by C. J. Sansom
A young man who looked like another student answered my knock. He seemed a little reluctant to take me to Nicholas. ‘Are you his pupil-master?’ he asked.
‘I am.’
He said warily, ‘Nick’s been in a fight. He won’t say what happened, but I’m sure it’s not his fault – ’
‘I know about it. And no, it wasn’t his fault.’
The student took me up a flight of stairs and knocked on a door. Nicholas answered. He was in his shirt, the strings untied, showing the line of the bandage across his chest. The bruises on his face had come out yellow and black. He made a sorry sight.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘It looks worse than it is, sir. And my chest is healing well.’
I followed him into an untidy room thick with dust, unwashed plates on the table, law books scattered about. It took me back to my own student days a quarter-century before; though I had been tidier than this. Nicholas evidently lodged alone, as I had. But whereas my father had not been wealthy enough to send a servant with me, Nicholas’s father had chosen not to; another sign, no doubt, of his disapproval. He invited me to take the only chair, while he sat on the unmade bed. I studied him thoughtfully. He had courage and intelligence, but also the reckless bravado of the young. But of his trustworthiness I felt certain now.
I said, ‘Nicholas, you saw last night that the matter I am involved in concerns the highest in the land. The one I am working for is of even higher status than Rich.’
His eyes widened. ‘The King himself?’
‘No, not that high. Nicholas, you spoke to me once about the religious quarrels that ravage this country. You said you wish to steer clear of it all, to be left alone and have others left alone. That is my wish, too. But what I am working on now concerns a struggle at court. On the one side are those who would keep the Mass, and in some cases perhaps bring back the Pope. On the other, those who would end what Catholic ceremonies remain. Involvement in that struggle can end in torture, murder and burning. For some, it already has.’
He fell silent. I could see my words had impressed him. ‘You still have not told me who you are working for,’ he said at length.
‘Nor can I, unless you swear an oath of secrecy.’
‘Is Jack working with you?’
‘Yes. He insists.’
‘And you need more help?’
‘Yes.’
He smiled sadly. ‘Nobody has ever asked for my help before.’
‘I say in all honesty, it may be better for you to stay out. Not because I doubt your courage or loyalty, but because of the danger. As I said last night, I can arrange for you to work for another barrister. Nicholas, you should not just think of yourself. Consider your parents, your inheritance, your future as a gentleman.’ I smiled, thinking that would get through to him as nothing else could.
His reaction surprised me. He spoke with sudden, bitter anger. ‘My parents! My inheritance! I told you, sir, why it was I came to London. My father – and my mother – would have had me marry someone I did not love. You know I refused – ’
‘Yes, and so were sent to London to learn the law. I am sure when your studies are finished your parents will have got over their anger, perhaps even come to respect you for what you have done.’
‘That they never will,’ he said bitterly. ‘My father told me if I would not marry according to his wishes he would disinherit me. He sent me to learn law to get me out of his sight. My mother, too; she is even fiercer on the matter than he. She told me that in refusing to marry whom they chose I was no proper man, and not her son. So I have no inheritance.’ He looked at me fiercely.
‘That is very hard. But things said in anger – ’
He shook his head. ‘They meant it. I could see it in their faces when they spoke. I remember well the sinking feeling when I realized they did not love me.’ There was a choking sound in his throat for a moment; he coughed. ‘They have already hired lawyers to see what can be done about barring the estate to me. They would transfer it to a cousin of mine, a young popinjay who would marry a one-legged dwarf if she would bring enough money. No, Master Shardlake, they mean business.’ He looked down, and smoothed the sheet on his unmade bed. ‘I am their only child. That is a burden on me, as I am on them.’
‘I, too, have no brothers and sisters. Yes, that can bring its burdens, though I never had such a hard one placed on me as you have.’
Nicholas looked around the untidy room at the law books. ‘Sometimes I find interest in the law, though at others it all seems like rats fighting in a sack. The Slanning case – ’
I smiled. ‘Fortunately, cases such as that are rare. What matters do you find interest in?’
‘Ones where one can sympathize with the client, where one sees an injustice to be righted.’ He smiled. ‘Exciting ones.’
‘Exciting ones are dangerous ones. And as for the others, one cannot just act for those of whom one approves. However, in the autumn term perhaps you could assist with my cases in the Court of Requests.’
He made a face. ‘Commoners suing the gentlemen who are their natural rulers?’
‘Should everyone not have an equal right to go to law, just as they should have to their private religious views?’
He shrugged.
‘Perhaps you would see matters differently if you were to work on the cases.’
‘I do not know. For now, an active life, in pursuit of an honourable cause, that is what I want. Even if it means being kidnapped again.’ He smiled then, his large green eyes shining.
‘Something with meaning?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘Yes. I need some – meaning.’
I realized now that Nicholas wanted a life of adventure partly to escape the memory of what his unworthy parents had done. I remembered the story I had heard of him getting into a sword fight over a prostitute. I thought, if he does not find the excitement he needs with me he may find it somewhere else, and end with a sword in the guts. And perhaps if he is with me I can guide him, check that self-destructive urge I detected in him. ‘You think the cause I serve is just?’ I asked.
He answered seriously, ‘If it will bring an end to such persecution as I have seen since coming to London, then yes.’
‘If I tell you for whom I am working, and the details of what this is about, you must first swear, on your oath as a gentleman, to tell nobody, nobody at all.’
‘I have no bible here– ’
‘Your word will do.’
‘Then I swear.’
‘My employer is that honourable lady, her majesty Queen Catherine.’
His eyes widened. ‘Skelly told me you used to do legal work for her.’
‘I have known her since before she was Queen. She is a good lady.’
‘Many say she has been in trouble.’
‘She has. She is now. But she is no persecutor of anyone.’
‘Then I will help you.’
‘Thank you. And Nicholas, do as I tell you, with care; no heroics.’
He blushed under his bruises. ‘I will.’
I took his hand. ‘Then thank you.’
Chapter Thirty-one
I WALKED FROM NICHOLAS’S lodgings back to Needlepin Lane. In daylight it looked even more dingy, the plasterwork crumbling on the old houses, the lane a narrow track with a stinking piss-channel in the middle. Though it was Sunday, men were standing outside the Flag Tavern, quaffing beer from wooden mugs in the sunshine. Among them I saw a couple of girls in bright make-up and low-cut dresses. The King had ordered the Southwark brothels closed that spring, but although prostitution was already illegal in the city and conviction could bring a whipping, many whores had come north of the river. One girl, well in her cups, caught my glance and shouted out, ‘Don’t glower at me like that, crookback, I’m a respectable lady!’ People stared at me, and some laughed. I ignored them and knocked on the door of the house with the green shutters. Stice opened it immediately.
‘You’re back soon.’
&nb
sp; ‘I have a message for your master.’ I nodded over my shoulder. ‘I’d best come in; I’ve attracted notice from the people outside the tavern.’
‘Common churls, they’re always shouting at passers-by.’ He stood aside, and I walked into the bare room. My hand closed instinctively on my knife as he shut the door and went over to the table. He sat down, smiling insolently. The sword with which he had nearly killed Nicholas the night before lay there; he had been polishing it. The sun glinted on its razor-sharp edge. There was a jug of beer and some pewter mugs on the table, too. ‘No hard feelings, eh, Master Shardlake?’ Stice said. ‘We each serve those to whom we are pledged.’ Then, with an edge to his voice, ‘You have an answer for my master?’
‘Yes. Those I work for agree to our collaborating to try and locate these missing people, and Anne Askew’s writings. I will liaise with you. We have another man, a lawyer named William Cecil, who has been keeping an eye on the docks. These are the people he has paid to look for writings being smuggled out.’ I handed him a copy of Cecil’s list. Stice looked it over and nodded. ‘Well, between us,’ he said, ‘I think we have the docks and the custom house covered.’
‘How many men do you have there?’
‘In our pay, two officials.’ He wrote two names on the bottom of the sheet of paper, tore it off and gave it to me.
‘Sir Richard said that Bale is expecting a consignment. Let us hope we are in time.’
‘Amen to that.’
‘One important condition, Master Stice. If either party has word of the cargo, they warn the other at once.’
‘Of course.’ Stice smiled and spread his arms. ‘By the way, if there’s any fighting to be done – say with what’s left of Greening’s people, if they turn up – how many men can you bring to bear?’
‘Two for certain. Probably two or three more.’
‘Are the first two Barak and the boy?’
‘Yes.’
Stice nodded appreciatively. ‘They’re both handy.’
‘Cecil will likely be able to call on more.’
‘And I have three on hand, including Gower, whom you met yesterday. He’s down keeping an eye on the docks now. I’m sure my master will agree those terms.’ He laughed. ‘Who would have thought, when you came in last night, we’d end by working together? Come, sit, let’s share a beer.’
Reluctantly, I dropped into a chair opposite him. The more I could learn about these people the better: I had no doubt that if they got hold of the Lamentation Rich would betray us in an instant.
Stice poured me a beer, then lounged back in his chair. He was, I reckoned, about twenty-five. He dressed well – again the silk cuff of his shirt was visible below the sleeve of his doublet, like the one he had torn on his aborted raid on Greening’s premises. His face was good-looking in a hard way, though that lopped ear was a disfigurement. I wondered that he did not wear his hair long to hide it.
Stice saw me looking and put his hand to the ear. ‘Can’t miss it, eh? People’s eyes get drawn to it, as I daresay they do to your back. I’m not ashamed of it, I came by it in an honest duel, with a mangehound who impugned my ancestry. And in the sort of business Master Rich sometimes has me on, it shows people I’m not to be treated lightly.’
‘How long have you worked for Rich?’
‘Two years. I come from Essex, where Sir Richard has many properties. My father’s land adjoins his, and he sent me to court to try my luck. Sir Richard was looking for young gentlemen with no ties and a taste for adventure.’ He smiled again.
I thought, another young gentleman, like Nicholas, in search of excitement. Yet Stice, I guessed, would stoop to anything, including murder, for the sake of rising in Rich’s service. That, no doubt, was why Rich had chosen him.
He laughed. ‘By Mary, sir, you have a grim look. Sir Richard said you had the manner of a canting Lutheran, though not the religion.’
I did not answer directly. ‘You hope to advance under Rich?’ I asked.
‘I do. Sir Richard is loyal to those who serve him. It is well known.’
I laughed. ‘Loyalty is not the word that comes to my mind.’
Stice waved a dismissive hand. ‘You speak of his dealings at the King’s court. None of the great men is truly loyal to any other. But Sir Richard is known to stick by those who serve him, and reward them well.’ His eyes narrowed over his mug. ‘I hope the same can be said of the Queen and her people. Who is it you work for? Sir Richard told me it was probably Lord Parr, her uncle.’
I was not going to be drawn. I put down my mug and stood abruptly. ‘I will let you know if I have news of any developments. And you can contact me at my house. It is in Chancery Lane.’
He raised his mug in a mocking gesture. ‘I know where it is.’
I HAD DECIDED to warn Philip Coleswyn of the latest turn in the Slanning case, but I thought that was best done after I had discussed Isabel Slanning’s complaint with Treasurer Rowland on the morrow. I went home; I had what remained of Sunday to myself, and there were two other things I needed to do.
First I went to my study and wrote a letter to Hugh. I wrote of the general news, and my part in the coming ceremonies to welcome Admiral d’Annebault. Then I advised him that John Bale was a dangerous man, that he was to be avoided, and warned Hugh not to write to me of him again. There, I thought: at least I have not drawn Hugh into this. I sealed the letter and put it in my satchel to be posted from Lincoln’s Inn tomorrow.
I went downstairs. The house was silent. As agreed, Josephine had gone walking with her young man again, so I knew she was not at home. There was nobody in the kitchen; a tallow candle was burning on the table there, in order that there should be fire ready for cooking later. I went out to the stables, where Timothy was energetically mucking out the stable, a pile of old straw and horse dung already by the door.
‘God give you good morrow, master,’ he said.
‘And you, Timothy. Remember to keep the horse-dung for Mistress Brocket’s vegetable patch.’
‘Ay. She gives me a farthing for a good load.’
‘Have you thought any more about going for an apprenticeship? I could speak to the Lincoln’s Inn stablemaster about what places may be available among the farriers.’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘I would still rather stay here.’
‘Well, I would like you to give it some more careful thought.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, but unenthusiastically, his head cast down.
I sighed. ‘Do you know where Master and Mistress Brocket are?’
‘They went for a walk. Mistress Brocket asked me to keep an eye on the candle in the kitchen, light another from it if it got too low.’
‘Good.’ So the house was empty. There was nothing illegal in what I planned to do next, but I did not want to be seen by anyone. ‘They had a letter delivered this morning, by messenger,’ Timothy added. ‘I was in the kitchen with them. I don’t know who the letter came from but they both looked upset. They ordered me from the kitchen and a little after they said they were going for a walk. Master Brocket looked grim, and I think poor Mistress Brocket had been crying.’
I frowned, wondering what that was about. I said, ‘Timothy, there is a job of work I have to do. Can you make sure I am undisturbed for an hour? If anyone comes to the door, say I am out.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you.’
I went upstairs, and unlocked the chest in my bedroom. My heart was heavy as I looked at the books within; several were on the new forbidden list and must be handed in to the city authorities at the Guildhall by the 9th of August. After that date, possession of any of the books would attract severe penalties. With a heavy heart I lifted out my copies of Tyndale’s translation of the New Testament, and some old commentaries on Luther dating from twenty years before. These books had been my friends in my old reformist days; one of them had been given me by Thomas Cromwell himself. But given my current employment with the Queen, to say nothing of the trouble with Isabe
l Slanning, I had decided it was definitely better to burn them privately than hand them in and risk my name appearing on a list of those who had owned forbidden books.
I took them downstairs, lighting another candle from the one in the kitchen, then went out to Agnes’s neatly tended vegetable patch behind the house. There was a large iron brazier there, used for burning weeds and other garden rubbish. It was half-full, the contents brown and dry after all the recent sun. I took a dry twig from the brazier, lit it with the candle and dropped it in. The fire flared up quickly, crackling. I looked around to ensure I was unobserved, then, with a sigh, I took the first of my books and began tearing out pages and dropping them on the fire, watching the black Gothic script I had once read so carefully curling up. I remembered Anne Askew, her skin shrivelling in the flames, and shuddered.
NEXT MORNING, MONDAY, I went into chambers early and caught up with some work. When Barak arrived I told him of my talk with Nicholas, and my meeting with Stice. I said there was nothing to do for now but wait for news from him or Cecil.
‘How is Tamasin?’ I asked.
‘Does nothing but talk of tomorrow’s party. All our neighbours are coming. You know what women are like.’ He looked at me shrewdly. ‘I think she’s forgotten any suspicions she had about what I might be doing. Let’s hope she goes on forgetting, eh?’ He raised his hand and I saw the bandage was off and the stitches out. ‘I’m ready for action,’ he said.
LATER THAT MORNING I crossed the sunlit Gatehouse Court to visit Treasurer Rowland. The old man was as usual seated behind his desk, his office shutters half-closed, and he greeted me with a curt nod.
‘I looked for you at Bealknap’s funeral on Saturday. I wondered if you would come.’
‘Actually, I forgot about it.’
‘So did everyone else. There were only me and the preacher there. Well, Brother Bealknap lies in the chapel now, under a flagstone like any other, with his name and dates of birth and death inscribed upon it. He merited no mausoleum.’
