Relevant History welcomes historical mystery author Peg Herring, who loves mystery in all its forms. Author of the critically acclaimed Simon & Elizabeth (Tudor) series as well as the contemporary Dead Detective series, Peg believes readers deserve well-crafted plots with memorable characters. She lives with her husband in northern Michigan and writes “Strong Women, Great Stories.” For more information, check her web site and blog, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

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When we think of a bridge in a large city nowadays, we think of streamlined shapes, strong pillars, and wide traffic lanes. My research for Poison, Your Grace, the third book of the Simon & Elizabeth mysteries, gives a much different picture of the bridge across the Thames—London Bridge—in sixteenth century London.

Imagine yourself in old London, a town that was not all that big unless the king was in residence. The royal presence swelled the population, and things picked up as businesspeople shifted from sleepy, small-town mode to the busy-ness of waiting on the throngs of nobles who wanted to be wherever the king was. You live in a fashionable home on the north bank of the Thames—a life of luxury, we hope.

Now imagine that you must travel south for some reason. There is only one bridge, situated near the Tower of London and reaching across the dirty-but-useful Thames to Southwark, London’s lawless step-child. Like many places you probably know today, Southwark is safe enough in the daytime, but one should consider carefully the idea of staying after dark. There is little law on the south side. London and the county argue constantly over who has jurisdiction there, and the result is that no one does. In Southwark are found the people not welcome in London itself: shoddy tradesmen, failed apprentices, suspect foreigners, and lifelong criminals.

Southwark is also where entertainments are staged that London will not tolerate. Circuses, sports such as bear-baiting, illegal drink establishments, and many, many prostitutes, once regulated by the Catholic Church (of all entities!) but now operating essentially without restraint. If you are an adventurer, you might relish the invitations of Southwark and cross the bridge seeking new experiences. If you are a proper English lady or gentleman, of course, you will be sure to return to London before nightfall.

You start for the bridge early in the morning, hoping to avoid traffic. You are probably on foot, although your purse determines that. If you are wealthy, you might be carried in a sedan chair. If you own a horse, you could ride, but you’ll have to watch for low-hanging signs as you pass along the bridge. Smacking your head on one would be both painful and embarrassing.

The bridge is open from morning till curfew, when the gates close, and is all day long a bustling spectacle. It is twenty-six feet wide, which seems generous enough for an age of mostly foot traffic and small carts. But King John long ago decided to allow shops to be built along the way to swell the royal coffers. There are almost 200 of them now. (No ale or beer—no cellars to keep beverages cool.) Although only seven feet deep, businesses line both sides of the bridge, reducing travel space to twelve feet. Dividing that into two lanes means six feet of passage space. This still seems like enough until we realize that tradesmen display wares in their windows, causing people ahead of you to stop and look. Not a place to be if you are in a hurry.

You have some leisure, having begun early, so you take advantage of a spot where there are no shops and step aside to take in the view. You note several sections that have been rebuilt, since fire is a constant threat here, as in all of London. Rebellious subjects often focus on the bridge as well, burning buildings and fighting desperate battles there.

Since the shops around you could not expand laterally, they have grown upward. The bridge is lined with buildings several stories high, many with walkways far above your head that connect the two sides. The water flowing beneath you is a reminder that you are crossing a river, but out in the flow of traffic, you might imagine yourself on any street in a large city.

After a while, you rejoin the throng. Ahead of you is a donkey cart with a broken axle, blocking the way as the owner swears and sweats over repairs. As you skirt that obstacle, you step in a pile of manure left by some creature ahead of you. You, too, might have some bad words to say as you step to one side and clean off your shoe.

When you finally approach Southwark, you note on the Southern Gate several human heads in various stages of decomposition. These are England’s traitors, a tradition begun with William Wallace in 1305 that continues, with Thomas Cromwell being a comparatively recent addition. They are dipped in tar to preserve them. One visitor from Germany in 1598 counted more than thirty heads impaled on the iron spikes.

You pass through the gate and into Southwark, where you complete whatever business you have there (licit or not, we will not ask you to specify). It takes longer than you anticipated, however, and you find the gates closed when you start homeward. Now you have only one choice: a water taxi.

Along both sides of the bridge, above and below, are small boats waiting to ferry passengers to the other side. These boats are often faster than crossing the bridge, so if you have a little money, they can save time. Your boatman is wise. He carefully avoids the bridge area, where large water wheels cause up to a six-foot drop in the water level from one side to the other. From time to time someone might attempt to “shoot the bridge,” but he is very likely to drown in the attempt. A popular saying declares the bridge “for wise men to pass over and fools to pass under.”

You reach home safely, content to have your business completed. My protagonist, Simon, is not so lucky. His journey into Southwark is fraught with danger, complicated by lies, and occasioned by murder. Now he has to make sure of two things: that he clears a friend of the crime, and that he is not the killer’s next victim.

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A big thanks to Peg Herring. She’ll give away a print or ebook copy of Poison, Your Grace to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I'll choose the winner from among those who comment by Saturday at 6 p.m. ET. For print, delivery is available within the U.S. only.

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