Lamentation

by C. J. Sansom

  AGAIN, THERE WAS A period of silence from Whitehall. I heard nothing for a day or so. I returned to work, but found it harder this time to settle or rest.

  On Saturday morning, the 24th of July, I arrived at chambers late in the morning to find Nicholas absent.

  ‘Perhaps he has had a late night in the taverns,’ Skelly observed disapprovingly.

  ‘He said yesterday his chest was hurting,’ Barak observed. ‘I’ll go to his place at lunchtime if he hasn’t come in, check he’s all right.’

  I nodded.

  Skelly added reproachfully. ‘That witness in that Common Pleas case called, as arranged, to have you take his deposition, and I had to say you had been called away on urgent business. Since I did not know where you were, sir,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said, annoyed at having forgotten; things could not go on like this.

  ‘And these notes were delivered for you.’ Skelly handed me some papers.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I took them into my room and worked alone for the next few hours. Most were routine matters, but one was an official notification from Treasurer Rowland that a complaint had been made against me by my former client, Isabel Slanning. He asked me to call on him on Monday. I sighed. Well, that was not unexpected. There was nothing to it, but no doubt Rowland would enjoy trying to discomfit me.

  I was a little worried about Nicholas. Barak had said he would visit him at lunchtime if he did not arrive at chambers. What if he found him ill, his wound infected perhaps, and needed to take him to Guy? But I knew Barak: if it was anything I should know, he would have sent a message. He might have gone home, as I had told him he could if he wished while Tamasin was expecting. I turned my attention back to the work that was still upon my desk.

  Shortly after, there was a knock at the door. I hoped it might be Barak returned, but Skelly came in. ‘Master Dyrick has called to see you, sir, regarding the Slanning case.’

  ‘Show him in.’ I put down my quill, frowning. He must have come to collect the Slanning papers. They were on the table next to my desk. I would have expected him to send a clerk, though. We had had a passage of arms a year before, and I knew things about Vincent Dyrick that gave him an interest in not pushing me too far. Nonetheless, he was a man who loved a fight. I could imagine Isabel looking for the most aggressive barrister available. Someone who did not mind acting for difficult clients with hopeless cases, so long as they paid well. That fitted Dyrick exactly. I knew from experience that he would be relentless in trying to make something of the case; probably even persuade himself that her cause was just.

  Dyrick came in with his confident, athletic step, his green eyes sharp as ever in his thin, handsome face, strands of red hair showing under his coif. He bowed briefly and gave me his sardonic smile.

  ‘God give you good morning, Brother Shardlake.’

  ‘And you, Brother Dyrick. Please sit.’

  He did so, folding his hands in his lap.

  I continued, civil but unsmiling, ‘So, you have taken Mistress Slanning’s case? I have the papers ready.’

  ‘Good. It is an interesting matter.’

  ‘Hopeless, I think. But profitable.’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’ He smiled again. ‘Brother Shardlake, I know that you and I have reason to keep apart, but – well – sometimes by chance we will find ourselves on opposing sides in a case.’

  ‘My involvement in this one is over. Was it you who prompted her to complain to the Inn authorities?’ I asked abruptly. ‘The complaint is nonsense.’

  He met my gaze. ‘Actually, since you ask, no. I told her she should concentrate on the case. But she was insistent.’

  ‘Mistress Slanning is certainly that.’ I thought, he is telling the truth there. As far as the case was concerned, there was no advantage in making a complaint, and while Dyrick would like to make trouble for me, neither would he push matters too far.

  ‘She is most displeased with your conduct of matters,’ he said in a tone of mock reproof.

  ‘I know.’ I pushed the bundle of documents over to him. ‘Here are the papers, and I wish you joy of them.’

  He laid the bundle on his lap. ‘A lot of meat on this chicken,’ he said appreciatively. He switched his look to one of disapproval. ‘Mistress Slanning tells me you conspired against her with her brother’s lawyer, Master Coleswyn. You have been a guest at his house. Further, she claims that you guided her to an expert for an opinion on the wall painting at the centre of this case, who was unsympathetic. She says this man, Adam, was also in collusion with you and Coleswyn. It would help me in representing her if you could give me your response to those charges.’

  For a brief moment I considered offering the sort of earthy response Barak might have made. Instead I spoke calmly. ‘You will find she chose the expert herself, from the list I provided, without asking my advice.’

  He inclined his head. ‘Mistress Slanning also says that, like Coleswyn and her brother, you are an extreme religious radical. I fear she has insisted, despite my opposition, on raising that in court in September. I thought I should warn you.’

  Dyrick fixed me with those cold green eyes. I answered, an edge in my voice, ‘I am no extreme radical, as you well know.’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it is nothing to me either way, but it is not the sort of accusation to have made in public these days. I should warn you, she has put that in her complaint to Lincoln’s Inn as well.’

  ‘You are right. It is not sensible to bandy around accusations of religious extremism in these days. For anyone.’ There was a warning note in my voice. Dyrick possessed a reckless streak, a lack of sensible judgement, and enjoyed making trouble for trouble’s sake.

  He inclined his head again. ‘I thought the heresy hunt was over.’

  ‘One can never be sure.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you know more of that than I. You have contacts at court, I remember.’

  ‘Brother Dyrick,’ I began, ‘you must know this case is nonsense, the expert opinion clear and decisive. And my opponent Master Coleswyn, in case you are fishing for information about him, is a clever man, and a reasonable one. In my opinion both Isabel Slanning and Edward Cotterstoke have no aim other than to hurt each other. It would be in everyone’s interest if the matter were settled quickly.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you know as well as I, Brother Shardlake, that Mistress Slanning will never settle. Never.’ He was right. A picture came into my mind of Isabel’s face; lined, bitter, implacable.

  Dyrick rose, slipping the file under his arm. He patted it smugly. ‘As I said, there is a lot of meat on this chicken. I came to tell you, I will fight it hard; but I will not encourage Mistress Slanning in throwing around accusations of heresy. I am well aware how dangerous that is. As for her complaint to the Inn, I will have to leave you to deal with that.’

  I nodded. I was glad he had some sense at least.

  ‘I now look forward to doing battle with Brother Coleswyn.’ Dyrick bowed and left the room.

  I SAT THERE AWHILE, more irritated than angry at having Vincent Dyrick back in my life. The notion of a religious conspiracy in the Slanning case was ludicrous. But it remained a worry to Philip Coleswyn – possibly even a threat – if Isabel continued making wild accusations. I would warn him.

  Eventually, with a sigh, I returned to work. It was cooler now, the sun fading, and all was quiet outside in Gatehouse Court. Towards seven there was another knock at the door; I hoped again it might be Barak or Nicholas, but it was only Skelly come to bid me goodnight and hand me a note. ‘This just came, sir. Someone slipped it under the door.’ It was a folded paper addressed to me in scrawled capitals, sealed with a shapeless blob of wax.

  When Skelly left I broke the seal and opened the note. It was unsigned, and like my address it was written in unidentifiable capitals:

  MASTER SHARDLAKE,

  WE HAVE THE BOY NICHOLAS OVERTON. IF YOU WISH TO SEE HIM AGAIN CALL AT THE HOUSE WITH GREEN SHUTTERS TWO
DOORS DOWN FROM THE SIGN OF THE FLAG IN NEEDLEPIN LANE, ALONE, AT NINE TONIGHT. TELL NO ONE AT THE PALACE; WE HAVE A SPY THERE. IF YOU DO NOT COME, WE WILL SEND YOU HIS HEAD.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I HALF-WALKED, HALF-RAN the few streets to Barak’s house, earning curious stares from passers-by. My overwhelming fear was that he had found a similar note at Nicholas’s rooms and had gone off on a hunt of his own. I told myself it was not like Barak to act impulsively, certainly not these days. But I was truly frightened now for both of them, and cursed myself anew for the trouble my involvement with the Lamentation had brought to all around me.

  I was out of breath when I arrived, sweating and panting heavily as I knocked at the door. I realized I had become unfit these last months, doing little more than sitting at my work all day and eating Agnes Brocket’s good food at home.

  Jane Marris opened the door. She curtsied, then stared at me. ‘Have you run here, Master Shardlake?’

  ‘Half-run. From chambers.’

  Unexpectedly, she smiled. ‘All is well, sir. The mistress had a scare, but it turned out to be nothing. Dr Malton is with her.’

  I frowned, not knowing what she meant, but followed her anxiously down the little hallway, breathing hard. In the neat little parlour Tamasin sat on cushions, looking pale. To my immense relief Barak sat on a chair beside her, his unbandaged hand in hers while Guy, in his long physician’s robe, leaned over the table, mixing herbs in a dish. From upstairs I heard little George crying.

  ‘Jane,’ Tamasin said, ‘will you go up to him? He knows there is something out of sorts.’

  ‘What has happened?’ I asked when Jane left the room.

  Barak looked up. In the warm summer evening he wore only his shirt and hose, and I again glimpsed his father’s ancient mezuzah on its gold chain round his neck. ‘Tamasin had a pain in her stomach this morning. When I came home at lunchtime it was worse. She feared something was happening to the baby. I went round to Guy.’

  Guy spoke soothingly, ‘All is well, it was nothing more than wind.’ Tamasin looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘She had me worried,’ Barak said. Tamasin lifted a hand and stroked his neat beard. He turned his head to look at me. ‘Sorry I didn’t come back to work. But it’s Saturday. Paperwork day. How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I – I didn’t, for certain. But there was something I needed to discuss with you urgently, so I came round.’

  ‘I am sorry I discommoded you,’ Tamasin said.

  ‘’Tis you that needs the commode,’ Barak answered with a wicked grin.

  ‘Fie, Jack.’ She reddened.

  Guy stood up. ‘Mix these herbs with some beer and take them with food,’ he instructed. ‘Sometimes the mixture can ease – what you have.’ He smiled. ‘There is nothing else to worry about.’

  Tamasin took his hand. ‘You are good to us,’ she said. ‘Only we worry, after – ’

  ‘I know,’ Guy said. She was remembering their first, stillborn child.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Barak said.

  ‘Thank you.’ I noticed there was still a reserve in Guy’s voice when he addressed me. He gave me a formal little bow, which hurt me more than hard words would have done, and Barak showed him out. I was left with Tamasin. She leaned back on the cushions.

  ‘I was worried,’ she said to me quietly.

  ‘I understand. In your condition any – upset – must make you fear some ill to the child.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked wistful. ‘I hope for a daughter this time. A little girl to dress in frocks and make rag dolls for.’

  ‘Maybe it will be so.’

  She smiled briefly at the thought, then said, ‘Guy looked at Jack’s hand. It is healing well. But it was unlike him to be so careless, and that is a nasty cut to get just from a paper knife.’ Her eyes had narrowed slightly and I had to stop myself shifting uneasily; I knew how sharp Tamasin was.

  ‘I am glad it is healing well,’ I replied neutrally.

  Barak returned. From the look of me he had guessed something serious was afoot. ‘We’ll go and talk up in the bedroom, Tammy,’ he said. ‘You won’t want to hear a lot of legal business.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Take Guy’s advice, woman,’ he said with mock severity, ‘and get some rest.’ He led me up the little staircase to their bedroom, where he sat on the bed, lowering his voice, for Jane Marris was still with George next door. He spoke quietly. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Did you go round to Nicholas’s lodgings today?’

  ‘Yes. I promised I would. At lunchtime, before coming home. The other students he shares that pigsty with said he went out yesterday evening and didn’t come back. They thought he’d probably found a whore to bed with.’

  ‘He didn’t, though. Read this.’ I took out the note and handed it to him. ‘It was pushed under the chambers door less than half an hour ago.’

  After reading the message, Barak closed his eyes a moment before opening them and glaring at me furiously.

  ‘All right,’ he said, his voice still quiet. ‘What in Christ’s name is going on?’

  ‘I can’t tell you everything. I’m sworn to secrecy—’

  ‘Fuck that!’ His voice rose angrily. ‘Something big’s happening, isn’t it? You’ve been using me and Nicholas to help with aspects of it. That stolen jewel of the Queen’s down at Baynard’s Castle, the murdered printer whose parents you’re supposed to be acting for, those men who attacked us in that tavern; that scared-looking young man you questioned in chambers. They’re all connected, aren’t they? You send me with a note to the palace and then a whole troop of men come and take the poor arsehole away. He was terrified. And that young lawyer who came with them, the one with the warty face, he works for the Queen, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I could tell by the manner, the cut of his robe, that he was a palace lawyer – I worked round people like that long enough. And I’ve known you six years; I know how jumpy and tetchy you get when something dangerous is on!’ He stabbed a finger at me. ‘The Queen’s got you mixed up in something again, hasn’t she? Someone’s kidnapped Nick because of it, and you want me to help you get him back! Well, tell me everything first! Everything!’

  I raised my hands. ‘Lower your voice, or the women will hear.’ I hesitated; if I told him all I would be breaking my oath and exposing him to dangerous secrets, but if I were to do anything for Nicholas I needed Barak’s assistance now. So I told him the whole story: my first summons to the Queen, the missing Lamentation, the two men who had died and the others who had vanished, Myldmore’s confession, Anne Askew’s writings. I spoke softly, Barak asking a couple of questions now and again in an equally quiet voice.

  At the end of my story he sat thinking, stroking his beard, but still looking angry. ‘Can’t you get the Queen’s men to help you?’

  ‘The note says they have a spy in the palace.’

  ‘That could be bluff.’

  ‘I daren’t risk it.’

  ‘Can’t you get a personal note to the Queen herself – you who would do anything for her?’ There was impatience in his voice.

  I shook my head. ‘There is no time. Nine tonight, remember. It’s well past seven now.’

  ‘If there is a spy at Whitehall Palace, they won’t let you out of this house of theirs alive to tell of it. Let alone release Nick.’

  I spoke quietly, ‘I just want you to come to the house with me and hide nearby while I go in. You’re good at that.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Then, if I don’t come out in twenty minutes, try to get a message to the lawyer William Cecil. There is no danger to you in that.’

  He shook his head, suddenly weary. ‘You’d die for the Queen, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered simply.

  He paced the room, then said, ‘Shit. I’ll come. Though I think Tamasin’s already suspicious over my hand.’

  ‘Thank you, Jack.’ I spoke humbly. ‘Thank you. I am more grateful than I can s
ay.’

  ‘So you fucking should be. Now wait here while I go and say goodbye to my wife, tell her some story about a witness that needs to be seen urgently. I don’t want her seeing that drawn face of yours again. I’ll call you down.’

  ‘We’ve an hour and a half,’ I said.

  ‘Enough, then, to find a tavern, and think and plan properly.’

  WE WALKED INTO THE CITY, then down towards the river. Barak had donned an old leather jerkin over his shirt, and brought another for me, which I had placed over my doublet once we left the house. It would not be wise to stand out in the poorer areas for which we were headed. Greening’s killers had known that.

  ‘Have you any gold in your purse?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. And some silver.’

  ‘Gold’s much better.’

  We said little more as we walked along St Peter’s Street and into Thames Street. To the south I could see the cranes on the wharves and the river beyond, white with sails. Over to the west the sun was setting. Barak never broke his stride; he had spent all his life in the city and knew every street and alley. Eventually he stopped. A respectable-looking tavern stood where Thames Street intersected with a lane of narrow, tumbledown houses that led down to the river, some of the buildings slanting at odd angles as they had settled, over the decades, into the Thames clay. A little way down the lane I saw a sign marking another, shabbier-looking tavern, painted with the red-and-white cross of St George. It was the Sign of the Flag mentioned in the note.

  ‘Needlepin Lane,’ Barak said. ‘Mostly cheap lodging houses. Let’s go in here to this tavern; sit by the window.’

  The place was busy, mostly with shopkeepers and workers come for a drink at the end of the day. Barak got two mugs of beer and we took seats with a view of the lane; the shutters were wide open this hot evening, letting in the stifling dusty stink of the city. We had scarcely sat when Barak rose again. A solidly built man in a London constable’s red uniform, staff over his shoulder and lamp in hand, was walking by. Later he would patrol the streets to enforce the curfew. Barak leaned over. ‘Your purse. Quick!’