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that infested face mirkin . By the saints, what do you have to happy about? This wipes me out for a month. No more parties and dicing at the Boars Head and I’ll have to grovel to my uncle for silver. Nooo ... he’s such a sanctimonious tight purse!”
    Poor Will , he wasn’t taking his loss very well. From the heart felt wail, you’d think he’d been robbed rather than eagerly handing over his share for the wager. Geoffrey’s sour grimace and clenched lips betrayed a similar disappointment. Like Ned, he was more used to the travails of chance. As for Ned, he was so excited it was hard not to burst into laughter at the morose faces of his friends. Anyway despite continued moans and complaints, they allowed him to steer them away from the Paris Gardens until he finally saw his target—a well built lad with impressive shoulders and a head surmounted by a thicket of spiky brown hair waving to him.
    “Ho, Master Bedwell. Over here.”
    Ned winced slightly at the booming call of his name and hurried over before grabbing the young giant’s arm. “Ahh, could we not shout out. Secrecy is the watchword, remember.” Ned glanced nervously over his shoulder, scanning the clustered road for signs of sudden interest. So far there was none.
    “Oh, sorry Ned.” The young giant grinned and thrust a large weighty purse into Ned’s open hand. “Here’s your wager as you’d asked. The gentleman at the counting table didn’t seem too happy to hand it over. I think it’s right—over eighty five angels you reckoned.”
    His other two companions stood there in the roadway, mouths dropped open in surprise. That sight alone would have been worth the itchy beard even without the golden reward. Ned made a point of giving the pouch a quick jingle in front of their amazed faces and with a cheeky grin asked “Well, where to now to celebrate?”
    Since his two companions were still lost in the wonder of the cony catch at the Bear Pits, they missed their chance. The genial former possessor of the purse gave a broad smile and waved his arm towards the centre of Southwark “Ahh good sirrahs , I know a place– good food and ale all at reasonable prices. Anyway I have to meet someone there and you are welcome to join me.”
    With Will and Geoffrey still too stunned to argue, Ned seized the chance to lead. So far so good. He slapped his large purse bearer on a broad shoulder and gave a jaunty wave. “That’s a generous suggestion friend. Excellent—lead on and we’ll split the winnings over a meal.”
    The party moved off down the muddy road, towards the spire of the bishop’s palace, well away from the rising sound of Canting’s displeasure. While Ned was bubbling over with excitement and satisfaction, he still cast a wary look over his shoulder. None of the crowd they strolled with had that lean and menacing demeanour favoured by the more common roisters. So far he was safe and once more he’d won out over Canting. Now his future looked secure—his share over sixty glorious golden angels. Lady Fortuna had cast her bright smile upon him. One more careful play and his days of having to grovel to his uncle would be over!
    As they walked towards Southwark, Ned grinned in wicked memory. In desperate times, a man must steel himself for desperate risks. Every man knew that Lady Fortuna did not reward the timorous or the unprepared. So over the past week Ned had been his own intelligencer, sneaking across the river at night to spy out the Paris Gardens and the associated beast enclosures. The heavy touting of Terrible Tom by Canting’s men had him suspicious, and a few nights ago his effort had paid off. He’d found a good spot, wedged underneath an eave by the beast cages. This hidey hole had been dry, sort of warm and well out of sight, though the insects and mice had favoured it as well, and their bites and scamperings had been a sore trial. Concealed and shadowed, he gained a good idea of the keeper’s rounds and learned all manner