by C. J. Sansom
I looked at him. ‘If the Queen falls the Duke of Norfolk will be in dire straits. The head of the traditionalist faction. The Queen’s uncle.’
Cranmer nodded. I thought, he cavils at the means but will use them for his ends. All the time the Progress was away he has been working towards this.
‘This will be the end of the Howards,’ he said neutrally. ‘There are other families waiting in the wings, more favourable to reform, they will have the King’s ear now. The Seymours, the Dudleys, the Parrs.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, the Parrs.’
‘Will the Queen die?’ I asked him.
He looked at me with those unreadable blue eyes. ‘I think she must. But for now it is not to be spoken of outside Hampton Court. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
I saw his eyes move to my wrist. My sleeve had ridden up, exposing the gyve and the raw skin. Cranmer gave an unhappy little sigh. ‘I am sorry for what happened to you, Master Shardlake,’ he said quietly. ‘You will receive more pay than your strict due, I will see to that.’
‘Broderick-’ I said.
He waved a hand. ‘I do not blame you for failing to save him. You were not to know Radwinter was mad.’ He frowned.
‘I think he was never quite normal in his mind.’
‘I thought his – his cruelty – was in a way being used by God, harnessed in the service of truth, the destruction of heresy. I hope that may save his soul.’ He looked out of the window at the teeming rain, the bare trees, and again I heard that unhappy sigh.
‘Your grace,’ I said. ‘I do not think Radwinter killed Broderick. I think Maleverer was wrong.’
He looked at me in surprise. ‘He seemed sure.’
‘I knew Radwinter, your grace. In his mind, even at the end, to him such an act would have been wrong.’ I met the Archbishop’s gaze. ‘He was loyal to you till the end.’
‘Then who did kill Broderick?’
‘I think someone helped him kill himself, as he had tried to do before. And I believe that person may also have stolen the papers in that casket.’ Cranmer looked at me keenly as I told him of my suspicions. ‘Sir William would not believe me,’ I added.
Cranmer thought a moment. ‘He seemed certain. If Maleverer ignored that possibility he is indeed a man of poor judgement. So someone stole the papers and stayed with the Progress, all the way to the ship. But who?’
I took a deep breath. ‘The soldier who guarded Broderick on the boat: Sergeant Leacon. He was part of the guard at St Mary’s too. A Kentishman. I saw him out in the yard just now.’
‘Yes. I believe he has been dismissed.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It would do no harm to have him questioned.’
‘But my lord, I am not sure,’ I said. ‘May I ask…’
‘Yes?’
‘That he be just questioned? Be put to no harsh measures. The evidence is only circumstantial as yet.’
‘I will question him myself.’ The archbishop frowned. ‘If the conspirators have those papers it could make – difficulties. Some are still at large. Some of the papist sympathizers at Gray’s Inn have already been questioned following Bernard Locke’s confession, but we uncovered nothing about who his contact there was.’
‘I saw Locke briefly, in the Tower. Before he was executed. He was in a grim state.’
‘God receive his soul.’ Cranmer gave another unhappy sigh. ‘But he deserved to die, he was a traitor and conspirator to murder.’ He waved a beringed hand. ‘Go home now, Master Shardlake, rest. I will send word if we find new information.’
‘Yes, your grace.’ I thought, should I mention Blaybourne, the legend I discovered from the old lawyer in Hull? But he would know it, all those in power would know. And better they were left unaware that I knew too. I rose, wincing. ‘Your grace?’
‘Yes.’
‘May I request that I be not asked to work in the service of politics again. Now, especially after what has befallen me, I desire only a peaceful life for such time as God allows me.’ I reached for the seal and held it out to him. He looked at it, and then at me.
‘You could be a useful man to me, Master Shardlake. Your old master Thomas Cromwell thought so.’
I did not reply. I continued holding out the seal. He looked at my ravaged face. ‘Very well,’ he said, and took it reluctantly. I rose painfully to my feet and bowed. I turned to the door but he called me back. ‘Master Shardlake.’
‘Your grace.’
‘The harsh measures the King takes are necessary. Do not forget he is chosen by God, appointed by Him to guide England into the paths of wisdom and truth.’
I would have liked to tell him that was what Radwinter used to say, but I only nodded, bowed again and left the room. The soldier took me back down the corridors, across the lawn and down to the river stage. Barak was waiting there.
‘The boatman will take you back to town, sir.’ The soldier gave a quick bow and walked away. I watched him go, realizing that at last I was free. Barak touched my arm.
‘Let’s go home,’ he said gently.
Chapter Forty-five
AS WE APPROACHED Westminster the rain eased and by the time the boat pulled in at Temple Stairs it had stopped completely. Barak helped me out. I stood looking at Temple Gardens and the familiar squat shape of the Templars’ church.
‘Can you manage the walk to Chancery Lane?’ he asked.
‘Ay. The thought of home draws me like a magnet.’
‘The horses are back, by the way. Arrived two days ago, fresh as new paint.’
I laughed bitterly. ‘Never doubt the ability of the King and his minions when it comes to organizing things. A Progress, a reception, an army. Torture and death.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘I got Cranmer to agree he will never call on my services again.’
‘Suits me. I never want another few days like I’ve just had. What will happen to Rich and Maleverer?’
‘To Rich, nothing. He stands too high. Maleverer will lose his position. Cranmer is worried about who Broderick’s assassin might be. I suggested he question Sergeant Leacon.’
Barak shook his head. ‘The sergeant? It can’t be him. He’s like old Wrenne, no concerns beyond his family and doing his work.’
‘Then Cranmer will find that out. I just wanted to – to tie this up if I could. There’s no one else I can think of that it could be.’ And then I thought, but isn’t there?
‘Are you coming?’ Barak asked.
‘Yes, yes of course.’ We began walking up the path, carefully, for it was carpeted with wet leaves.
‘We’d better tell Joan something to explain your appearance,’ he said. ‘We could say you’d been set on and robbed.’
‘Ay. I’ll have to keep this gyve hidden. Damn the thing.’
‘I’ll get that off with my tools.’
I shook my head. ‘Was it raining hard all the time I was in the Tower? It seemed like it.’
‘Pretty much.’
I looked at the bare trees. ‘When we started for York summer was not long past. Now we are come to winter.’
‘Do you remember the great snow we had in November four years ago? Jesu, that was cold.’
‘All too well. That was when I was sent to the monastery at Scarnsea. My first matter of state. My disillusion with the King and all his works started there.’
We trudged on, up to Fleet Bridge and then across to Chancery Lane. The red chimneys of my house came into view.
‘Home!’ I breathed. ‘At last!’ Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
PETER THE KITCHEN BOY was in the hall as we entered, carrying a pail of slops. He stared wide-eyed at my appearance. I tucked my manacled hand into my coat pocket.
‘Where is Joan?’ Barak asked him sharply.
‘Gone to market, sir. Mistress Reedbourne has just taken a bowl of broth to Master Wrenne.’ He gave a saucy leer at Barak when he mentioned Tamasin’s name.
‘Is there a fire in the parlour?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
&nbs
p; ‘Then bring us some beer.’
He went off. I followed Barak into the parlour and slumped down in my chair by the fire, massaging my wrist.
‘I’ll get my tools,’ he said. I remembered the night he had picked the lock of the Wentworths’ well for me, a year ago. I had been a little scandalized, then, by his lock-picking skills. Now I was past being scandalized by anything.
HE WORKED ON the gyve for half an hour, but without result. ‘The damned lock’s all rusted inside,’ he said.
I looked at the cursed thing; already I hated that tight circle of iron more than any object in the world. ‘Then how are we to get it off? It bites into my wrist.’ I heard the edge of panic in my voice.
‘I’ve a friend down Cheapside who can have any lock off,’ he said. ‘He’s more skill and better tools than me.’ Barak glared at the manacle, reluctant to admit defeat. ‘I’ll go and see if he’s about.’
‘You should rest.’
‘No. I’ll go now.’ He finished his pot of beer and left. I heaved myself to my feet and slowly mounted the stairs.
Giles was sitting up in bed, in nightshirt and dressing gown. Tamasin sat at his side, sewing one of her dresses. She jumped up at my arrival. Both stared at my face.
‘It looks worse than it is,’ I said.
‘You are free?’ Giles asked.
‘Yes. Thanks to Barak. I do not want to talk about it, not yet. How are you, Giles?’
He smiled. ‘A little stronger every day. That voyage was too much for me. By Jesu, I am glad you are free. I have been sore worried.’ I was moved by the concern in his face.
‘He is not a good patient, sir,’ Tamasin said. She smiled, but her eyes on me were watchful. She looked pale and tired.
‘I hear you have been attending Master Wrenne well.’
‘She has.’ Giles smiled at her warmly.
‘He will keep getting up, though your friend Master Guy says he should stay abed awhile yet.’
‘Barak told me he came.’
‘May I leave you for a while, sir?’ Tamasin asked. ‘I said I would do some shopping for Mistress Woode.’
‘Ay. And thank you for bringing those things to the Tower.’
‘I am pleased to see you out of that doleful place, sir. Jack was half mad with worry.’ There was still something watchful, evaluating, in her look. Was that because she was uncertain of the treatment she might expect from me? She curtsied and went out. I took her chair by the bed.
‘What did they do to you?’ Giles asked quietly.
‘Less than they might have, thanks to Jack.’
‘Barak told me of the wicked plot Rich and Maleverer hatched against you.’
‘Yes. Cranmer knows all now. Maleverer will be in trouble, though Cranmer says he cannot touch Rich.’
I saw Wrenne’s eyes on my wrist. My wretched sleeve had ridden up again, exposing the gyve and the raw skin around it.
‘That thing is like a symbol,’ he said quietly. ‘The whole nation fettered and bruised by the King. A piece of filth like Rich may have a man falsely imprisoned, even tortured, to get a legal case dropped. It is not justice, Matthew. This is not the country I once knew.’
‘No. Giles,’ I said, ‘you said once that Maleverer’s family were all strong Catholics, then he aligned with the reformers after 1536 in hope of gain.’
‘That is right. He is a greedy man. But what -’
‘What if he could satisfy his greed by standing with the reformers, yet secretly help the old cause?’
‘How? What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’
Giles smiled at me. ‘I am not sure he would have the brains.’
I WENT TO BED and fell asleep at once. When I woke it was early morning, I had slept near twenty hours. I felt somewhat rested, though my shattered tooth hurt and my nerves were still so strung up the squeak of a mouse would have set me bounding. I got up and dressed, cursing the gyve again. I looked at my face in my steel mirror. I was startled by the staring apparition that looked back at me from sunken eyes, several days’ stubble darkening the cheeks.
I went downstairs. Joan, hearing me, bustled out of the kitchen. She saw me and opened her mouth in horror. I raised a hand, frightened she would scream. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ I was getting used to that phrase.
‘Oh sir, your poor mouth! The rogues! Is no one safe from vagabonds these days!’ I stared at her in surprise, then remembered I was supposed to have been attacked by robbers. ‘I will be all right, Joan. But I am very hungry, might I have some breakfast?’
‘Of course, sir.’ Her face working with concern, she hurried away to the kitchen. I took a seat in the parlour and looked out at my sopping garden, strewn with leaves. It was not raining, but the sky was heavy with dark clouds. My eye was drawn to the wall at the far end where the Lincoln’s Inn authorities had grubbed up an old orchard for replanting, remembering what Barak had told me. I had warned them in the summer that without trees to absorb the ground-water the bottom of the slope could flood. I should go and take a look.
My thoughts went back to Maleverer. He had allowed Rich to involve him in a plot against me, no doubt in return for help to get rebels’ lands, and that had been his downfall. But what if that had been a side issue, what if he had been playing a double game? He had refused to accept that Jennet Marlin might not have stolen those papers, had insisted Radwinter was guilty of Broderick’s death, and had allowed a pair of drunks to be appointed as his guards. I had taken it all for stupidity and obstinacy, but what if it had been something else? Where was he now, in London or on his way back to York? I thought, if I knew who appointed those guards…
Joan returned with eggs, bread and cheese. ‘I am sorry to land you with such a full household,’ I told her. ‘But I promised old Master Wrenne he could stay here till he is fit for some family business he has to deal with, and Barak hurt his leg. Where are they, by the way?’
She sniffed. ‘Went out early. Master Jack had some private business, he said, and Tamasin was to go to Whitehall to see if she still had a place. There is some trouble in the Queen’s household.’
‘So I hear,’ I replied neutrally. The household would be dissolved now. Tamasin could be out of a job.
She paused, then said, ‘I don’t mind Master Wrenne, sir, poor sick old gentleman, but that girl. It’s not right her being in the house with Jack. And she’s a pert way with her, in her fine ladylike clothes – she may say she only wants to help with the old man but I think she likes having her feet under a gentleman’s table.’
‘She’ll be gone soon, Joan,’ I said wearily. ‘The four of us need a few days’ rest.’
‘She’s no morals. They think I don’t hear her scurrying across to Master Jack’s room at dead of night, but I do.’
‘All right, Joan. I am too tired to deal with that now.’
She curtsied and went out.
I ate heartily. The meal over, I prowled the room restlessly. I thought of Maleverer and Sergeant Leacon, and Broderick swinging in his cell aboard ship. I thought of Tamasin; Barak would probably see his friend today, what would he find out about her father? I thought of Martin Dakin, and half resolved to go to Lincoln’s Inn, but I was still too tired to face the prospect of seeing familiar people, nosy lawyers who might have heard about Fulford. It could wait until tomorrow, when with luck the manacle would be off. Perhaps Bealknap would be there, and I wondered if that rogue knew what had been done to me to save that case for him.
I decided to go and look at the old orchard. Putting on my boots, I walked down the garden. Everything was drenched, and at the far wall, by the gate to the orchard, the ground was quite waterlogged. I unlocked the gate and went through.
The apple orchard had probably been there centuries; the trees had been gnarled and very old. The orchard walls bounded Chancery Lane on one side, the Lincoln’s Inn grounds on two, and my garden on the fourth. The ground sloped gently down to my wall. The orchard was, as Barak had said, a sea of mud, dotted with
waterlogged holes where tree roots had been grubbed up. Without the trees to absorb any of the water from the rains, a pool the size of a small house had built up against my wall. I cursed; if there was much more rain my garden could be flooded. I resolved to visit the Inn Treasurer on the morrow.
The sight of the devastated orchard unsettled me. I went back into my garden and headed for the stables. There I found Genesis and Sukey in their stalls, munching hay. Both looked up and neighed in greeting. I went and stroked Genesis. Looking into his dark eyes I thought of what it must have been like for the horses, driven two hundred miles through unknown countryside by strangers. Did they wonder, as I had in the Tower, whether they would ever see home again? I had a sudden memory of Oldroyd’s huge horse charging through the mist at Tamasin and me, that misty morning two months before. That was where it had all started.
As I left the stable I felt raindrops on my face. I walked quickly round to the front door. There was someone standing in the porch, his back to me, a tall figure in a black coat. He was looking at the door as though uncertain whether to knock. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. I had worn it since it was returned to me at the Tower.
‘Can I help you?’ I asked sharply.
He turned round. It was Sergeant Leacon, in civilian clothes, a cap on his head instead of a helmet. His boyish face looked careworn. I saw he wore a sword, then thought, so do most men in London. He doffed his cap and bowed.
‘Master Shardlake-’ He broke off as he saw my face.
‘Yes,’ I said grimly. ‘I have had a hard time in the Tower.’
‘I heard you were released, sir. I got your address from Lincoln’s Inn. Sir, I am sorry I had to detain you at the wharf. Those were my orders-’
‘What do you want?’
‘A word, sir, if I may.’
