The Liberties of London by Gregory House Read Free Book Online

dazed Walter and snarled her defiance. “Is ‘e youse gentlem’n?”

    “What? No!”

    Ned shook his head at her automatic response. Oh no, that was the wrong answer. Surely Meg knew how possessive the St Paul’s punks were? His better angel scolded him for succumbing to temptation and jealousy. His daemon, however, recommended a more wait and see gambit.

    In the meantime the competition escalated when Meg made a grab at Walter’s free arm, Mistress Anthea tightened her grip. “Well sod off sister! I’s saw ‘im first!”

    Meg, still holding one of Walter’s arms, tried to haul him away. Instead this action backfired as several of the St Paul’s punks hurried over to support their companion. “Ned, Roger help me!”

    At this summons what could he do? Reluctantly Ned grabbed hold of Walter’s arm along with the straining Meg Black. If the intention was to foil the attempt of Mistress Anthea it failed. Two of her sisters immediately joined in the tug of war. To Ned this turn of events didn’t bode well. He’d wanted Walter shocked, or perhaps pliantly compromised, but as a tug o’ war trophy betwixt Meg Black and the St Paul’s punks, this could become too public.

    Ned repositioned his feet in the slippery snow and lent backwards, physically dragging Walter and the other team three paces along the street. However another pair of punks joined the fray and he lost a pace.

    “Roger? Roger!”

    At the cry Ned risked a brief glance across to Meg Black’s usually looming minion. Gruesome Roger was standing to one side, chewing his lip, with a very strange expression on his face. If Ned didn’t know better he’d think it was fear. No, this couldn’t be right. Given the slightest excuse, Roger Hawkins was always ready to pull the iron shod cudgel from his belt and wade into the fray, though not this time. To Ned, the scar faced minion appeared almost reluctant, as if he wished himself elsewhere.

    “Roger!”

    Another more strident call finally galvanised him into action. The retainer roughly shoved himself next to his mistress and then, grabbing the confused Walter, hoisted their poor charge onto his shoulder. It was a good effort, though Anthea and her companions still kept their grip on a trailing arm.

    “Oy. Don’t tak Walter. ‘e’s mine own lambkin, e’ is. Sweetkin’s don’t leave Anthea!”

    The inclusion of Gruesome Roger made the contest easier. They gained four paces though the St Paul’s punks still struggled to hold on, their shoes treading the snow into a mushy slurry. One of the more enterprising girls scooped up a mixed handful of snow and threw it at them. It impacted on the back of Roger’s neck causing him to stagger in surprise and curse. “Oww! Leave off y’ slattern doxy!”

    This however prompted Mistress Anthea to swap from Walter to Roger. She clutched at his doublet and dragged her head closer, peering intently at his turned away face. “Oy, I know’s ya. Yo’r Earless Nick’s man, Hawks. He’s been a askin’, after ya! Hawks, Hawks, you’ll let me ‘ave my little lambkin, won’t ya.”

    Roger ignored the clinging punk’s claim of association and roughly shrugged her off. Mistress Anthea fell backwards, taking the rest of her tug o’ war team with her. They all landed in a sprawled heap on the fresh snow. A few of the more bold spectators to the affray urged them to go for a second round, while a tight cluster of merchant’s wives loudly complained of the shameful disorder on the streets.

    Meg Black had won the tussle for Walter and quickly led him off, though not before the thwarted Mistress Anthea gave her own parting shots. “I’ll nay forget this Hawks, ya black hearted bastard! Ya can still get in sweet wit’ Earless if’n ya tells my sweetkins Anthea’ll be at the Sign o’ the Black Goat!”

    To a continuing chorus of calls, they retreated towards the safety of Greyfriars and with every step Ned silently cursed the failure of his play. No