London - Edward Rutherfurd [218]
And now Dionysius was going off to Bankside as usual. But tonight he was looking forward to something special.
A virgin at the Dog’s Head.
It had been an afterthought on the part of the brothelkeeper to send him a message and Silversleeves had guessed as much. But it did not worry him. With a laugh, he moved close to the cage of the irritated lion.
“I’m going to have a virgin tonight,” he told the beast. “Which is more than you are. So there!”
She won’t be a virgin by now, he thought to himself – but never mind. After all, what was the point of a new-minted coin if it was never used at all? Moments later, crossing the drawbridge out of the Tower, he was on his way.
Darkness had fallen. The curfew bell had sounded. The ferry-boats had all withdrawn across the river and tied up on the London side – this was the rule, so that no Southwark thieves could slip across the water into the city. The watch was posted on London Bridge and the city prepared to pass another quiet night under the protection of the king’s ordinances.
They were lighting the lamps at the Dog’s Head. The red-painted plaster walls appeared ochre by the lantern’s light, and the wooden sign was creaking in a breeze that had just got up as Silversleeves arrived.
The brothelkeeper had forgotten about Dionysius until that moment. He was standing, warming himself by the charcoal brazier in the middle of the long, low-ceilinged room where the girls met the customers. Nearly all the girls had already gone up, for in the late afternoon a number of men had arrived, including two burgesses up to London for the Parliament, in order to enjoy a last fling before the place officially closed. Only two girls remained in the room, including Isobel Dogget, who was sitting alone on a bench, as Silversleeves strode in, looked right and left, grinned and demanded:
“Where’s your virgin, then?”
The brothelkeeper seemed doubtful and glanced at Isobel, who shook her head.
“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s not available,” he said. “And curfew’s sounded. You’re too late.” This was a significant point. Once the bell had gone and the ferries withdrawn, customers with the girls were supposed to remain with them until dawn, to prevent their roaming about the streets. If Joan had a customer, then she was taken for the night now. “How about one of the other girls, sir?” he suggested.
Silversleeves glanced around. “These old hags? I can have them any time. I came here for fresh meat.” He grinned. “Tell you what. Soon as she’s done, tell her customer he can have one of the others for free to follow. I’ll pay. Then you give her to me. How’s that?”
But again, after a moment’s pause, the brothelkeeper shook his head.
If the brothelkeeper had not hesitated for that instant, if his eyes had not momentarily flicked towards Isobel again, Silversleeves would probably have admitted defeat. But he noticed, and at once a look of cunning came across his face.
“What’s the game?” he cried. “What are you hiding, brothelkeeper? Are you trying to cheat me?” Whatever Silversleeves might be, he was also sharp. He moved over to the brazier where the brothelkeeper was standing. The pimples made tiny shadows on his face in the charcoal’s glowing light. “I could make things awkward for you,” he said quietly to him. Gently he took the fellow’s beard and gave it a little tug. “I could mention your small party next week.”
The party was being held for a group of burgesses up for the Parliament. Girls would be supplied, of course. It was illegal, but the brothelkeeper had forgotten Silversleeves knew about it. “I don’t want trouble,” he muttered.
“Of course you don’t, and nor do I,” the other replied. “So are you going to let me have this girl or not?”
The brothelkeeper shrugged. He couldn’t see why this girl, now that she’d started well enough,