Revelation: A Matthew Shardlake Mystery (Matthew Shardlake Mysteries)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘Yes, Mistress Joan.’ Peter sidled out of the room. Joan smiled at me.

  I smiled back. ‘Degree matters for everyone, does it not? Even kitchen boys.’

  ‘It’s as much the fear of losing a place. So many beggar boys in London now, you can always find one cheaper than the one you have.’

  ‘Yes. Such competition brings fear.’ When this was over, I decided, I would hire a man, too, to help Joan. I could easily afford it.

  I went upstairs to change into my best robe. Although the day was the warmest so far, I felt cold, and the stitches in my arm ached as I dressed. I ran over the arguments I had prepared for Adam’s case, for the court to receive regular reports on his care, and for his fees to be met out of the Bedlam funds. I had arranged for Guy to be present to testify that Adam was so ill he needed the court’s protection. As for his release, I felt there was no question now but that he was safest where he was.

  Would he ever be cured, I wondered, or would he stay forever imprisoned in that terrible agony of soul? And what of the killer we were hunting? Did he suffer? My sense was that he enjoyed what he did, the meticulous planning and the cruel execution. Already, somewhere out there, he was planning his next killing. I had the part of the Book of Revelation that dealt with the seven angels off by heart now: ‘And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom waxed dark; and they gnawed their tongues for pain.’ The seat of the beast, I knew, was supposed to be the lair of the devil. ‘They gnawed their tongues for pain.’ I shivered.

  BARAK WAS WAITING for me in the crowded vestibule of the Court of Requests. I looked around the familiar scene: the parties sitting round the walls watching the lawyers negotiating in the centre of the room. I recognized an elderly couple sitting with my fellow-pleader in Requests, Brother Ervin. Ervin gave me a curt nod; I had greatly added to his workload by standing out of most of my cases. I would lose money by this, I supposed, though that was the least of my worries; I had enough. The old couple, who were pursuing a claim against their landlord and had come all the way from Lancashire to find justice, gave me hurt looks. Daniel and Minnie Kite stood huddled together in the doorway with Guy, dressed in his physician’s robe and cap. Barak and I joined them.

  ‘Adam’s not here, sir,’ Daniel said anxiously.

  ‘We are a little early. They will bring him.’

  ‘Will they be gentle with him?’ Minnie asked anxiously.

  ‘This judge is a fair man. Is Reverend Meaphon not with you today?’

  ‘He’s been detained at a neighbouring parish. The minister there is sick.’

  I was interrupted by a hard tap on my injured arm, which made me wince. I turned to find myself looking at a short, spare man in his forties, dressed in an expensive fur-lined coat, a silk velvet cap on his head. His thin face had the red puffiness and broken veins of a hard drinker.

  ‘Are you here for that Kite boy?’ he asked in a peremptory tone.

  I bowed. ‘I am, sir.’

  ‘I am Sir George Metwys. Warden of the Bedlam. I am here at the request of Archbishop Cranmer.’ He glared at the Kites and at Guy. ‘I do not know why the Archbishop has interested himself in these people.’

  ‘I am grateful for your attendance, sir,’ I said smoothly. ‘Perhaps you could indicate whether you will be opposing my applications. For Master Kite’s welfare to be reported regularly to the court, and his fees to be paid from the Bedlam funds.’ Paid by you from the profits you take from the paying inmates, I thought. You will have a little less to get drunk on.

  ‘I won’t be opposing,’ Metwys grunted. ‘I’ve had a hint from Cranmer’s people. Though if I had my way—’ He broke off as a rattling sound and then a groan echoed round the crowded chamber. Everyone turned round. Keeper Shawms, assisted by two stout under-keepers, was dragging Adam into the vestibule. His legs were chained together, and the keepers held him up by his stick-like arms. He was trying to sink to the floor to pray, groaning when they would not let him. Shawms looked red with embarrassment. Daniel Kite bit his lip and his wife let out a sob. Adam, his head bowed, did not even look at us as he passed. He gave off a foul odour.

  I watched as the keepers manhandled Adam on to a bench and sat beside him. On either side people shuffled away, one man crossing himself. Somehow the spectacle of Adam’s condition seemed more terrible in this familiar environment, than it had in the Bedlam or even when he was shrieking on top of London Wall. Minnie made a move towards him. Guy laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Not now,’ he whispered.

  ‘What an exhibition,’ Metwys said. He glared at Adam and his keepers. Shawms, seeing the warden, rose and bowed deeply.

  We waited uncomfortably for a further half-hour. From where Adam sat there was a periodic clank of chains as he tried to lurch down on to his knees. Guy went over to try and talk to him but today he made no impression; he returned defeated.

  Barak had been watching the scene fixedly. ‘Jesu,’ he muttered as Adam tried to lurch forward again. ‘This is a nightmare.’

  At last the usher appeared and called everybody into court. I went to the advocates’ bench in the front and laid out my papers. Metwys took a seat at the back, away from Adam and his keepers. Barak and Guy and the Kites sat with Adam on a bench near the front. Judge Ainsworth appeared from an inner door and sat down on his bench. As he cast his eyes over the court Adam let out a groan. Ainsworth looked at me.

  ‘I think we will take the case of Adam Kite first,’ he said. ‘Brother Shardlake?’

  I outlined my applications. Ainsworth nodded slowly, then cast a sharp look at Shawms. ‘This poor creature looks to be at death’s door,’ he said. ‘Are you feeding him?’

  Shawms rose, looking red and uncomfortable. ‘Sometimes he will not eat, your honour. He has to be spoon-fed like a child, and sometimes he spits it out over the keepers.’

  ‘Then you must redouble your efforts, fellow.’ He turned to Metwys. ‘Sir George, you are Warden. What say you to these applications?’

  Metwys rose. ‘I am willing to consent, your honour. I wish to discharge my responsibilities to the best of my abilities. But it is our rule that we only take people in the Bedlam who can be cured, and for a limited time.’

  ‘But surely there are many who have been there for years, their relatives paying for their keep?’

  I thought of the keeper Ellen, who had said she could never leave.

  Metwys looked as if he might choke. ‘Only when their relatives cannot care for them themselves.’

  ‘And are rich enough to pay to be rid of them.’ Ainsworth tapped his quill on the desk. ‘I am minded to grant this order, though normally this would be a matter for the Court of Wards and Liveries. But I am concerned at how long this situation may last.’ He turned to Guy. ‘Dr Malton, you have been treating this boy. What do you say?’

  Guy stood. ‘Adam Kite is very sick, your honour. He has come to believe himself cast out of God’s favour, for reasons I do not fully understand. Yet I believe that I can help him.’

  ‘Then he is not some wild heretic?’

  ‘No, your honour. Though I can see how his actions could be interpreted in that way.’ He paused. ‘From the point of view of public order he is best kept where he is. But I too would not want him to be left in the Bedlam indefinitely.’

  ‘That would be a little unfair on Sir George Metwys’ purse.’ Ainsworth permitted himself a little smile, then looked again at Adam.

  ‘Is there any point in my questioning him?’ Ainsworth asked me.

  ‘None, your honour. I doubt Master Kite is even clear where he is.’

  ‘Yet you think he can be helped? How long do you think you will need?’

  Guy hesitated. ‘I do not know. But I am willing to treat him without payment.’

  ‘Then I will make the order. Reports to me every fourteen days. Payments to be made from the Bedlam funds subject to review by me. Review hearing in two months.’ He looked again at Adam. ‘This boy is very young. Too young
to be left to rot indefinitely in the Bedlam because in his madness he says dangerous things.’ He turned to me. ‘At law, if he is insane, he should be made a ward of court. Yet the Privy Council have not warded him. So at the moment he is in a state of legal nonexistence.’

  ‘That is so, your honour.’

  ‘At the Privy Council’s will. But these, I suppose, are the times we live in.’ He looked at me. ‘Make sure he is cared for, Serjeant Shardlake.’

  ‘I will, your honour.’

  Ainsworth looked down at his papers, and I nodded to Barak. He nudged Shawms. The keepers manhandled Adam into the passage, and I walked out with Daniel and Minnie. Metwys followed at a distance.

  Outside, Daniel and Minnie expressed their thanks. Guy offered to walk part of the way home with them. They nodded, turning sorrowful eyes to where Adam was being hauled through the door, followed by many curious looks. Barak and I left them on the courthouse steps. The rain had stopped, though the skies were still leaden.

  ‘No sign of Harsnet,’ Barak said.

  ‘We’ll have to wait.’ I watched the receding figures of Guy and the Kites. Guy’s tall head was bent to hear something Minnie was saying.

  ‘By God, the old Moor will need all his skills.’ Barak’s voice was suddenly full of angry emotion.

  I turned to him. ‘The hearing today upset you?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it upset any human creature? Sometimes . . .’ He hesitated.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sometimes these days I feel that everywhere I look there is madness and darkness and devils.’

  ‘We are bound to find the killer now, as we are to aid Adam Kite.’ I spoke quietly, to myself as much as to him.

  ‘Ay, and here comes the man of sure and certain faith to tell us where to go next.’ Barak nodded to where Harsnet was approaching, his coat swirling round him as he shoved through the crowds around the court. He looked weary, exhausted.

  ‘The girl’s escaped,’ he began without preliminary.

  ‘Abigail?’ I asked. ‘The prostitute? How?’

  ‘Asked to go to the jakes and slipped out through the window. It’s on the first floor, she’s lucky she didn’t break her neck.’

  ‘What about Yarington’s steward?’

  ‘Oh, he’s safe in the Lollards’ Tower. Whining creature. But there’s no more to be got out of him.’

  ‘I have some news at least,’ I said. I told him what the boy Timothy had said. Harsnet thought hard for a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘That might mean nothing. Abigail’s visitor isn’t necessarily the killer.’

  ‘But who else would know Yarington was keeping a whore? Unless he had a history of it.’

  ‘He didn’t.’ Harsnet shook his head. ‘I’ve spoken to all the congregation. As far as they were concerned, Yarington was a man devoted to celibacy. It was only in these last few months he started being cautious about people coming to his house.’

  ‘Any progress in finding Goddard?’

  ‘I’ve asked the London city council and the coroners and sheriffs of Kent, Surrey and Middlesex to seek out a well-to-do family of that name, whose son went for a monk. Nothing. And I’ve put the word around so that questions are being asked among all the radical churches and religious groups.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘That is a delicate matter, it is fortunate I am trusted there. But no one so far knows anything of a man of Goddard’s description.’

  ‘Perhaps a handsome young man with dark hair, such as Timothy described, should also be asked for?’

  ‘There could be hundreds such,’ Harsnet said irritably. ‘But I will ask,’ he added more quietly. He looked at me. ‘I am going to have to change our arrangements today. I am due to meet with Lord Hertford. Bonner is extending his search for butchers and performers of forbidden plays down to Westminster, but it’s not his jurisdiction. We are going to try and stop him.’ He looked across the courtyard to the Painted Tower, where Parliament was meeting, two guards in the red coats of the King’s livery standing with pikes at the bottom of the steps. ‘They are going to pass the Act forbidding Bible-reading to all but men of gentleman status,’ he said quietly. ‘The King has sanctioned it. Our backs are against the wall.’ He sighed. ‘I will have to leave you to go to Lockley yourself, Serjeant Shardlake, but say you have my authority and he’ll find himself arrested if he doesn’t cooperate. Let me know what happens. Can you meet me here again in three hours?’

  ‘Yes. It might be worthwhile using the time to visit young Cantrell again,’ I suggested. ‘Though I don’t think he knows anything more.’

  ‘Yes. Anything. Anything that may help us, Master Shardlake.’ He gave me a desperate, harried look, then turned to go.

  ‘Should we cancel our dinner tonight?’ I called after him.

  He waved a hand. ‘No, no, we have time for that.’ Then he walked quickly away.

  We RETURNED To Chancery Lane. The streets were crowded now, and I felt nervous and vulnerable as we rode along. My arm hurt too. When we arrived home Philip Orr was sitting in the kitchen, repairing a broken box. ‘No sign of anyone around that shouldn’t be?’ I asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ he said seriously. ‘Thank the Lord. Just the usual beggars in Chancery Lane.’ ‘Hanging around up to no good, like the lawyers?’ He gave me a puzzled look. Like many of the radicals, he had little sense of humour. ‘I expect you will be glad when this is over, to be able to get back to your normal work,’ I said. I realized I did not know what Orr’s usual work was. He smiled sadly. ‘Spending my days in this kitchen is restful compared to my normal duties, sir. I assist Master Harsnet in collecting the bodies of those who die. I take them to the storage place. And I ensure order in the court, and sometimes go and chase up witnesses who do not wish to appear.’ ‘Your master will be missing you, then.’ I realized Harsnet had deprived himself in order to ensure our security. ‘I have an assistant, he will aid him as he can.’ We set out again to Smithfield. ‘Harsnet didn’t sound like he’s having much luck with his search,’ Barak said. We had reached the country lanes now and relaxed our watchfulness.

  ‘London and the neighbouring counties are a large area to scour. Sixty thousand people in London, they say, and more every year.’

  ‘Ay. And the godly folk will be suspicious of questions, even from Harsnet.’

  ‘That is what this man relies on. The anonymity of this heaving city. He could not do what he does in some country parish, or even a small town, without running a much greater risk of being caught.’

  ‘Mad and possessed, Harsnet called him.’

  ‘He is not possessed.’ I decided then to tell Barak of the conversation I had had with Guy. As we turned into Holborn and passed the great houses of the rich facing the north side, I told him of De Rais and Strodyr. ‘They did what they did for perverted pleasure, neither God nor the devil came into it.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Well, that is true of most of the stronger urges men are subject to. If someone has a desire to beat whores, or sodomize boys, the urge seizes them and they have to follow it. Sometimes men who otherwise are quite normal.’ He gave me a sidelong look. ‘Lord Cromwell knew that, and took advantage of it with his spies in the brothels over at Southwark that cater to special tastes.’

  ‘I know. Obsession,’ I said quietly. ‘A hidden, all-consuming obsession with violent killing.’

  We passed through a busy throng at Smithfield, for it was market-day, and arrived at Charterhouse Square. There were only a couple of beggars sitting on the steps of the old chapel, two older men and an old woman who looked as though they could not move far. The others would be begging at Smithfield, I guessed. I wondered if they supported these old folk, shared the meagre charity they received.

  There were a couple of other horses at the rail where we tied Sukey and Genesis up, and the tavern doors were open. Inside it was busy, a group who looked like Smithfield drovers sitting together. Three ragged, weatherbeaten men whom I took to be from the community of beggars sat at one table qu
affing ale. Mrs Bunce and Lockley were busy, the latter moving among the tables and the former serving behind the bar hatch.

  The clientele looked up curiously as we entered. Lockley caught sight of us, and exchanged a glance with the widow. ‘We would like another word, sir,’ I said loudly.

  ‘Come into the back.’ His tone was low and angry. The clientele looked on with interest as I followed Lockley into a back room, where a moment later Mrs Bunce joined us. It was a cheerless place, with a scored table and some stools the only furniture.

  I decided it would do no harm to let Mrs Bunce remain; she might let something slip.

  ‘What is it?’ Lockley asked us. His manner today was one of angry hostility. He stood with his fists bunched and glared at us with those sharp, deep-set eyes.

  ‘How now, potman,’ Barak said sharply. ‘That’s no way to talk to a man on business for His Majesty’s coroner.’

  Lockley sighed, shrugged and sat down at the table. Mrs Bunce stood beside him. ‘What do you want?’ Lockley asked, more quietly.

  ‘We have not found Infirmarian Goddard yet.’

  ‘Pox on him.’

  ‘Are you sure you know nothing about him that could help us?’

  ‘I told you all I knew last time. Goddard wasn’t interested in the lay infirmary. He sneered at me for my ignorance but let me get on with treating the patients. I had to do everything myself. So far as he was concerned the patients in the lay infirmary were just a nuisance.’

  ‘And those in the monks’ infirmary? The ones the young Cantrell dealt with?’

  ‘Goddard had to take better care of them, or he would have had to answer to the community. He kept a close eye on young Cantrell. Made him get glasses when it was clear he couldn’t see properly.’