The dying man found enough breath to whisper.
'Nick…'
'I'm here, Will.'
'Find him…please…find the rogue!'
He clutched at his stomach as a new spasm of pain shot through him then his whole body went limp. A final hiss escaped his throat. Will Fowler had no need of a surgeon now.
Samuel Ruff buried his face in his hands. Nicholas felt his own tears come but his sorrow was edged with cold fury. A dear friend had been viciously cut down. In a flash of temper, a valuable life had been needlessly squandered. Will Fowler had begged him to track down the culprit and Nicholas now took this duty upon himself with iron determination.
'I'll find him, Will,' he promised.
Chapter Three
Bankside was not entirely given over to stews, gambling dens, taverns and ordinaries. Because it was outside the City's jurisdiction, this populous area of Southwark had its share of cockpits and beat gardens and bull-baiting rings to please the appetites of those who flocked to them, but it also had its shops, its places of work and its respectable dwellings. Lined with wharves and warehouses for much of the way, it commanded fine views across the river of St Paul's and the City.
Anne Hendrik had lived in Bankside for a number of years and she knew its labyrinthine streets well. Born of English stock, she married Jacob Hendrik while she was still in her teens. One of the many Dutch immigrants who poured into London, Jacob was a skilful hatmaker who found that the City Guilds had a vested interest in keeping him and his compatriots out of their exclusive brotherhoods. To make a living, therefore, he had to set up outside the City limits and Southwark was the obvious choice. Hard work and a willingness to adapt helped him to prosper. When he died after fifteen happy years of marriage, he left his widow with a good house, a flourishing business and moderate wealth.