh of course, you can’t trust me with a blade.’ He laughed, placing his knife on his bedside table. ‘You know, I might go back out to Lombard Street in the morning, make sure they start jumping to the right conclusions.’

‘Good idea, although you can’t fool me, you’re going back to that pub to see the barmaid. I may be getting crushed with my workload at the moment Adam, but I can tell when you have your eye on a woman.’

‘You got me. You don’t need me though, I may as well entertain myself someway.’

‘Go and enjoy yourself, we both know you will be back to work soon enough. Make use of the time you’ve got, just make sure she isn’t married this time. I am not separating you from anymore angry husbands, next time I will just let them beat you senseless. You never know, it might knock a bit of sense into you and get you to think with your head for a change.’

‘You have my word Arthur, I will only mount the finest un-betrothed women of London, by your command.’

‘It’s nice to know I have blessed your carnal indulgences, just be careful. I can’t have you falling in love, who else would I spend the nights in the pouring rain with?’

‘Don’t worry, my intentions are strictly un-honourable.’ He laughed, slowly lowering himself into bed, pulling the covers over his shoulders. I took the hint and picked up one of the scrolls of paper, tugging at the string which bound it. It was a letter from my mother I had received a week ago, she always liked to send me word of what was going on back home each month and I must admit that I looked forward to receiving them. I hadn’t returned home for nearly two years now and had grown homesick the longer my stay in London continued, the letters I received my only real link with Fulford and one that I cherished. I rolled the scroll out in front of me and ran my eyes across the contents, my mother had little to say this month except that my sister was well and the house was in good order, though I never feared that she would allow it to fall into any state of disrepair. She always ended her letters with news of local girls, with whom she endlessly hinted I should take as my wife when I returned, though I had little interest in doing so. I knew she meant well, but I had no desire to add another branch to my family tree just yet and knew that my status instilled fear in my mother for one reason and one reason alone, that I was her only son and the last chance to carry on the family name.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my eyes gently as my limbs slowly begun to weaken, the day’s effects finally catching up with me. I had been pushing myself beyond my means for the past few weeks, but I would never admit it to anyone else. I had always thought that I was strong enough to push myself to the limit every day, but I had begun to be proven wrong. I picked up a jug of water from the edge of my desk, pouring myself a glass before picking it up and downing the contents as quickly as I could, the feeling of refreshment passing throughout my body for a few brief moments before the ravages of fatigue returned. Sighing I dragged myself up from my desk and walked the short distance to the large window which looked across the courtyard, out towards the gatehouse and back to the Thames, recounting the journey home. It was still dark outside and the mist still grasped a hold of London like a falcon holding its prey within its talons, but during the day the view was one of the more interesting ones available from Westminster. In the distance the hustle and bustle of London could just be made out on a clear day and I sometimes found myself watching the barges going up and down the river. The city wasn’t a beautiful place, far from it, it was filthy and filled with beggars and thieves but it always had a strange mystical hold over me when I stared across it expanse that I could not explain. Perhaps it was because I had spent most of my life in the country, or maybe the wonders of the capital had managed to entice me, whatever it was I was still in awe of London.

~

A loud knock thundered through the silence as I shot my head up violently, straining my neck in the process. I screwed up my eyes and slowly scanned the room, my vision slightly blurred. As I composed myself another knock boomed in the dark, my candle had burnt out and the night had crept in. As my mind came to, I realised I had fallen asleep at my desk, a quill in one hand and a blank parchment before me, my work left undone as my body surrendered to exhaustion. I placed the quill back in the pot of ink which lay just in front of me and started to shuffle through the contents of my desk, looking for another candle, though my concentration was broken by another loud bang at the door.

‘Who is it?’ I found myself shouting, a hint of annoyance in my voice as I continued to rustle through my belongings, eventually closing my drawer in frustration.

‘It is Albert Wormwood Sir.’ Replied a frail voice, which I immediately recognised as one of my masters clerks. Collecting myself I sat myself up properly in an attempt to look presentable, brushing a few bread crumbs from my shirt which had found their way in the course of the night.

‘Come in.’

The door slowly creaked open and a short old man crept quietly into the room, being careful to close the door as quietly as possible which was ironic given the volume of his knocking. Albert was a portly little fellow, but he was one of the kindest men I knew and I always enjoyed listening to his stories of the intrigues of courts and the scandals which had rocked Westminster over the years he had been here. As he turned to face me the light from his lantern forced me to wince, my eyes slowly adjusting to the light and before I knew it he was stood before me at the foot of my desk. I jumped slightly, surprised at his speed as my senses begun to creep back to normal and I extended a hand, gesturing for him to have a seat. He bowed his balding head politely before lowering himself into the chair in front of me and placing his lantern on the far side of my desk.

‘Forgive me for waking you Sir Arthur, but I would not do so if it wasn’t important.’ He said softly, trying not to wake Adam who had stirred in all the noise, though he had drifted back to sleep.

‘What is the matter Albert? Is something wrong?’

‘No, nothing of the sort. Not to my knowledge anyway.’

‘Then what is it?’ I replied, being careful to speak gently.

‘The Duke requests your presence immediately, I admit I do not know why but he has sent me to collect you urgently.’

‘At this hour?’ I said puzzled, for it was unusual for him to send for me whilst the sun was yet to rise and begun to get the sense of dread that I always got when I was requested to appear urgently, for it rarely lead to anything good.

‘Yes, he has just received a messenger, filthy he was, he must have been riding all night.’

‘Did you recognise him?’

‘No, I have never seen his face before. Though from his accent I wager he is one of the Duke’s men in the north.’

‘What does this have to do with me?’

‘The Duke would not say, he just said to make sure I bring you before him as soon as possible.’

‘Very well.’ I accepted begrudgingly, for I desired only to crawl into my bed, though I could not refuse a summons from my master. ‘Just give me a moment to get ready, I wouldn’t want to appear before him in this state.’

‘Of course Sir Arthur, I shall wait for you outside.’ With that he pulled himself to his feet, grabbed his lantern and slowly wobbled towards the door, exiting as quietly as he had entered. I followed suit, raising myself from my seat before walking towards a wardrobe which lay at the foot of my bed. I opened the doors and grabbed a clean jacket from within and threw it on quickly, grabbing a fresh pair of boots for the ones I had on were caked in mud. I moved the edge of my bed and sat down, unlacing my boots before carefully placing them together on the floor. As I begun to lace up the new pair I had produced, Adam started to sit up, yawning and stretching his arms out. As he opened his eyes he looked around the room confused.

'What time is it?’ he asked, clearly still dazed as I had been moments earlier.

‘I don’t know Adam, I am sorry for waking you.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see the Duke, he requires my presence. Don’t worry, he doesn’t need to see you.’

‘What is he doing calling for you at this hour?’

‘I don’t know Adam, I don’t know.’