London - Edward Rutherfurd [245]
But after this triumph, there was a setback. One night, another royal uncle, Gaunt’s youngest brother, had been attacked with his companions by a gang of ruffians near the city. The prince decided it was a plot by the Londoners, and nothing the mayor and aldermen could say would convince him otherwise. Their failure to admit guilt or bring anyone to trial infuriated him.
“The royal princes have been insulted,” he claimed. And John of Gaunt agreed. “It’s time,” the princes decided, “to teach those impertinent Londoners a lesson.”
Kings had threatened the Londoners with troops before, and levied fines, and even redirected trade to weaken powerful merchants; but the tactic used by the royal uncles to teach the city respect was new.
It began on a bright morning, shortly before winter set in. Ducket and Fleming had just set up the stall when a group of horsemen came jingling along the Cheap. One of them drew his sword and knocked a great earthenware bowl of stewed fruit to the ground, where it broke. Instead of apologizing, his companions merely laughed and rode on. A moment after this strange display, a large cart laden with equipment lumbered after them. Only a few minutes later, as Whittington hurried by, did they learn what this meant.
“Didn’t you know? The princes decided last night. They’re going to withdraw from the city.”
Within an hour a stream of people started to emerge from the city: knights and men-at-arms, grooms leading strings of horses, servants driving wagons piled with household effects. A cortège of elegant ladies, accompanied by squires, drifted past, and headed towards Ludgate.
“They mean to ruin us,” Fleming cried in despair. It was true. With their vast landholdings and their huge retinues, half the wealth of England flowed through the hands of the princes. And into the hands of every tradesman in London.
In the days and weeks that followed, the full extent of the crisis became plain. The West Cheap was half empty. “All the grocers are hit,” Fleming reported, “and the fishmongers and butchers even more.” But it was not until shortly before Christmas that the Londoners decided what to do. “They’re going to bribe the royals to come back,” Whittington told Ducket, and when the boy looked baffled, he explained: “A huge present from the city. All the big men are contributing. Bull’s giving four pounds.” Even a rising young mercer like Whittington himself was going to contribute five marks. “It’s called buying your customers,” he said wryly.
Ducket pleased his master Fleming well enough, but he knew that as far as Dame Barnikel was concerned, his performance was less satisfactory. He had not succeeded in winning Amy’s heart, nor did he think he would. Not that he had tried very hard. Either she likes me, or she doesn’t, he thought. If he made advances and they were unwelcome, it would make relationships in the household impossible.
Soon after Christmas, Carpenter and Amy went to see her parents. The proposal they made was simple enough. They wished to be betrothed; but since, at thirteen, Amy was not yet a woman and the solemn young craftsman was anxious to establish himself as a master of his trade before entering what he called “the dangerous state of matrimony”, he had asked Amy to wait for three years before the marriage should take place. “But perhaps you think that’s too much to ask,” he had suggested to her parents. “No, no. Not at all,” Dame Barnikel had hastily assured him. “You can’t be too careful.” And if she had not seen Amy glaring at her, she might have advised him to make it five. While to Fleming, later, she growled: “Please God she’ll grow out of him by then.”
Fleming himself was quite content with the arrangement, and Amy clung to it with silent determination, as if the carpenter were a raft in a stormy sea. To her the issue was settled.
But not, it seemed to Dame Barnikel. A little later, coming home early one day, Ducket had just wheeled the cart into the yard at the George when he saw Dame Barnikel hovering by the door. As soon as he did so, he cursed his stupidity.