We were sitting with mugs of ale on a bench in the sun, overlooking the moat. He took a long draught and shook his head. ‘No time to fear. He was onto me like a cat, pounding my head before I knew what was happening.’
‘Lucky you were not more grievously injured. He could have cut your throat or stuck the knife in your neck.’
‘He could’ve, easy, which is why I don’t think that was his intent. He pounded and pummelled, as I told the coroner, using the pommel of my own dagger to give me these cuts. You can still feel them here, see.’ He turned the back of his head towards me, parting his thick red hair with his fingers. ‘See, you can feel them, here.’
There were two scabs on his white scalp, the skin around them reddened and still slightly swollen. I didn’t want to touch them but he insisted. ‘He hit hard,’ I said. ‘It must have hurt. A lot of blood too, from head wounds. What happened then?’
He turned back towards the moat, leaning forward, elbows on knees, holding his ale in both hands. I had the impression he was settling in to an account he enjoyed giving. ‘Blood everywhere. I couldn’t see at first. Feared for my life. Wouldn’t you? Didn’t know what was going on or when he would stop and couldn’t do anything because there was no room to move. The bench he was lying on was right behind me, see, in the bay window, with my chair almost right up against it and the others sitting at either end of the table so I couldn’t get out forwards or sideways. I couldn’t even get to my feet at first because I couldn’t straighten my legs. When I did I could only half turn and lift my arm, my right arm, to ward off his blows. Like this, see?’ He got to his feet in a half-crouch, his arm raised and the upper part of his body turned towards me.
I nodded and he sat again. ‘I could see he was going to keep pommelling me and I grabbed his wrist and pushed it back. He was still coming at me with the blade pointing at him now. It went into his eye, just above it. I didn’t realise it had gone in at first because his fist and mine were in the way and there was all this blood pouring down my face. Then he cried out and stopped, just stood where he was for a moment. Then went down on his knees with me still holding his wrist and the knife came out and there was blood spurting down his face too. I let go and he dropped the knife and put his hands to his face, cursing and swearing. Then he shut up and just subsided down onto his side, quite slowly. Half under the bench, he was.’ Frizer turned to me again, his eyes wide with challenge. ‘Good riddance, I say. Maybe he was your friend, but it served the bugger right.’
I remembered what Christopher said after the death of William Bradley in the Hog Lane affray. A whole world dies when a man dies, he said. What a world died with Christopher. Yet death is not an event, he also said. Nothing happens, just a ceasing. Nothing to fear, therefore, and nothing to come. Well, he would know now whether that was right. Or rather, if he knew anything at all he would know he was wrong.
The carp turned in the moat, great fat creatures, their fins breaking the surface. To keep Frizer talking I had to appear sympathetic. ‘He had a temper, no doubt about it. He was known for it.’
‘Ever up for a fight, was Kit. Little tyke. He won’t be fighting now, that’s for sure. Unless with the Devil.’
‘He was always fighting the Devil. What provoked it this time? Why did he attack you?’
He kicked a stone into the water and sat watching the ripples. ‘Fourpence, that’s all. Wouldn’t believe it, would you? Fourpence.’
‘The reckoning?’
‘Whose share was what. We argued over it. Robert – Robert Poley – said we should split it between the four of us, the taking of the room and the victuals. Kit said he’d pay his share of the victuals but not the room because he’d had nothing to do with it, which was true in a way. Robert had taken the room to meet me and Nicholas Skeres, for business. Kit came along because he had to report to the Council at Greenwich on these Ralegh matters, which was just down the road, and also he had some – some business ideas of his own. So I said do your Council stuff early and come and join us. Which is what he did. So he argued he only owed for his share of the victuals. Said it really angry, as if we’d been arguing about it, which we hadn’t. He had a point, I doubt Robert would have pushed it. Anyway, knowing what a mean bugger he always was, I said over my shoulder that he was so tight we could hear his arse squeak. Next thing I knew he was bashing me about the head. I only meant in jest, really. Though he was tight. It was all over before it started, so far as I was concerned. Just shows, you never know.’
There was no hint of remorse in his tone or expression, though his last few words sounded thoughtful.
‘So he contributed to the business of the meeting, then? He wasn’t just there for food and drink?’
‘He did, he did. That’s why Poley said equal shares for all because Kit would have shared the proceeds
