A Brood of Vipers(4)

'You've cheated me! You've cheated me!' he screams.



Too bloody straight I did! I can't give the money back because I've spent it. Let that be a lesson to him, never, ever gamble - especially with me.)



We travelled all that day. The countryside was beautiful, ripening like a grape under the sun. The hedgerows were shiny green, the corn pushing its way through. The meadow grass was long and lush for the fat-bellied cattle that grazed it. Yet now and again we saw derelict farms, dying villages and fields no longer ploughed but turned into arable for the fat, short-tailed sheep to grace. Early on our second morning out of Ipswich, Benjamin reined in on the brow of a hill. He stared down at the fields spread out before us.



'Forty years ago,' he explained, 'this land was all ploughed.'



He pointed further down the track to where a gang of landless men were making their way up from a village.



'Such sights are becoming common,' he continued. 'The rich throw the poor off the land and bring in sheep, so they can sell the wool abroad.' He grasped the reins of his horse. 'Roger, as we go past them, distribute some alms. This will all end in tears.*



'It will end in blood.' Agrippa murmured. 'There've already been armed revolts in the West Country! The storm clouds are beginning to gather.'



'Hasn't the king read his history?' Benjamin asked, moving his horse forward.



Agrippa's black-gauntleted hand shot out and grasped Benjamin's arm.



'Don't mention the past,' he whispered. 'When you meet the king, don't talk about his father or his youth. His Grace wishes to forget.'



And on that enigmatic note Agrippa led us on. I stayed behind to give pennies to the grey-faced, rag-tattered, motley collection of men. Their horny fingers, dirty and calloused, grasped the coins, but they spat at me as I rode on.



At first we thought we'd take the main road into London but, at a crossroads, Agrippa turned slightly west, going through the village of Epping to the small hamlet of Wodeforde, a tiny, sleepy place dominated by the great parish church of St Mary's. Agrippa explained that, once a bustling village, Wodeforde had never recovered from the great pestilence two hundred years previously.

'Why are we here?' I asked, staring curiously at the small tenements and thatched cottages we passed.



'We have come to collect someone.'

'Who?'



'Edward Throckle,' Agrippa replied. 'Who?'



'He was once physician to the old king and, for the first years of his reign, to King Henry himself. The king wants Throckle in London.'

Benjamin reined his horse in. 'But you said the king didn't want to be reminded of the past?'



Agrippa pulled his own mount back and smiled.



'No, no, this is different. Henry has, how can I say, delicate ailments.' He smiled. 'The veins on his leg have broken and turned into an ulcerating sore.'



'Aren't there doctors in London?' 1 asked.

'Well, there are other matters. A little bit more delicate.'

'You mean he's got the clap?' I asked.



Agrippa scowled at me, indicating with his hand that I lower my voice. No one really cared - Wolsey's retainers had espied a comely milkmaid and were busy whistling and making obscene gestures at her.



'More than the clap,' Agrippa said. 'You have heard of the French disease?'

I glanced quickly at Benjamin. Henry VIII’s Nemesis had struck! Years earlier the king had taken the wife of one of his courtiers. This nobleman had even played pander for the king, allowing Henry access to his wife's silken sheets. However, what Henry didn't know (but the courtier did) was that this beautiful woman had the French contagion, a dreadful disease which first appeared amongst French troops marauding in southern Italy. This pestilence revealed itself in open sores on the genitals, turning them blue then black until they rotted off. A more subtle kind entered the blood, vilified the humours and turned the brain soft with madness.



'And Henry thinks Throckle can cure this?'



Agrippa shrugged. 'He trusts Throckle. On my way here I called in and left him YVolsey's invitation. The old man had better be ready!'



We passed through Wodeforde, following the track which wound through the dense forest of Epping. As we came to a crossroads Agrippa stopped before the gate leading up to a spacious, three-storeyed, black and white, red-tiled house. This mansion was built in a truly ornate style, with black shining beams, gleaming white plaster and a most fantastical chimney stack erected on one side of the house. Agrippa, Benjamin and I dismounted and walked up the garden path. On either side flowers grew in glorious profusion, turning the air heavy with their scent; there were marigolds, primroses, columbines, violets, roses, carnations and gilly-flowers.

Agrippa rapped on the door, but the house was silent. He knocked again.



'Aren't there any servants?' Benjamin asked.