Lamentation

by C. J. Sansom

  I WENT INTO CHAMBERS early next morning, for there was work to catch up on. The weather was hot and sunny again. Martin Brocket attended me as usual on rising, no sign on his face of anything unusual, and I guessed Agnes had not told him of our conversation.

  As I was leaving, Josephine asked to speak to me. I took her into the parlour. ‘Agnes Brocket asked me to thank you for your kindness yesterday. She asked me to speak for her as she is – well, ashamed.’

  ‘It is not her shame.’

  ‘She thinks it is. And Martin would be angry if anyone else knew. It would hurt his pride,’ she added, a note of contempt in her voice.

  ‘I have been thinking how seldom the Brockets go out, except for walks.’

  ‘And Agnes never buys clothes.’

  ‘All their money must be going to their son. And, Josephine, that makes me think again about the time you found Martin going through the drawers of my desk. I wonder whether, in a moment of desperation, he considered turning to theft.’

  ‘I wondered the same thing yesterday, sir.’

  ‘It would be an explanation. But I have found nothing missing, and you do not think he has done such a thing again.’

  ‘No, sir, I don’t. And I have been watching him.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘I think he knows that. I think that is why he dislikes me.’

  ‘Well, if it was a moment of madness, then no harm done – but it must not happen again. Go on keeping an eye open, will you? I have other matters on my mind just now, but when I have a little more time I will have to decide what is best to do about him.’

  Josephine smiled, pleased at the responsibility. ‘You can rely on me, sir.’

  IN CHAMBERS I FOUND everyone already at work; Barak and Skelly at their desks, Nicholas doing some much-needed filing. Apart from the disapproving looks Skelly cast at Nicholas’s puffy face, it was like any normal day, spent working with my staff on preparing cases for the new court term in September.

  The quiet did not last long. At noon Barak came in and closed the door to my office behind him, his expression serious. ‘Stice has turned up.’

  I laid down my quill. ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes. Says he has news. Shall I bring him in?’

  ‘Yes. Fetch Nicholas as well.’

  Stice walked confidently into the room. He was well dressed as ever, sword at his hip, every inch the young gentleman. I did not invite him to sit and he surveyed the three of us with a cynical grin.

  ‘All together again, hey?’ He looked at Nicholas. ‘That’s a fine pair of shiners you have.’

  ‘They’re fading. At least in a few days my face will look normal, which yours never will.’

  Stice laughed, but put a hand to his ear. ‘Well, I am keeping my part of the bargain,’ he said to me. ‘There’s news from the customs house. I think some birds may be about to fly into our trap.’

  ‘The missing men?’ I could not keep the eagerness from my voice.

  ‘Four of them, at least,’ Stice said. I exchanged a look with Barak. There were only four survivors of Greening’s group, but Stice did not know that.

  He continued, ‘A balinger arrived yesterday from Antwerp, with a cargo of silks for the peace celebrations. A Dutch crew. They’re loading up a cargo of wool now to take back tomorrow, spending the night moored at Somers Key Wharf. Meanwhile my man at the customs house says four men presented themselves there this morning, claiming they had business in Antwerp, and had passage booked on that ship. One Dutch, one Scotch, and two English. He sent word to me. The four answer the descriptions of Vandersteyn, McKendrick, Curdy and Leeman from the Queen’s household.’ Stice’s thin face lit up with excitement. ‘Though they gave false names, of course. No sign of Myldmore or that apprentice. They’ve been told they can go aboard at ten this evening.’ He smiled. ‘So, we beat your associate Cecil to the quarry.’

  ‘It’s not a competition,’ I answered calmly. ‘If the coming of these four has been recorded at the customs house I have no doubt the news will get to our people today.’

  ‘Isn’t ten at night an unusual hour to go aboard?’ Nicholas asked.

  Stice looked pleased with himself. ‘I’d told my man at the customs house to say it would take till ten to process the papers. It’ll be dark then, easier to take them. All we need to do is wait at Somers Key Wharf tonight. It’ll be quiet, work will have finished for the day. With luck we’ll take them all. And hopefully Askew’s confession will be in their luggage, or more likely about the person of one of them.’ And the Lamentation too, I thought. My heart quickened.

  ‘Why tell us?’ Barak asked Stice. ‘You could have taken them yourselves.’

  ‘Because Sir Richard keeps his word, fellow.’ Stice smiled, then shrugged. ‘And as you said, your people will likely get wind of it today, in any case. Besides, if we take them on the wharf there may be trouble. I’ve told the customs people to keep out of it, that this is private business of Sir Richard, but the crew of that Dutch ship may not like us seizing their passengers, particularly if they’re all heretics.’

  ‘The crew will probably be getting drunk in the city,’ Barak said.

  ‘There will be a couple of men left on board at least,’ Stice replied. ‘To keep watch, and help the passengers aboard. And these four may bring their own protection with them, of course.’

  I had to agree. ‘Yes, there is still the question of those two men who murdered the printer.’

  ‘If there is a fight at the wharf, won’t that attract people?’ Nicholas asked.

  ‘It could do,’ Barak agreed. ‘But if swords are being waved around, and a good number of men are involved, people are unlikely to intervene.’

  ‘I agree,’ Stice said. ‘I can bring another two men tonight besides me and Gower. Can you three come?’

  Nicholas and Barak nodded, Nicholas looking Stice in the eye. I said, ‘And I will send a note to Cecil, to see if he can provide anybody, too.’

  Stice thought a moment. I wondered if he was considering, if Cecil brought some more men, whether his own party would be outnumbered if it came to trouble between us. Then he smiled again. ‘Wear dark clothes. We can look forward to an exciting evening.’

  ‘My instructions are to see these people are taken alive,’ I said. It had occurred to me that Rich might prefer that anyone with knowledge of Anne Askew’s writings be put permanently out of the way.

  ‘Of course. Sir Richard and your friend Cecil will doubtless want to question them all. Unless they decide to act the hero and fight back. They’re fanatics, remember.’ Stice looked serious now.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Unless they fight back.’

  ‘Nine o’clock then, at Somers Key Wharf. I’ve been down there and paid the wharfmaster to ensure a big stack of empty barrels is moved to a place opposite the Dutch ship. We wait behind them; it’s an ideal arrangement to take them by surprise. We’ll meet first at Needlepoint Lane at eight, get to the wharf by nine and hide ourselves. There’s no moon tonight, it’ll be dark. When they come they won’t know what’s hit them.’

  ‘You have organized everything very well,’ I said grudgingly.

  Stice gave an exaggerated bow and looked round at the three of us again. Barak met his gaze stonily, Nicholas angrily. ‘Come, sir,’ Stice said chidingly to him. ‘No ill feelings, as I said to Master Shardlake earlier. You gave a good account of yourself, for all you’re a lad just up from the country.’

  ‘In an even fight, Master Stice, one on one, I may do even better.’

  ‘Who knows? But we’re on the same side now.’

  ‘For the moment,’ Nicholas said quietly.

  THAT EVENING Barak and I met Nicholas at his lodgings, and the three of us walked into town. It was a beautiful evening, the sun setting slowly, light white clouds in a sky of darkening blue. A cooling breeze had risen from the west. I looked at my companions. Barak’s expression was keen and alert, Nicholas’s coldly determined. I spoke quietly to him. ‘No bravado tonight. Do not let yourself be roused by St
ice, and do not put yourself at risk unnecessarily.’

  ‘I will not let you down, sir.’ He paused, then added, ‘I know how dangerous this is. And that we must watch our allies as carefully as our enemies.’

  ‘If enemies they are. We are not even sure they have the Lamentation. But we must find out.’

  ‘Tonight we will.’

  I nodded. I was more glad of his and Barak’s company than I could say; I did not fancy my prospects were I to be caught on my own between a group of religious fanatics and a clutch of Rich’s men. I had received a reply from Cecil to say he would be joining us at Stice’s house, with two strong men from Lord Parr’s household. I guessed Cecil would be as little use in a fight as myself, so Stice’s party and ours would have four fighting men each.

  We turned into Needlepoint Lane, past the tavern where once again patrons were gathered outside, and knocked on the door of Stice’s house. He let us in. The big man Gower was sitting at the table. Two other men sat with him, large young fellows with swords. They looked, as Barak would have said, useful.

  Stice was cheerful and animated. He introduced us to his two new men with a mock bow. ‘Here is Serjeant Shardlake, representing the interest of a certain personage who also has an interest in seeing the scribbles of Mistress Askew destroyed. And his men Barak and Master Overton. Overton and Gower had a row a few days ago, as you can see from the state of young Overton’s face.’

  Nicholas gave him a blank look. ‘I get bored with your baiting, sir. This is no time for silly games.’

  ‘Quite right,’ I agreed.

  Stice shrugged. ‘Just a little sport.’

  There was another knock at the door. Stice opened it again and William Cecil entered, with two heavyset men, a little older than the two Stice had brought. Like all of us they were dressed in dark clothes. Cecil took a deep breath, looking round the gathering with the sort of cool stare he might have given to an assembly of fellow lawyers. Stice grinned at him. ‘Young Master Cecil! I had you pointed out to me a little while ago as a rising man in the service of a certain person.’

  Cecil’s reply was cold and clear. ‘You are Stice, I take it, Sir Richard’s man. I was told your appearance was – distinctive.’

  Stice scowled but nodded, then Cecil asked, ‘We are all to go down to Somers Key Wharf?’

  ‘Yes.’ Stice looked out of the window. ‘It’s pretty dark already. We get there by nine, hide behind the barrels, and wait. When they come, we rush them and bring them, and any baggage they have, back here. It’s likely the writing we’re looking for will be on their persons rather than in their luggage. I’ve another man waiting near the wharf with a horse and a big cart with a tarpaulin; we’ll bind and gag them to keep them quiet on the way back here, knock them out if we have to.’

  ‘We shall have to act quickly, and all together,’ Barak said.

  ‘Agreed. And if any watchmen question us about what we’re doing, I have Sir Richard’s seal.’ Stice looked at Cecil. ‘But if they fight back, and someone gets killed, that’s not our fault. And if the printer’s murderers arrive, too, and they get killed, you agree that’s no loss?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Cecil answered coldly. He pointed to the empty grate. ‘And any writings we find on them, we destroy immediately in that fire. That is also agreed?’

  Stice hesitated, but Cecil continued smoothly. ‘I think your master would prefer that nobody look at anything we find. In case it incriminates him.’ He met Stice’s eye. I admired his cool judgement. Rich would not want even his own men to see any record of his and Wriothesley’s torture of Anne Askew. No doubt Rich would have liked to find something damaging to the Queen among Anne Askew’s writings, and I had let him believe that such incriminating statements might exist; but as he had told me, that was not his priority now. Cecil’s hope was doubtless that we would be able to quickly burn all writings we found, including the Lamentation, if the survivors of Greening’s group turned out to have it. And as Greening had torn off the title page when he was attacked, I was hoping it might not be clear, from the face of the manuscript, who had written it.

  ‘Ready then?’ Barak asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Stice agreed.

  ‘Then let us go.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  WE WALKED DOWN THAMES STREET; ten of us, all in dark clothes, most carrying swords. It was just past curfew, and the few people on the streets gave our intimidating-looking group a wide berth. A watchman did step out to ask what we were about, a little nervously, but Stice answered peremptorily, ‘Business of Sir Richard Rich, Privy Councillor,’ and produced a gold seal. The watchman held up his lantern to look at it, then bowed us on our way.

  We walked past London Bridge; candles were being lit in the four-storey houses built along its length. The tide was full, just starting to ebb; we could hear the roar of the waters as they rushed under the broad stone piers of the bridge. It was dangerous for boats to ‘shoot the bridge’ and for that reason the wharves dealing with foreign trade were sited immediately downriver. They ran along the waterfront between the bridge and the Tower of London; a line of masts near a quarter of a mile long when trade was busy, as it was now. Behind the waterfront stood a long row of warehouses. I saw the tall, skeleton-like arms of the cranes at Billingsgate Wharf outlined against the near-dark sky; beyond the wharves, the Tower appeared a strange phantom grey in the last of the light.

  We turned down Botolph Lane to the waterfront, walking quietly, stumbling occasionally, for we had no lamps. From several buildings came the sound of revelry, even though it was past curfew – illegal ale-houses and brothels, serving sailors ashore for the night, which the authorities tended to leave alone.

  We reached the waterfront and the long line of ships. It was quiet here after the noise of the surrounding streets. For a moment I thought I heard something, like a foot striking a stone, from the mouth of the lane from which we had just emerged. I looked back quickly but saw only the black empty passageway. I exchanged a glance with Barak; he had heard it, too.

  Stice led the way onto the cobbled wharf, keeping close to the warehouse buildings. Beyond it the ships bobbed gently on the tide; low, heavy, one- and two-masted trading vessels lined stern to prow, secured by heavy ropes to big stone bollards, sails tightly furled. From a few cabins came the dim flicker of candlelight. With the reopening of French and Scottish trade, and the import of luxury goods for the admiral’s visit, the wharves must be busy indeed during the day. Out on the river itself pinpricks of light, the lanterns of wherries, glinted on the water.

  Nearby stood a long pile of barrels, three high, secured with ropes. ‘No talking now,’ Stice said in a whisper. ‘Get in behind them.’

  One by one we slipped into the dark space. I crouched next to Cecil and Stice, peering between two of the barrels, which smelled strongly of wine. Opposite us a two-masted crayer was berthed, a squat heavy vessel for North Sea carriage of perhaps thirty tons, Antwerpen painted on the side. There was a little deck-house, the windows unshuttered; two men in linen shirts sat inside, playing cards by the light of the lamp. They were middle-aged, but strong-looking.

  Next to me Cecil’s face was quietly intent. I thought, this is not his usual form of business, and wondered whether underneath his coolness he feared the prospect of violence. I whispered to him, ‘I thought I heard something, at the mouth of that lane, just as we came onto the docks. Like someone dislodging a stone.’

  He turned to me, his face anxious now. ‘You mean we have been followed?’

  ‘I don’t know. Barak heard it too. I had a strange feeling.’

  Stice, on my other side, turned to Barak who had taken a position beside him. ‘Did you?’

  He nodded yes.

  Stice’s eyes glittered in the dark. ‘Once or twice I’ve felt the house in Needlepin Lane is being watched. But I’ve not been able to catch anybody at it.’

  ‘We’ve never known for sure that Greening’s murderers were connected with these Anabaptists,’ Cecil sai
d. ‘What if there’s a third party involved, someone we don’t know about?’

  ‘Then perhaps tonight we’ll find out,’ Stice answered. ‘Now be quiet, stop talking, just watch.’

  We crouched there for the best part of an hour. My back and knees hurt; I had to keep shifting position. Once, we tensed at the sound of footsteps and voices, and hands reached for swords and daggers, but it was only a couple of sailors, weaving drunkenly along the dockside. They climbed aboard a ship some way off. Apart from an occasional distant shouting from the taverns, all was quiet save for the sound of water lapping round the ships.

  Then I heard more footsteps, quiet and steady this time, and from another narrow lane to our left I saw the bobbing yellow glow of a lantern. A whisper passed along our row of men. ‘Four of them,’ Stice said into my ear. ‘Looks like our people. Right, you and Master Cecil stay at the rear, leave it to us fighting men.’ And then, with a patter of feet and the distinctive whish of swords being pulled from their scabbards, the others ran out from behind the barrels. Cecil and I followed, our daggers at the ready.

  The men were taken totally by surprise. The lantern was raised to show four astonished faces. They matched the descriptions I had committed to memory: the tall, powerfully built square-faced man in his thirties must be the Scotch cleric McKendrick, the plump middle-aged man the merchant Curdy, and the rangy fair-haired fellow the Dutchman Vandersteyn. The fourth man, in his twenties, tall, strongly built and dark-haired, had to be Leeman, the Queen’s guard who had deserted. He would be trained as a fighting man, and I also remembered that McKendrick had formerly been a soldier. Apart from Curdy, who had the round flabbiness of a prosperous merchant, each looked as if they could give good account of themselves.

  All four rallied in an instant, bringing up swords of their own. They were going to make a fight of it. Apart from Curdy, who had been holding the lamp and now laid it down, only the fair-haired man had been encumbered by luggage, a large bag which he let drop to the cobbles. But Stice and his crew, Cecil’s two men, and Barak and Nicholas, made eight against them. They fanned out in a circle, surrounding the smaller group, who cast glances, as did I, at the ship from Antwerp. The two crewmen had now left the cabin and stood at the rail, staring at what was happening. Then another man climbed up from below to join them.