Revelation: A Matthew Shardlake Mystery (Matthew Shardlake Mysteries)

by C. J. Sansom

  Dorothy was sitting in her chair under the frieze. She looked up and ventured a smile, but her white face was tight with anger.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Why did you go off with that coroner?’

  ‘To discuss the investigation. There will be one, Dorothy, and I will be part of it. I promise you. And I will get the body released tomorrow. You can arrange the funeral.’

  She stared at me intently. ‘If they know he was murdered, why that - performance?’

  ‘Politics. I may not say more. I wish I could.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Dear God. But Roger had naught to do with politics. He despised all courtiers.’

  ‘I know. But there must be some link to - this political matter. I have undertaken to help find it.’

  ‘Undertaken to whom, Matthew?’

  ‘Cranmer. And I have already told you more than I should.’

  ‘But you hate politics as much as Roger did. You have said so often.’

  ‘But working with these people is the only way I can ensure Roger’s killer is found. They and I want the same thing.’ I hesitated. ‘I will be working with Coroner Harsnet.’

  ‘That man. The way he tried to twist things.’

  ‘That was to get the case adjourned, out of the public gaze. For what it is worth, I do not think he enjoyed deceiving you.’

  She looked at me with sad, exhausted eyes. ‘What if I free you from your promise to find Roger’s killer, Matthew? I know you fear those great men, as anyone should with any sense.’

  I smiled sadly. ‘I have promised Cranmer, Dorothy. It is out of our hands now.’

  ‘I am become a burden,’ she said flatly. ‘As a middle-aged woman alone will always be.’

  I leaned forward and ventured to take her hand. ‘No, Dorothy. You are a strong woman. Just now it is all too much to bear, I know, but you will regain your strength. In time.’

  ‘I have heard people say that when a loved one has died they feel them near in spirit. I have been sitting here waiting, hoping, but - there is nothing. I feel only that Roger is gone, ripped out of all existence.’

  ‘Time, Dorothy, you will need time to grieve.’

  ‘I have years of empty time now.’

  I felt my heart clench at her suffering. ‘Dorothy,’ I said quietly, ‘there is something I must ask you. This is not the best time, but it is urgent. We need to see if Roger and - this other man who died - knew anyone in common. Bartlett is preparing a list of professional contacts. Can you make me a list of anyone else he knew? Any non-lawyer friends—’

  ‘We had none. The law was Roger’s life.’

  ‘Then tradesmen, his barber, his tailor. Your servants - have you dismissed any recently?’

  ‘No. There is no one.’

  ‘Anyway, a list may help.’

  ‘Then I will prepare it now,’ she said.

  I got Margaret to fetch some paper, and Dorothy sat thinking, then wrote down the names of everyone Roger had known in London. She passed the list to me.

  ‘That is them all,’ she said.

  I looked at it. ‘Good, that will help.’

  ‘Anything else I can help with, come at any time. The funeral must wait till next week. Samuel will be here from Bristol, I have had a letter. And afterwards, Matthew, come and eat with us. Let us sit and remember Roger then, in peace.’

  ‘I shall be glad to.’

  I HASTENED Back across Gatehouse Court to my chambers, for it was now near three o’clock. I was hungry, I had missed lunch. Among those passing to and fro I saw, at a little distance, Bealknap. He was walking slowly, his long thin body hunched and stooped. Feeling eyes upon him he turned, gave me a look of concentrated fury, and walked on. I thought, Roger may not have had an enemy, but I have, all the more now. I dismissed the wretched man from my mind.

  Daniel and Minnie Kite were waiting in my outer office. Meaphon sat beside them in his cassock, frowning. Today he held a copy of the New Testament in his lap. ‘Good day,’ I said to Daniel and Minnie, pointedly ignoring Meaphon.

  ‘I have had word from the Requests Office,’ Skelly called over from his desk. ‘Master Kite’s hearing will be on the fourth of April.’ He handed me a paper. I looked at it as I led the Kites and Meaphon into my office.

  ‘Good news,’ I said, when all were seated. ‘My request to have Adam’s care supervised by the court, and his fees remitted, will be heard in nine days. And I have arranged for the doctor I spoke of to attend him. On Friday. I will go too.’

  ‘We saw Adam yesterday,’ Daniel Kite said. ‘He is no better.’

  ‘He spoke to me,’ Minnie said. ‘It was the first time my son spoke to me since they put him in that place. And do you know what he said? He said he could smell the fire, feel the sharp pricks of the devil’s imps scratching at his arms. It was only lice, he is crawling with them, but that is what he made of it.’ She shook her head, setting her lips into a tight line, trying not to cry.

  ‘Minnie,’ Daniel said.

  ‘This is why I do not want him released from the Bedlam till there is some sign of a cure,’ I said gently. ‘He could get into deadly trouble. If his welfare is taken care of he is better there for now. Not all the keepers are bad.’ I thought again of the kindly woman Ellen and her strange statement that she could never leave the Bedlam. I glanced at Meaphon, expecting opposition, but to my surprise he nodded, patting his thick hair.

  ‘Perhaps, after all, that is best. The papist wolves are abroad once more. Honest preachers have been arrested, one was paraded as a heretic only yesterday.’

  ‘I saw,’ I said.

  ‘But if I could be allowed to spend time with Adam, if I could try again to persuade him to accept that he can and will be saved—’

  ‘We should see what the doctor says,’ I said, temporizing.

  ‘Doctors,’ he said contemptuously. ‘What if he is possessed? That is my fear, more and more.’

  ‘What if they report to the Privy Council that you have been there?’ Minnie spoke up. ‘What if they have spies there, and they report you are preaching doctrine they do not approve?’

  Meaphon shook his head. ‘I should do what I can to save Adam.’ He gripped the Testament in his hands tightly, like an icon, a talisman.

  ‘My wife is right.’ Daniel spoke up. ‘Were Adam to leave he might - do something dangerous. And he is in no fit state to choose martyrdom.’ He looked at me. ‘We shall see what the doctor says. That is what we must do next.’ He looked at Meaphon.

  ‘Am I to meet with uncertain heart in my own congregation that I may not go and pray with him?’ Meaphon asked bitterly. This time both Daniel and Minnie met his gaze, though both reddened.

  ‘I will tell you what the doctor says,’ I told them, rising. I felt an unprofessional degree of pleasure at their defiance of Meaphon, despite his raising again the dread idea of possession. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE FOLLOWING DAY a letter arrived from Harsnet. It came by a fast rider from Whitehall, reminding me that the coroner commanded sizeable resources. He asked me to meet him by the Southwark bear pits at eight the next morning.

  I set off early on Friday to ride through the city to London Bridge, where I had arranged to meet Barak. Though I had slept I felt tired, weighed down, as I had since Roger’s death. There was a cool breeze and high clouds scudded rapidly across the blue sky. I saw a patch of budding crocuses had appeared in a grassy corner by Newgate Market under the great shadow of St Paul’s.

  There were few people about as yet, and as I walked down the Shambles, avoiding the butcher’s offal in the piss-channel in the middle of the road, my attention was drawn by the sound of a scuffle. On the corner of Bladder Lane a burly man in a bloodstained apron was struggling with three London constables. A plump woman in a smock had hold of the arm of one of them and was trying to pull him off. Three small children ran howling and screaming around the adults’ feet. As I watched, the constable shook himself
free and pushed the goodwife over. She landed in a filthy puddle, skirts billowing and the wings of her coif hanging loose. The children ran to her, yelling.

  ‘Now come quietly,’ one of the constables shouted at the man, who ceased struggling and allowed himself to be manhandled away. I hesitated, then went to the woman, who was rising slowly to her feet, covered in filth, the children milling around her.

  ‘Are you all right, madam?’

  She gave me a suspicious look. ‘I’m not hurt.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘They say my husband was selling meat in Lent, they’re taking him to Bishop Bonner.’ She looked at my robe. ‘A lawyer won’t help if they prosecute him, and we’ve no money anyway. You must seek trade elsewhere!’ And with that she limped into a shop followed by the children. One of them, emboldened by his mother’s tone, looked round and shouted ‘Crookback’ at me as she shepherded them in.

  I walked on, angry for I had only wished to help. But if her husband was guilty, he might face the rope. I remembered what Cranmer had said about Bonner working to crush the reformers.

  Barak was waiting at London Bridge. He looked bright and alert, no sign of a hangover today, and he greeted me cheerfully enough. He had put on his sword, I saw.

  ‘Well, let’s see what awaits us over the river,’ he said with a touch of his old swagger.

  ‘Some answers, I hope.’

  We walked across London Bridge to the Southwark waterfront where Harsnet was to meet us. He was already there, wearing a coat lined with marten fur over his lawyer’s robe, looking every inch the royal official. I saw that he had donned sturdy riding boots in anticipation of walking through the tidal mud.

  Harsnet was staring up to where the great circular structure of the bear-baiting ring reared over the rooftops. He turned to us with a sombre expression on his face.

  ‘Good day, Master Shardlake. And you are Barak, yes.’ Barak bowed to him. Harsnet looked up at the bear ring again, and sighed. ‘Is it not sad that we make merry with the bleeding miseries of those poor harmless beasts?’

  ‘Harmless?’ Barak said, looking at me. He was recalling the time I had been attacked and nearly killed by an escaped bear. But in fact I agreed with Harsnet.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It is a cruel sport. I never go.’

  He nodded approvingly. ‘Did you bring the list of those known to Master Elliard?’

  I produced the list from my coat. ‘Master Elliard’s wife and clerk helped me. They knew of none who wished him harm.’

  ‘Dr Gurney had no enemies either. I have his list.’ He produced a paper from his coat and we stood together to read. Dr Gurney had some courtiers and prominent London merchants among his patients, I saw. Lord and Lady Latimer’s names were there. It was as comprehensive a list as mine, but there were no names that matched.

  ‘Nothing.’ Harsnet frowned. ‘If I may keep your list?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He rolled both documents up, putting them in his coat. ‘Yet those men had so much in common - religion, professional status, even their size. What made this monster choose them?’

  ‘I do not know. But I wondered—’

  ‘Yes?’ His look was eager, anxious.

  ‘Whether there might have been any other killings. We are on the borders of Kent and Surrey here. The coroners do not always liaise and are not always efficient. Like Coroner Browne.’

  Harsnet nodded agreement. ‘You are right, sir, thank you.’ He gave me an approving look. ‘I will speak to the other coroners.’

  ‘I know of at least one strange killing this side of the river recently. One of my clients told me. I thought I might ask him for details.’

  ‘Yes. Good idea. Thank you.’ He raised his eyebrows, took a long deep breath. ‘And now we must walk over to Lambeth. The man who found the body will meet us there.’

  WE WALKED ALONG the south bank. Soon the houses gave way to wide marshes, high green reeds waving in the breeze among deep stagnant pools. Here and there patches of higher ground were cultivated, fields of vegetables laid out beside little mud-and-daub houses the cottars had built. It must be a lonely life out here.

  ‘Archbishop Cranmer speaks highly of you,’ Harsnet said. ‘He said that but for a treacherous servant you might have saved Lord Cromwell from falling, three years ago.’

  ‘That is kind of him. Though I prefer to avoid such matters these days.’

  ‘You do this for your friend, for honour.’ He nodded. ‘Well, that is a godly thing. There is little honour among the circles I move in, at court.’

  I found I was warming to him despite our bad beginning. ‘Have you been the King’s coroner long?’ I ventured.

  ‘Only the assistant. Most of my work is with deaths in London. I got my post six years ago.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘In Lord Cromwell’s time, God rest him. These days are hard for reformers. We hang on by our fingertips.’

  ‘I saw a butcher taken into custody on the way here. His wife said it was for selling meat in Lent.’

  He nodded slowly, and I saw he looked worried. ‘The order went out to the constables this morning to seize all butchers suspected of selling meat in Lent. They will be asked, none too gently, to inform on their customers. So those who place their faith in the word of God rather than ancient dietary rules will find themselves under arrest. That is how Bonner will prosecute us this time.’ He gave a harsh smile that made his face look unpleasant. ‘Though they may find some fish caught in their net they would rather not swallow. The Earl of Surrey is charged with Lent-breaking, the Duke of Norfolk’s son. Have you read any of his poetry?’

  ‘I fear not.’ I knew though that the son of a principal figure in the conservative faction was a religious radical as well as a poet.

  ‘He has written a new poem in prison. About London.’ Harsnet quoted:Oh member of false Babylon!

  The shop of craft! The den of ire!

  Thy dreadful doom draws fast upon

  Thy martyr’s blood, by sword and fire.

  I thought of Roger, quoting Roderick Mors. For a second his face appeared to me again. I sighed and looked at Harsnet. ‘Surrey sees London as the Babylon referred to in the Book of Revelation, then?’

  ‘Which will be destroyed when God comes to judge the world.’ He studied me, watching for my response.

  ‘I thought people said Babylon was Rome. But I was never able to make much sense of Revelation.’

  Harsnet inclined his head. ‘If you study it properly, you see that God does not just foretell how the world will end, but when.’ When I did not respond he smiled again, sadly.

  ‘It’s quiet here,’ Barak said, breaking the silence that followed.

  I nodded. The path was empty apart from us; to our left the river was at low tide, occasional gurgles and pops coming from the mud. To our right the wind hissed and clacked in the reeds. Across the river, the wharves and houses of London, Surrey’s ‘den of ire’.

  ‘It will be busy enough when the working day gets going,’ Harsnet observed. ‘People will be walking and riding on this path all day.’ He turned to me again. ‘The Archbishop said you were acting for Adam Kite. How is he?’

  ‘Very disturbed in his mind. You know of the case?’

  ‘I have met the family once or twice at meetings. His vicar and mine are friends. They seemed sober, honest folk.’

  ‘They are.’ I wondered if he meant illegal Bible-study meetings.

  ‘I know Reverend Meaphon fears Master Kite may be possessed,’ Harsnet said seriously. ‘In any event, I think he is better where he is. If he were to make a spectacle of himself again, Bonner might make a spectacle of him. On top of a fire.’

  ‘There, sir,’ I answered feelingly, ‘I agree.’

  WE WERE NOW coming to where the river turned south to Westminster. On the river the wherries had begun work, white sails bobbing on the grey Thames. A bank of cloud had risen, covering the sun. On our side, the low mudbanks were dotted increasingly with pools of water lef
t by the tide. Ahead, standing in the mud by a small pool, we saw a lonely figure outlined against the sky: an elderly labouring man in a grey smock, a wide leathern hat on his head. As we approached he studied us with narrow, frightened eyes set in a weatherbeaten face. Harsnet stepped down from the path into the mud. It quivered as his boots sank in six inches.

  ‘Careful, sir!’ Barak called. ‘That mud can suck you in!’ We followed him carefully to where the old man stood. The pool beside him was circular, shallow, perhaps twenty feet in diameter.

  ‘How now, Wheelows,’ the coroner said. ‘Have you been here long?’

  The labourer bowed low, wincing as he rose. Trouble with his back, I thought sympathetically. ‘Half an hour, sir. I don’t like it here. It reminds me. And I keep feeling I’m being watched.’ He cast scared eyes over the reedbanks on the other side of the path. It was indeed a dismal spot.

  ‘Well, we won’t need to trouble you again after this,’ Harsnet said. He indicated in my direction. ‘This gentleman is helping my investigation. I want you to tell him exactly what happened when you found Dr Gurney’s body.’

  A look of irritation crossed Wheelows’ face. ‘I’ve told the story so many times—’

  ‘Then tell it once more,’ Harsnet said, smiling but firmly.

  ‘It was three weeks back, when the snow was still thick on the ground. I was going to Southwark to work, there’s new houses going up along the Croydon Road—’

  ‘Where do you live?’ I asked.

  ‘Westminster village. I was coming along the path at first light. The river was frozen but the tide still ran and would seep out under the ice and make tidal pools as usual. I was walking along and something caught my eye. One of the pools was a strange colour. I looked and saw it was red, bright red. I couldn’t believe it at first. Then I saw a dark shape floating in it, and I went down to look.’

  ‘Were there footprints?’ Barak asked.

  ‘Ay.’

  ‘What were they like? Large, or small?’