Free The Dandelion Seed by Lena Kennedy Page A

he was in London in a world of intrigue and with a lecherous old king on the throne of England who changed his mind with his vests.
    Swinging his legs to the floor, he stood up. He had better go to the tavern, there was no sense in getting depressed. And perhaps he would meet Cary and their friend Ben Jones. Those two would soon get rid of his doldrums. Leaving his lodgings, Thomas walked to the city tavern in search of company. He pushed his way through the crowded streets past St Paul’s towards Cheapside. There had been a hanging that day and a very bloodthirsty crowd was still standing around. Some of them were very drunk, watching the victim’s remains being drawn and quartered, just as a butcher does a pig. The smell of blood and the evil expressions on the spectators’ faces made Thomas’ stomach turn. ‘There but for the grace of God go I . . .’ he muttered, very aware that these words had a different meaning for him today than they used to. He wondered, not without anxiety, if Betsy had disposed of old Sam’s body securely, and he hoped that she could be trusted. Then annoyed by his worries and morbid thoughts, he shook his head. ‘Don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I must be getting an attack of something,’ he told himself. Leaving the crowds behind, he turned down a narrow passageway, where men wearing white aprons stood at the corners and little boys called out: ‘This way, sir, a fine roast, turkey and good wine!’ They were all touting for the restaurants that were huddled together in the small alley, but Thomas passed them and made his way into the dark interior of the steak house at the end of the row. As he climbed down the narrow stairs he had the feeling that he would find the company he needed so badly today.
    The air downstairs was thick with smoke and the smell of food and wine. Deep voices chattered at each other in the high-backed cubicles, and rushes were strewn on the floor so liberally that the waiters carrying heavy trays slithered across it. At a long bar at the end, young men dressed in all their finery quaffed ale from pewter tankards. On the walls were hunting scenes and scenes from the popular plays of Will Shakespeare and his Company of Players. There was not a woman in sight, for this was a male stronghold; no female ever crossed its threshold. It was Charlie Brown, the proprietor, who insisted on this. ‘A man likes to relax when he’s drinking,’ he would pontificate. ‘Wenches is all right once you have had your fill.’
    Thomas ordered a meal and after he had eaten and drunk several tankards of ale, he began to feel much better and more light-hearted. Several young men he knew greeted him and offered to join him. Most of them, it seemed, had run out of credit with Charlie Brown. Thomas made it clear that he wanted to remain alone for the time being, but kept his eyes fixed on the door, as he looked out for Cary. When they had been lads, Thomas had taught Cary to fish in the rivers at their home in Dorset and Cary, a wild youth, had run with him happy and carefree over the moors. They had climbed the tall pine trees and pelted each other with the large cones that fell from them. Then Cary had gone to sea but in spite of the separation and the difference in their stations in life, Cary never passed Thomas. Whenever Thomas was feeling depressed, it was the sight of Cary that always gladdened his heart, and it was the jolly look in those strange wide eyes that he longed to see.
    Now he had spotted him, and Thomas watched with affection as Cary gracefully descended the stairs into the room.
    Tall and slim, with chestnut curls, Cary was wearing a smart green and white doublet with long white pantaloons. A short, fur-trimmed cape hung about his shoulders. Young Cary was a man of fashion but he was no fop; and he had been in more scrapes than the average young man of his day.
    ‘Ye Gods, is that you, Dour Thomas?’ he cried, when he saw his old friend.
    ‘’Tis me,