Tales of Muffled Oars by Magnus Mills

Author:Magnus Mills [Mills, Magnus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quoqs
Published: 2020-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

23

‘You know Macaulay’s list?’ said Gerard. ‘The people who died violent deaths who he avoids mentioning?’

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘What’s he going to do when he gets to Anne Boleyn?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, he can hardly miss her out, can he? It’s the most famous beheading in history.’

‘Perhaps he’ll skirt around her,’ I suggested, ‘or maybe just mention her in passing.’

‘Suppose so.’

‘After all, he mentioned Richard the Third in the last talk, and he was definitely on the list.’

‘Was that Richard the Crooked?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he deserved death!’ protested Gerard. ‘Anne Boleyn didn’t!’

I was rather taken aback by Gerard’s highly judgmental stance.

‘Blimey,’ I murmured. ‘I hope you’re never on a jury.’

Even so, he’d raised a valid point. Now that we’d entered the Tudor period there were countless executions and judicial murders lying ahead of us (though it should also be mentioned that we could expect fewer battles). Actually I'd been wondering for a while how Macaulay planned to navigate these increasingly choppy waters.

Apparently, Gerard also had his doubts.

‘Anne Boleyn is merely the tip of the iceberg,’ I said. ‘There’s also Catherine Howard, Lady Jane Grey and Mary Queen of Scots.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Gerard. ‘I’d forgotten all about them.’

We were sitting at our usual table in the Royal Oak on the Monday of the following week, pondering the future of England at peace.

‘If it’s any consolation,’ I ventured, ‘Henry the Eighth only beheaded two of his wives.’

‘Yes, but the other four had to live with him,’ said Gerard. ‘That was probably worse.'

Just then the door opened and a man I vaguely recognised came into the pub. He was wearing a tailcoat with shiny buttons up the front; also a pair of buckled shoes. We watched as he headed directly into the stairwell, where he stood for several moments examining the notice board. Next he went around to the bar and spoke briefly to Terence, who handed him a yellow ticket in exchange for a five pound note (it was Josephine’s evening off). The newcomer didn’t stop for a drink and a minute later he was gone.

‘Fancy outfit,’ remarked Gerard. ‘Looks as though we’ve started a fashion.’

‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘Now where have I seen him before?’

‘He came to the talk the other week with Douglas.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s right.’

‘He asked that ridiculous question about what lessons could be learnt from history.’

It was Gerard’s turn to buy a round, so he went over to the bar, helpfully taking our empty glasses with him. Meanwhile, I gazed idly at the other drinkers scattered at various tables here and there. I noticed that roughly half of them were wearing tailcoats with shiny buttons up the front; apparently, Gerard’s observation had been quite correct. I pictured the man who’d just departed; he, too, had been wearing a tailcoat. In the same instant a chilling thought occurred to me. I sprang to my feet and marched through to the stairwell, where I saw immediately that a brand new poster had been pinned up:

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