Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘After it was done, I blamed her for pressing me to do it, while she said she never intended me to actually push him, it was just playacting. We ceased speaking. But, in truth, it was both our sin. Though I hid it even from the sight of the Lord when I came to true faith. But He knew, and now He has His just vengeance.’

  I did not reply. At law, both Edward and Isabel were guilty of murder. An open confession from either would see both hang, even now. I thought of their mother, suspecting all these years what her children had done, unable to prove anything but hating them. I took a deep breath. ‘What will you do now, Master Cotterstoke?’

  He shook his head. ‘I will confess. That is what the Lord commands.’

  I spoke carefully. ‘You understand that your being brought before the Privy Council has nothing to do with your stepfather. It is about heresy. If you have not spoken heresy, it may be that you and Brother Coleswyn are being used to get at me.’

  He stared at me with genuine puzzlement. ‘I thought this arrest was concerned somehow with – with what we did. Though, yes, they did say heresy. But I could not understand why we were brought here, why the Privy Council should be involved.’ He frowned. ‘Why would the Privy Council have an interest in you, sir?’ I noted with relief that he looked attentive as well as puzzled. I had brought him back to the real world, at least for now.

  ‘Because I have been involved in – political matters,’ I said carefully. ‘I may have made enemies on the traditionalist side.’

  ‘Those rogues! Lost and condemned by God I may be now, but I am not so far fallen that I do not still revile those enemies of faith.’ A look of angry pride appeared on his face.

  ‘Then for all our sakes, Master Cotterstoke, when they ask you at the council tomorrow whether you have ever publicly condemned the Mass, tell them the truth, that you have not.’

  ‘In my heart, I have.’

  ‘It is what you say that could burn you. Keep your beliefs locked in your heart, I beg you.’

  Philip nodded. ‘Yes, Edward, he is right.’

  ‘But what we did, Isabel and I – ’

  ‘Leave that until after, Edward. After.’

  Edward’s face worked as he thought. But then he said, ‘If I am asked about my stepfather’s murder, I must tell the truth. But if I am not, I will say nothing.’ He looked hard at Philip. ‘Afterwards, though, I must pay for my sins.’ I thought, he is a strong man, hard and tough like his sister. And indeed it must have taken a strange, perverted strength of mind for him and Isabel to each blame everything on the other, for forty years.

  AFTER THAT THE HOURS hung heavy. Philip persuaded Edward to pray with him, and they spent a long time murmuring in the corner, asking God for strength, and afterwards talking of the possibility of salvation in the next world for Edward if he publicly confessed his crime. At one point they discussed Isabel’s cleaving to the old ways in religion, and I heard Edward’s voice rise again, calling her an obstinate woman with a cankered heart, in those cadences of self-righteousness and self-pity so familiar to me from the time I had spent with his sister. I thought, if Edward confesses, Isabel, too, is undone.

  The barred window above us allowed a square of sunlight into the room, and I watched it travel slowly across the walls, marking the passage of the afternoon. Edward and Philip ended their talk, and Philip insisted we eat some of the food that our visitors had brought.

  Evening was come and the square of light fading fast when the guard returned with a note for me. I opened it eagerly, watched by Philip and Edward. It was from Barak.

  I returned to Whitehall, and managed to persuade the guard to admit me to the Queen’s Presence Chamber. The Queen has left for Hampton Court, with most of her servants, Mistress Odell, too, it seems. Workmen were removing the tapestries, watched by some sort of female fool or jester with a duck on a leash; when the guard asked if she knew where Mistress Odell was she said Hampton Court, and when he said I brought a message from you she turned and made childish faces at me. I got the guard to ensure the note is forwarded. I am sorry, I could do no more.

  Jane Fool, I thought, who had taken against me so fiercely. I put down the note. ‘No news. But my message has been forwarded to – an important person.’

  Edward looked at me with incomprehension, as though this were all happening to someone else; he had retreated inside himself again. Philip said nothing and lowered his head.

  IT WAS A LONG, LONG NIGHT. I slept fitfully, waking several times, tormented by fleas and lice that had been drawn from the bedding. I think Philip slept badly too; once I woke to hear him praying softly, too quietly for me to make out the words. As for Edward, the first time I woke he was snoring, but the next time I saw the glint of his open eyes, staring despairingly into the dark.

  Chapter Forty-three

  THEY SAT IN A LONG ROW behind a table covered with green velvet, six members of the King’s Privy Council, the supreme body answerable to him for the administration of the realm. All wore the finest robes, gold chains and jewelled caps. Philip Coleswyn and Edward Cotterstoke and I were given seats facing them, the three Tower guards who had brought us in taking places behind us. My heart pounded as I thought, this was where Anne Askew had sat, and many others as well these last few months, to answer the same charge of heresy.

  Sir Thomas Wriothesley, Lord Chancellor of England, waved a beringed hand in front of his face. ‘God’s death, they stink of the Tower gaol. I’ve said before, can people not be washed before they are brought here?’ I looked at him, remembering his fear at Anne Askew’s burning that the gunpowder round the necks of the condemned might hurt the great men of the realm when it exploded. Nor did I forget that he had tortured Anne Askew together with Rich. He caught me looking at him and glared at my presumption, fixing me with cold green little pebble eyes.

  All the councillors had documents before them, but Sir William Paget, sitting at the centre of the table in his usual dark silken robe, had a veritable mound of paperwork. The square pale face above the long dark beard was cold, the thin-lipped mouth severe.

  On Paget’s left sat Wriothesley, then Richard Rich. Rich’s face was expressionless. He had made a steeple of his slim white fingers and looked down, his grey eyes hooded. Next to him Bishop Stephen Gardiner, in cassock and stole, made a complete contrast. With his heavy build and powerful features, he was all force and aggression. He laid broad, hairy hands on the table and leaned forward, inspecting us with fierce, deep-set eyes. The council’s leading traditionalist, with his supporters Wriothesley and Rich beside him. I wondered if he had known of Anne Askew’s torture.

  Two other councillors sat to Paget’s right. One I hoped was a friend: Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, tall and slim, his face and body all sharp angles. He was sitting upright. I sensed a watchful anger in him and I hoped that if it emerged it would be to our advantage. Beside him sat a slim man, lightly bearded, with auburn hair and a prominent nose. I recognized the Queen’s brother, William Parr, Earl of Essex, from my visit to Baynard’s Castle. My heart rose a little on seeing him: he owed his place at the council table to his sister. Surely if she were in trouble today he would not be here. His presence made up a little for the absence of the figure I had hoped most of all to see – Archbishop Cranmer, counterweight to Gardiner. But Cranmer, whose attendance at the council was said always to be motivated by strategy, had stayed away.

  Paget picked up the first paper on his pile. He ran his hard eyes over us, the slab face still expressionless, then intoned, ‘Let us begin.’

  WE HAD BEEN BROUGHT to Whitehall Palace by boat. The Privy Council followed the King as he moved between his palaces, and I had thought we might be taken on to Hampton Court, but apparently the council was still meeting at Whitehall. First thing that morning the three of us, red-eyed, tousled and, as Wriothesley noted, smelly, were led to a boat and rowed upriver.

  At the Common Stairs there had been a great bustle, as Barak had described; servants were moving everything out. A little procession
of laden boats was already sculling upriver to Hampton Court. I saw huge pots and vats from the royal kitchen being carried to one boat and thrown in with a clanging that reverberated across the water. Meanwhile a long tapestry wound in cloth was being lifted carefully into another waiting boat by half a dozen servants. A black-robed clerk stood at the end of the pier, ticking everything off on papers fixed to a little portable desk hung round his neck.

  One of our guards said to the boatman, ‘Go in by the Royal Stairs. It’s too busy here.’

  I looked at my companions. Philip sat composed, hands on his lap. He caught my eye. ‘Courage, Brother,’ he said with a quick smile. It was what I had said to him when he grew faint at Anne Askew’s burning. I nodded in acknowledgement. Edward Cotterstoke stared vacantly at the great facade of polished windows, his face like chalk. It was as though the full seriousness of his position had only just sunk in.

  The boat halted at the long pavilion at the end of the Royal Stairs, green-and-white Tudor flags fluttering on the roof. We climbed stone steps thick with the dirty green moss of the river, then a door in the pavilion was opened by a guard and we were led into the long gallery connecting the boathouse to the palace, fitted out with tapestries of river scenes. We were hustled along the full length of the pavilion, past more servants carrying household goods, then into the palace itself. We found ourselves in a place I recognized, the vestibule which formed the juncture of the Royal Stairs with three other sets of double doors, all guarded. I remembered that one led to the Queen’s Gallery, the second to the Queen’s privy lodgings and the third to the King’s. It was the third door which was now opened to us by the guards. A servant carrying a decorated vase almost as large as himself nearly collided with me as he emerged, and one of our guards cursed him. We were marched quickly to a small door, the lintel decorated with elaborate scrollwork, and told we would wait inside until the council was ready. It was a bare little chamber stripped of furniture, but with a magnificent view of the gardens. A few minutes later an inner door opened and we were called into the council chamber itself.

  PAGET BEGAN BY GETTING each of us to confirm our names and swear on a Testament to tell the truth before God, as though we were in court. They had that power. Then he said, with a note of heavy reproval which, I suspected from long dealings with judges, was intended to intimidate us, ‘You are all charged with heresy, denial of the Real Presence of the body and blood of Christ in the Mass, under the Act of 1539. What do you say?’

  ‘Sirs,’ I said, surprised by the strength in my own voice, ‘I am no heretic.’

  Philip answered with a lawyer’s care, ‘I have never breached the Act.’

  Edward Cotterstoke closed his eyes and I wondered if he might collapse. But he opened them again, looked straight at Paget, and said quietly, ‘Nor I.’

  Bishop Gardiner leaned across the table, pointing a stubby finger at me. ‘Master Shardlake uses words similar to those his former master Cromwell employed when he was arrested at this very table. I remember.’ He gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘Parliament found differently. And so may the City of London court, if we decide to send them there!’

  Paget glanced at Gardiner, raising a hand. The Bishop sat back, scowling, and Paget said, more mildly, ‘We have a couple of questions which apply only to you, Master Shardlake.’

  He nodded to Wriothesley, who leaned forward, his little red beard jutting forward aggressively. ‘I understand you were recently sworn to the Queen’s Learned Council.’

  ‘Yes, Lord Chancellor. Temporarily.’

  ‘Why?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘To investigate the theft of a most precious ring from the Queen’s chambers. Bequeathed to her majesty by her late stepdaughter, Margaret Neville.’ I was horribly aware that I was lying through my teeth. But to do otherwise meant revealing what I had actually been looking for and causing grave danger to others. I glanced at Lord Hertford and William Parr. Neither returned my look. I swallowed and my heart quickened. I had feared the floor might seem to tremble and shake beneath me but it had not, yet.

  ‘A rare and precious object,’ Wriothesley said, a note of mockery in his voice. ‘But you have not found it?’

  ‘No, my lord. And so I have resigned my position.’

  Wriothesley nodded, the little red beard bobbing up and down. ‘I understand there have been several sudden vacancies in the Queen’s household. Two senior guards, a carpenter, Master Cecil who now serves the Earl of Hertford. Most mysterious.’ He shrugged. I wondered whether he was fishing or had just noted these changes and wondered if they were more than coincidence.

  Then Richard Rich spoke, looking not at me but down at his clasped hands. ‘Lord Chancellor, these domestic matters are not part of the accusations. Master Shardlake has advised the Queen on legal matters for several years.’ Rich turned to look at Wriothesley. I realized with relief that his own involvement in my investigations meant it was in his interests to help me. Wriothesley looked puzzled by his intervention.

  Gardiner knitted his thick black brows further, glowering at Rich. ‘If this man – ’ he waved at me – ‘and his confederates are under a charge of heresy, any links to her majesty must surely concern this council.’

  Lord Hertford spoke up suddenly, sharply. ‘Should we not first find whether they are guilty of anything? Before turning to subjects the King wishes closed.’ He emphasized his words by leaning over and returning Gardiner’s fierce stare.

  The Bishop looked set to argue, but Paget raised a hand. ‘Lord Hertford is right. In the discussions over whether this matter should be included in today’s agenda, we agreed only to ask these men whether they had breached the Act. The evidence before us relates solely to that question.’

  ‘Flimsy as it is,’ William Parr said. ‘I do not understand why this case has been brought before us at all.’

  I looked between them. Someone had wanted the charge of heresy against us to be put on the council agenda. But who? And why? To frighten me, assess me, to see me condemned? To try and get at the Queen through me? Which of them was accusing me of heresy? Gardiner was the most obvious candidate, but I knew how complicated the web of enmities and alliances around this table had become. I glanced quickly at my companions. Philip remained composed, though pale. Edward sat upright and attentive now, some colour back in his cheeks. Mention of the Queen had probably brought back to him what I had told him in the Tower, that this interrogation might concern the religious factions on the council. In this regard at least, whatever his dreadful turmoil of mind, Edward would try to serve the radical cause.

  ‘Then let us get straight to the point,’ Gardiner said reluctantly. ‘First, have any of you possessed books forbidden under the King’s proclamation? Philip Coleswyn?’

  Philip returned his gaze. ‘Yes, my Lord, but all were handed in under the terms of his majesty’s gracious amnesty.’

  ‘You, Edward Cotterstoke?’

  He answered quietly, ‘The same.’

  Gardiner turned to me. ‘But you, Master Shardlake, I believe you did not hand in any books.’ So I had been right: they kept a list.

  I said evenly, ‘I had none. A search was made of my house when I was arrested yesterday morning, and nothing can have been found, because I had nothing.’

  Gardiner gave a nasty little half-smile, and I wondered for a dreadful moment whether a forbidden book had been planted in the house; such things were not unknown. But he said only, ‘Did you ever possess books forbidden under the Proclamation?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord Bishop. I destroyed them before the amnesty expired.’

  ‘So,’ Gardiner said triumphantly, ‘he admits he had heretical books that were not handed in. I know, Master Shardlake, that you were seen burning books in your garden.’

  I stared at him. That was a shock. Only Timothy had been at the house that day, and he had been in the stables. Moreover he would never have reported it. I remembered his frantic anger when they had come to arrest me the day before. I answered quietly,
‘I preferred to destroy them. The proclamation declared only that it was illegal to keep books from the list after the amnesty expired. And I have had none since before that date.’

  Wriothesley looked at me. ‘Burning books rather than handing them in surely indicates reluctance to draw your opinions to the attention of the authorities.’

  ‘That is pure supposition. It was never said that a list would be kept.’

  Paget gave a tight smile; he was a lawyer too, and appreciated this point, though Gardiner said scoffingly, ‘Lawyer’s quibble,’ and glowered at me. I wondered, why this ferocious aggression? Did it betray his desperation to find a heretic linked to the Queen?

  Lord Hertford leaned forward again. ‘No, my Lord, it is not a quibble. It is the law.’

  William Parr nodded agreement vigorously. ‘The law.’

  I looked along the row: enemies to the left of Paget; friends, I hoped, to the right. Paget himself remained inscrutable as he said, ‘Master Shardlake has the right of it, I think. It is time we turned to the main matter.’ He reached into his pile and pulled out some more papers, handing three sheets to each of us in turn across the table, his hard unblinking eyes briefly meeting mine. ‘Members of the council have copies of these letters. They concern a complaint by a former client of Master Shardlake, Mistress Isabel Slanning, sister of Master Cotterstoke here. We have called her as a witness today.’ He turned to one of the guards. ‘Bring her in.’

  One of the guards left. Edward’s face twisted briefly; a horrible, tortured look. Gardiner, taking it for guilt, exchanged a wolfish smile with Wriothesley.

  I looked at the papers. Copies of three letters. Isabel’s original complaint to Rowland, accusing me of conspiring with Edward and Philip to defeat her case. A reply from Rowland, short and sharp as I had expected, saying there was no evidence whatever of collusion, and pointing out that unsupported accusations of heresy were seriously defamatory.