What are the Liberties?

Greetings my well regarded readers, I hope that in the north hemisphere your Fall or Autumn isn’t proving too much of a trial after the joys of Summer.

Today I have a few announcements before we move on to the body of the blog.  Firstly my Tudor novella The Fetter Lane Fleece will be available free for two days from the 15/10/13 at Amazon USA/Aust and Amazon UK so I encourage you to call by and if you haven’t already download a copy for your entertainment.  In the mean time I’d like to thank those of my readers who’ve stopped by and left a review, every of them (even the obvious sock puppets) help improve the position of an Indie writer.

Now on to the meat of our discourse;

In a 1601 speech to the House of Commons, Stephen Soame, MP for the City of

London, spoke in support of a bill that would have extended the City’s jurisdiction into

the neighbouring liberty of St Katherine by the Tower. The privileges enjoyed by the

Liberties, he argued, ‘are the very sincke of sinne, the nurserye of nawghtie and lewd

places, the harbors of thieves, roagues and beggars, and maynteyners of ydle persons,

ffor when our shoppes and howses be robbed, thether they ffly ffor releife and sanctuarie, and we cannot helpe our selves.’

 The prorogation of Parliament a few days later killed his bill, but Soame’s characterisation of St Katherine’s proved more durable. Such descriptions of the liberties, made by Soame and other contemporaries, have led many modern scholars to assume that the Liberties posed a constant threat to metropolitan order. There is, however, reason to believe that the Liberties were more complex and less purely problematic than their general historiographical portrayal would suggest.

In 1530 two dozen religious foundations dotted the landscape of the capital. The sixteen religious houses within or immediately adjacent to the City of London were joined by eight others in Spitalfields, Clerkenwell, Westminster and Southwark.  

Extract The City of London and the Problem of the Liberties, c1540 – c1640

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Modern History

Anthony Paul House Christ Church Trinity Term 2006.

So what are the Liberties?  My main character Ned Bedwell seems to spend an inordinate amount of time frequenting the Liberties rather than attending to his duties as a Law apprentice.  What could be the attraction?  Well for a start the reason Stephen Soame was frothing so fervently about the disorders of the Liberties was a very simple one.  They were exempt from the normal processes of civil and royal jurisdiction by fact of belonging to the English Church.  Over time the Church had accumulated a lot of properties in and around London via grants, purchase or deeds, before the Great Dissolution under Henry VIII it is possible that around a fifth of the city of London was under their direct control as owners or landlords.  And where they held sway so did Canon law, it was as if the city and surrounding regions were covered in a patchwork of independent tax and law free zones pretty much like the Virgin or Channel Islands today for the obscenely rich.  To escape local justice if any thief or other insalubrious person made to one of the Liberties then they were immune to seizure or prosecution by the local constables and justice of the peace.  Of course the upholders of civic law could always petition the Church to gain hold of the miscreant, however such proceedings were both expensive and long drawn out.  The Church was jealous of its rights and maintained its exemption from civil laws.  At least Until King Henry VIII clipped their wings.

Of course this refuge form common law was an opportunity that the denizens of deceit and depravity found irresistible, especially since the Church wasn’t very effective in policing its own property.  Thus by the 1530’s the various Liberties were considered over run by thieves, beggars’ vagrants’ whores, malcontents, coiners, forgers and murderers.  The fact that they also housed brothels, gaming dens stews and other places of vile debauchery and sin probably made them more attractive for the average Londoner, especially the young lads of the Inns of Court.  Though they weren’t the only inhabitants, it was also a favoured refuge for foreigners, debtors, Guildless tradesmen and surprisingly evangelicals spreading the word of the Bible in the English tongue.  However the situation of the Liberties in and around London is somewhat more complex than this simple explanation.  The legal or other position of these areas was frequently a useful carrot or occasionally goad for the Royal Sovereign to use in his negotiations with the London Guildhall and the Church over taxes and privileges.  For London the Liberties also served as a useful excuse for ‘failing’ to deal with crimes or imposing royal writs since these ‘territories’ made a ‘mockery of their zeal and  commitment to his Majesties lawful demands’.  Come the Great Dissolution in the late 1530’s the status of the Liberties changed though you’ll have to wait a few novels until Ned Bedwell undergoes this transformation of England to see what survives and what goes under.  Though I suspect there will always be a place for rogues, whores and dice men in the Tudor realm.  

Regards Greg 

The Fetter Lane Fleece Links from the 15/10/13-17/10/13

AmazonUSA/Aust The Fetter Lane Fleece

Amazon UK The Fetter Lane Fleece

A Comfit of Rogues

 New Red Ned Novel out soon!

Greetings my well regarded readers, I hope that all is well with you and yours this northern Fall or southern Spring.  Today I have a few announcements before we move on to the body of the blog.  First I would like to congratulate Hilary Mantel at winning the Booker prize for the second time for her continuation of the Thomas Cromwell story in Bringing up the Bodies.  It is a splendid endorsement for all historical fiction across the genre and shows that our common past is a fertile ground for writers and readers.  So three cheers for Hilary!

I would also like to announce that this week a new Red Ned story will be released on Amazon- A Comfit of Rogues.  This tale, also set in novella form carries on from Ned’s near disastrous venture in The Fetter Lane Fleece.  It would appear that Ned has tweaked the noses of the Masters of Mischief and Roguery in the City and Liberties of London once too often.  Putting aside their rivalry they’ve signed a compact to ensure the removal of the meddlesome apprentice lawyer Ned Bedwell.  So can Ned count on anyone in the London Underworld for support, or is the reward of five gold angels in coin too much temptation for treachery? 

Prologue. A Festive Gathering

Throughout the Christian realm of His Sovereign Majesty King Henry VIII the twelve days of Christmas was a time of celebration. Doors and lynch gates were framed with holly and ivy and the last fasting ended on Christmas Eve with a joyous feast of the Saviour’s birth in every lord’s hall, yeoman’s house and beggar’s hovel. The Black Goat on Bride Lane in the Liberties of the Ward of Farrington Without was no exception, though here they also maintained the old tradition of a Lord of Misrule. For the season some wards and parishes proclaimed a boy bishop or elevated a humble servant with complimentary ragged rogues serving as the officers of Butler and Chancellor. Here only one man held that title and the bestowal of traditional gifts and favours, Earless Nick, the Lord of the Liberties from London Wall to Temple Bar.

This wasn’t any titled demesne such as that of the Duke of Norfolk with a carefully scripted parchment heavy with gilt and seals, though like a distant Howard ancestor it was a rank gained by the practice of murder and the ready effusion of blood. Not that this distinction mattered to those in the long procession snaking out of the tavern door. Earless Nick’s whims or pleasures held them enthralled in tighter bonds than even the slaves of the Sultan of the Moors, and considering the recent debacle here at the Black Goat, Nick’s moods had tended towards the darker shades of choler. There was also another factor that held them. Past Earless Nick’s silk draped chair of state was a feast of such sumptuousness that few had beheld outside of the Cardinal’s palace of Whitehall at York Place; capons in almond douce sauce, smothered rabbits and onions, a white pudding of hog’s liver, jelly hippocras and a roasted pheasant complete with feathers. As for the sweets and subtleties, one clever cross biter whispered to his drooling friends that three pounds of blanched almond sugar went into the modelled replica of Newgate Tower alone. For fellows and punks who scrounged, begged and thieved for a bowl of warm pease and bacon potage this was a spread of foods beyond compare. A veritable paradise of pleasure…though for some surveying their skimpy gleanings, gaining a seat at the feast wasn’t their only concern.

One by one the line shuffled towards the finely dressed figure taking his ease on lordly seat, each member of the fraternity dropping to their knees and presenting their prizes for judgement. To complete the feudal scene a clerk stood beside Earless scribbling notations in an iron clasped, leather bound book as the offerings were displayed. Then if acceptable, Wall-eyed Willis, Nick’s master of rogues and veteran of fifty fights in the brawling pits, would wave one of his lumbering lads forward to take the prizes and convey them to the heavy iron strapped chest set against the wall. After this Earless Nick would stare at his grovelling petitioner for a few seconds in deep deliberation before waving them off to join the company at the back of the commons who’d partake of the feast.

However in the regard of Earless Nick not all gifts were so easily accepted. One lanky longbearded fellow in a ragged cloak stepped forward and presented a bundle of clothes. Earless Nick frowned at the offering and signalled for it to be shaken out by a waiting minion and sat there tapping his lip with a ring covered finger. “Tis a poor week for a hookman tis it, Dickon?”

The hookman cringed at the question, his beard almost brushing the floor. “Aye Master Nick. Tis the snow an’ cold. They’s keeps their shutters sealed up tighter than a bishops cellar!”

Earless Nick gave a wintery smile and nodded. “So Dickon, its latched and shuttered windows that is the cause of your miserable pickings. Hmm, two old cambric shirts and a worn patched set of hoses.”

Dickon the hook man quickly nodded and spluttered out agreement through quivering lips. “Aye Master Nick. Tis ta cold fo’ them ta hang ou’ their clothes an sa’ I can’t gets em.”

Earless Nick continued to smile as he buffed his silvered rings on a piece of damask cloth. “So it wasn’t you seen passing four fine shirts to Ol’ Simkins in Little Drury?”

Dickon the hookman gulped nervously as his eyes darted around the common room seeking out the informant. “Na’ it weren’t I Master Nick. Sum cuffin’s a lying rogue ta yea.”

Earless Nick’s smile broadened as he picked up a horn cup and dropped a pair of dice into it. “Well Dickon, it may be so. Indeed it may and I’s a fair master so according to custom yea can throw an let the good Lord decide your fate.”

The hookman’s hand shook as he took the proffered cup and the dice rattled like a gallows drummer. Covering the open mouth of the cup with a grimy hand Dickon gave a wheezing prayer then spilled the dice on the floor with an abrupt fling

“Hmm, that’s a poor cast Dickon, a two.” Earless fastidiously rubbed his fingers with the velvet damask and scooped up the dice, a quick swirl around the cup and they leapt out then rolled to a stop displaying a ‘nick’. Earless leant back in his chair and shook his head in mock sadness. “The Lord God has judged against yea Dickon.”

The defeated hookman grovelled at his master’s feet whimpering and pleading as two of Wall-eye’s scowling lads dragged him over to a close set pair of posts to which they tied his arms. Nick gave another brief wave and one of Dickon’s escorts began lashing his back with a length of knotted rope. In between the howls of pain Earless Nick cast a long slow look at the gathered members of his company. Then into the sobbing silence he spoke in a voice low and menacing. “No man cheats the Lord of the Liberties. Remember it.”

The assembly cheered with eager gusto flavoured by the fact that it wasn’t them getting the beating. Given the last reception to the head of the queue there was no complaint as a pair of figures pushed their way to the front, though they did garner a fair amount of whispered speculation. The woman from her worn scarlet kirtle and pulled down chemise had to be a punk. Only a lass interested in gathering ‘trade’ would expose that much pale breast on a chilly winter’s day. To the rest of the crowd it wasn’t just the recent flogging that had them pull back. With her long blonde hair and vivid green cap only the most blind of beggars wouldn’t recognise Earless Nick’s favoured girl, Anthea, leader of the St Paul’s punks. But favour was a tricky thing. It ebbed and flowed like the Thames and according to many a sage whisper, due to the recent disturbance, Anthea was dry beached on the shores of Nick’s ill content.

The Lord of the Liberties spent some time watching the play of candlelight on a recent present, a gold ring inset with a sapphire, before acknowledging her presence with a twitched finger. As for her guest, the cloaked and hooded figure, it was as if it were as insubstantial as a spirit for all the regard Nick gave it. “Anthea my poppet, I’ve missed yea these last days. I hopes yea have recompense for your previous failings…?”

The question hung in the air with a dreadful menace and the audience of the Tavern swung their fascinated gaze towards the advancing punk. All were keen that someone other than them should suffer the further ill–humoured wrath of the Lord of Misrule. Anthea visibly swallowed then locked her arm around that of a hooded stranger before stepping forward into the empty space between the retreating petitioners and the Master of the Liberties. The punk captaine shook her long hair out of her eyes that glinted evilly in the reflected orange glow from the yuletide log. Several nips and foisters crossed themselves flinching as she passed, some making furtive gestures to avert ill fortune. Then at a pace’s distance with much bowing and grovelling Anthea threw herself down on her knees beside the chair of state and clutched at the hand of Earless Nick, rubbing her face on it like a fawning hound. “Nick my luv, I’s have a gift fo’ thee, a wonderful gift, the likes yea have not seen afo’. A sweet gift fo’ my sweet Lord o’ the Liberties.”

Nick turned his coldly impassive face toward his formerly favoured punk. The chilling interest reflected in his eyes would have set even the meanest wild rogue a trembling with fear. His lips stretched to the barest flicker of a smile. “And what of my gift…my sweetling?”

Anthea drew the hooded stranger forward. The visitor didn’t bow or kneel instead inclining a shrouded face towards Earless Nick and with a shielding hand began to whisper. The Lord of Misrule’s face remained blandly still though to those close enough to see, his eyes did appear to glitter from time to time with a malevolent spirit. Finally the hooded figure drew back and Earless Nick clapped his hands together like the snap of an harquebus and grinned with savage delight. “Oh Anthea you are my best lass, a true pearl beyond compare and this is a wonderful Yuletide gift payment and revenge all wrapped in one. Hah! No man cheats the Lord o’ the Liberties of his winnings and certainly not that lawyerly whelp!”

Earless Nick slammed his fist onto the table and grabbing his silver gilt cup thrust it in the air. “A toast! A toast! Raise high yer cups, cos a sennight hence Red Ned Bedwell will be swinging at Tyburn, or food for worms!”

The sack fuelled cheer echoed out the doorway into the winter snow and whispered in rumour through the Liberties. The Lord of Misrule was out for revenge.

A New Novel - The Fetter Lane Fleece

One Year Anniversary!

Greetings my well regarded readers, all several of you, I hope that this warmer weather (in the north) has you champing at the bit to race out and enjoy the Summer.  Although there was that recent snow fall this last week even as far south as the English Midlands to set one worrying about the summer frolics without a heavy insulated jacket, which kind of ruins the Maying idylls in the fields.  Anyway that, after a fashion leads me to the meat of this article.  It is now one year since I released the first novel in my first Red Ned Tudor Mysteries tad ah!  Yes twelve months ago last week The Liberties of London was unleashed upon an unsuspecting reading public via Amazon.  In that time it has done pretty spectacularly selling well over three thousand ebooks.  The next stage as my readers have repeatedly asked for, is to produce this in solid paper form, and today I wish to announce that (at least for the US) it is one step closer, the second of the Liberties novellas has just been released.  So to give value to a print edition this will be combined with The Liberties of London and another soon to be released short story involving the nefarious Earless Nick and Canting Michael -A Counsel of Rogues.

  In the meantime as part of this anniversary of publishing I have the humble pleasure to announce the release of my latest ebook The Fetter Lane Fleece.  A novella length story similar to The Liberties of London it will be a free download from Amazon for three days from 12 am PST (Pacific Standard Time) on the 17/05/12 to 12 pm on the 19/05/12.  So pass the word to your friends download and enjoy.

In the meantime I’d like to make a heartfelt plea to all my readers, if you liked a book in the Red Ned or Dark Devices series please on my bended knee I beg you leave a review on Amazon.  A recent article in The Guardian points out how individual readers tend to be much better at judging the quality of a story than ‘official’ critics.  As an indie I appreciate your comments and feedback and I wish to thank those of you who have taken the time to post me their commendations and concerns, they have made a difference to my writing efforts and the quality of the st.

The Fetter Lane Fleece.

As readers will discover this story is set but a few days after the events of The Liberties of London and involves Ned once more venturing into the debateable territory of the Liberties.  A jaunt, that as you will soon discover probably required somewhat more sober thought and reflection, rather than the generous quality of fine wine and Red Ned’s usual impulsiveness. 

Once more the cover art is by the promising graphic designer Alexander House who has this past week hit eighteen.  My how time flies, I remember the day of his birth so clearly Nelson Mandela had just become President of South Africa.  So congrats Alex!  For my readers here’s a link to his Deviant Art page where he displays a fair array of his burgeoning talent.  In what we believe is a positive step into branding and marketing the future covers of the Red Ned series will be laid out as if they were wood cuts, similar to The Liberties of London cover.  Giving a much more Tudor feel and identity to the stories when they come up in an Amazon search, this may involve reworking some of the previous covers for The Cardinal's Angels and The Queen's Oranges, so if you have an opinion please let me know. 

The other standard layout we will be continuing for both the Red Ned and Dark Devices series is the inside page of sketch art which will refer to a key factor of the story.  Even as storytellers’ writers still understands that a picture is worth a thousand words, so this will help set the scene and provide a little more eye candy for the Historical Fiction reader.

Now as a treat and a taster I give you the prologue of The Fetter Lane Fleece. 

Regards Greg

Prologue. Fleeing the Fleece

The snow covered mound on the rough cobbles crunched with the solid impact of his body and Ned whimpered as he rolled. Oh Christ that…that stung! The icy crystals set the skin of his bare back aflame, especially the long bloody scratches from that cursed sign. Well he hoped it was only the shock of the snow and ice that aggravated his current condition. It didn’t pay to investigate too closely what lay under the few inches of snow in a Liberties street. Dead dogs, piles of mouldering rushes and steaming kitchen waste where amongst the lesser ills. At least, remarked his daemon, it wasn’t the Fleete Ditch, a river of turds and tanner’s discharge. He’d dangled over that last week, seemingly for hours, on the brink of imminent death by drowning, as had Earless Nick’s luckless minion. No, no fear of that fate tonight. Instead he only had to worry about daggers, swords, cudgels, a butcher’s cleaver or two and the savage fury of an irate punk. See, said his daemon, nothing to worry about.

Rolling with the momentum of his sudden exit Ned staggered to his feet, and rendered slightly unsteady by his too solid landing, began to stagger off down Fetter Lane towards Fleete Street. A loud chorus of howls and curses from the Wool’s Fleece informed him that his solo sojourn was going to be of a very short duration. Damn. Ned hopped on one foot as he tried to continue his forward passage while at the same time attempting to pull on his left shoe. As for the rest of his clothes, his better angel may scold him for looking more naked than the wild Irish or bare breeched Scots, but unlike them he did have the ability to cloth his present nakedness. Just not now, thank the blessed saints for the shroud of night, even if the extra cold was shrinking his cods and setting his skin a prickle with goose bumps. If he continued much further in this ‘exposed condition’, his bollocks would be lumps either side of his neck and not even an hours delightful cajoling by Mistress Adeline could draw his pizzle out from its hiding spot.

Oh by the blessed saints why did the Twelve days of Christmas have to be so damnedly cold? Or Reedman’s brother, the stupid measle, so bereft of brains or commonsense?

Ned’s foot stamped down upon a thin layer of ice instantly breaking through the crust and he sank knee deep into the resulting pothole. Oh Christ! Oh Christ! Oh…Of a sudden his mind froze over in white pain as the water and muddy ice, chilled by weeks of Lord Frost’s breath, fountained up drenching his not so dangling nearest and dearest cods. The world around him blurred and he tried to draw breath to scream. Richard Reedman, you miserable bastard! If his cods were damaged or blighted the fool was going to suffer.

An angry cry from behind told Ned he didn’t have time to cater for clutching his frosty manhood. He needed to move, or else. The motivation of a prime kicking and thumping plus sundry assaults with cudgels and knives prompted his flagging efforts, and shivering as if he had the ague, Ned pushed on. The cries though increased in volume as the foisters of the Fleece rallied for a chase. Damn, damn, damn! This plan looked so good back at the Sign of the Spread Eagle. His angel remarked waspishly that it was warm in there by the blazing fire and he’d a full tankard of Rhenish in hand, so...

“Ere’s t’ stinking measle who ‘it me!” the fair Delphina screeched.

“A shillin’ ta the one what brings ‘im down!” The slightly muffled nasally voice of Flaunty Phil added. A hand over his broken nose may have hindered his speech, though an eager roar and cheer still answered the call.

Ned ignored his other shoe, gave up any further attempt at pulling on his shirt, doublet and hose and instead found a new burst of speed. Damn this! He just had to stop this dreadful habit of helping out friends with their Liberties follies. It was proving to be dangerous to his health, and by Satan’s great black hairy balls, so perishingly cold!

********

Download the ebook from Amazon to see how Ned fares in his latest Liberties adventure.

Regards Gregory House