by C. J. Sansom
‘So he’s there,’ Cranmer said.
‘He could have been the pedlar on that timescale,’ I said. ‘Our encounter with him was at dusk.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let us take him,’ Sir Thomas said, his voice full of excitement.
‘Wait a moment. What else do the locals say about him?’ asked the Archbishop.
‘He is known as unfriendly, does not mix at all with the local people. He doesn’t come into the village, gets supplies sent to him. The house is just about falling down.’
‘He has money then?’ Harsnet said.
‘Some at least.’ I thought of the beggars who had come to sell their teeth.
‘Did you see the house?’ Cranmer asked.
‘I went to look at it, from a safe distance. That was easy enough; it’s surrounded by trees. It’s a manor house, probably impressive once but decayed-looking. All the shutters were closed. It’s got an overgrown garden surrounding it, woods all around. And here’s an interesting thing,’ Seymour paused. ‘After his mother died Goddard dismissed the few old retainers she had left. It caused much resentment in the village.’
‘So he is quite alone there?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I left a man to watch the house secretly, and rode back here with my steward.’
‘This magistrate,’ Harsnet asked. ‘Can he be trusted?’
‘I believe so. He seems capable enough.’
‘You did not tell him I was involved?’ Cranmer asked sharply.
‘No, my lord. Only that this was a secret matter of state.’
Cranmer nodded. He turned to Harsnet. ‘Sir Thomas has suggested we send a group of armed men to ride there now, break into the house.’
‘Then let us do it.’ The coroner laughed bitterly. ‘After all the questions I asked in London and the neighbouring counties, and came up with nothing. If only I had gone that little bit further.’
‘You did all you could,’ Cranmer said. He turned to Sir Thomas. ‘How many men can you provide?’
‘A dozen, my lord,’ he answered confidently. I could see he was enjoying being the centre of attention. ‘Under my steward, Russell. All young men, strong and sporty. That is the type of man I like to have serving me.’ He smiled complacently.
‘What will they be told?’
‘Only that some men of the court are hunting a villain, and we want their help to catch him.’
Cranmer looked round the room. ‘I think this is what we must do,’ he said. ‘End this matter now.’
‘After that note,’ I said, ‘that must be what he is expecting us to do. This is tied in with the killing of the seventh victim.’
‘I know,’ Cranmer said quietly. ‘But what else can we do but go there in force?’
I had no answer. ‘I want you to go with Sir Thomas’ party, Matthew,’ the Archbishop continued. ‘It seems that for the killer you are connected to his mission. That is all the clearer after the pedlar’s attack.’ He looked at me sternly, perhaps expecting argument, but I only said, ‘Yes, your grace.’
The Archbishop turned to Seymour. ‘Mark this well, Thomas,’ he said firmly. ‘This is not sport. If it goes wrong and the King finds what we have been doing it will not only be me who suffers. Curb your enthusiasm for adventure. And remember that if Goddard is caught he must never be brought to trial. The matter will be closed, quietly and secretly. Tonight.’
Sir Thomas flushed, but nodded. ‘I understand how important this is, my lord,’ he said haughtily.
‘Good. And thank you for what you have done so far. Now, what is happening at the Charterhouse?’
‘My men have got Lockley’s body out, but the gates won’t open any further. They’re jammed somehow. My brother is sending an engineer to look at the problem.’
‘And I have been questioning the beggars,’ Harsnet said. ‘There was one who came there a few weeks ago, he stayed in that chapel they use as a shelter. He was very keen to learn all he could about the Charterhouse and about the tavern, though he never went there.’ He looked at me. ‘An old man, with a dirty face, thick grey hair and a beard. The other beggars didn’t like him, I think they sensed he wasn’t what he pretended to be.’
Seymour laughed. ‘The man’s a genius. The King should take him in his service as a spy.’
‘His skills come from the devil,’ Harsnet said.
‘When did that matter?’
Cranmer turned to Barak, who had been standing quietly by the door. ‘I want you to help Sir Thomas organize his men into an armed party,’ he said. ‘You worked for Lord Cromwell, you have useful experience in such matters.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Barak bowed. I wondered if the Archbishop wanted Barak to make sure Sir Thomas organized things properly, and did not tell his men too much. From the hard look Sir Thomas gave him, I guessed he wondered the same.
The Archbishop stood up. ‘I pray you can end this horror,’ he said. As we turned to leave he looked to me and I saw commiseration on his face. Well, I thought, I set myself on this path the morning I found poor Roger.
WALKING DOWN the corridor I fell into step with Harsnet.
‘Will this be the end, Matthew?’ he asked quietly.
‘I do not know.’
‘You are right to be cautious. I feel we are riding into the devil’s jaws.’
‘We will have many men.’
‘I don’t trust Seymour. He is an adventurer.’
‘He is. But he has shown skill in this. His military experience is showing.’
‘Perhaps.’ Harsnet was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I saw Lady Catherine Parr ride into her house in Charterhouse Square this afternoon, attended by her retainers. She has much land in the north, but stays on in London. It must be because she is still considering the King’s proposal.’
‘She will not be able to go without the King’s leave. In a way she is trapped here.’
‘She must marry the King,’ he said with sudden passion. ‘If reform is to survive at all. And we must stop Goddard,’ he added. ‘By any means we can.’
We stepped outside. Sir Thomas stood on the wharf by the raft, lights at his back from the smoking torches carried by the three boatmen standing in the boat. ‘To my house,’ he said. ‘To fetch my men and horses.’ As he stood with his arms on his hips, master of the scene, in his pose he reminded me of the King. I shuddered.
Chapter Forty
A LITTLE OVER an hour later, I sat on my horse outside my house. The moonlight shone on the puddles of a deserted Chancery Lane. The horses were nervous at being out at such an unaccustomed hour. I was tired and my injured arm ached.
Sir Thomas Seymour had gone to his house in the Strand to make ready for the journey to Hertfordshire. As Chancery Lane was en route, he had agreed that I should leave a message for Tamasin and Joan that we would not be back until late in the day. I had asked Barak if he wanted to write his own note for Tamasin, but he had shaken his head.
The sound of jangling harnesses approached from the direction of the Strand. A crowd of over a dozen men, all wearing swords, rode quietly up to me. The moon cast a pale light over them. A tall man in his thirties was in the lead, Harsnet and Barak beside him. The men accompanying them were all young, strong-looking, some with an air of suppressed excitement about them. All were dressed in sober, dark clothes. I realized Sir Thomas was not there.
‘Ready?’ Harsnet asked.
‘Yes.’
He nodded to the tall man. ‘This is Edgar Russell, Sir Thomas’ steward.’
I nodded at the man, who bowed briefly in the saddle. I was glad to see that he had a serious, authoritative look about him.
Barak looked at the blank windows of my house. ‘Everyone asleep?’ he asked.
‘Ay. I’ve left a note. I said you were sorry you wouldn’t see Tamasin until tomorrow.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Where is Sir Thomas?’
Barak smiled. ‘He’s gone to fetch Dean Benson out of his bed and bring him up to Hertfordshi
re. He’ll join us there.’
‘Why?’
‘So he can identify Goddard for certain, if we find him.’
Barak’s horse Sukey pawed at the ground. Barak looked at me, full of suppressed excitement. ‘Ready?’
‘Ay.’
‘All right, girl,’ Barak said to the horse, then turned to the steward. ‘Come on then, let’s go and catch this arsehole.’
‘There is no need to swear,’ Harsnet told him reprovingly.
‘Arsehole isn’t swearing. Swearing is taking the name of God in vain.’
Some of the men in the entourage laughed. Russell turned in his saddle. ‘Quiet, there,’ he hissed, and the noise subsided. I was glad to see the steward seemed to have these men under control. ‘We must go on now if we are to get there before dawn,’ he said to me.
I nodded. We rode up Chancery Lane, the horses’ hooves and the jingling of their harnesses sounding loud in the still night.
‘What happens when we arrive at Kinesworth?’ I asked Harsnet.
‘There is an inn just outside the village we will use as a base. The innkeeper is a godly man, and a friend of Master Goodridge, the magistrate. We will set men in the woods that surround Goddard’s house before dawn, and go in and take him when the sun comes up.’ He leaned in closer. ‘The steward Russell is a good man. He has these men under close authority. He was in Hungary with Sir Thomas, he knows warfare. It was he insisted all the men wore dark clothes to attract less attention.’
We rode on through the dark and silent roads, no sound but disturbed birds, the cattle dim shapes in the meadows. It was monotonous and once I almost dozed off in the saddle. It was still dark when Russell raised a hand for us to halt. We had come to a small country inn set back from the road. Lights were burning inside. We dismounted quietly.
‘Magistrate Goodridge is inside,’ Russell said. ‘Coroner, Master Shardlake, come inside. Someone will take your horses. You too, Barak,’ he added with a smile. ‘We need all the practical minds we can get.’
Inside was a long low room set with tables, which no doubt functioned as a tavern in the evenings. It made me think of Lockley and poor Mistress Bunce. A fire burned in a hearth set in the centre of the room in the old way. Its warmth was welcome after the long cold ride.
A man of around sixty was sitting at one of the tables, a hand-drawn map before him. He rose to greet us. He had a tanned, swarthy complexion and sad penetrating eyes. An experienced and competent country magistrate, I guessed. He introduced himself as William Goodridge.
‘What is the plan?’ Harsnet asked.
He bade us sit and, indicating the map, said, ‘That shows the house. It’s a mile out of the village. There is lawn on all four sides, the grass is long and unkempt. Beyond that, the house is surrounded by woods.’
‘An ideal layout to set watchers,’ Russell said appreciatively.
‘The house looks big,’ I said. ‘How many rooms are there?’
‘About a dozen, as I recall. Old Neville Goddard was a hospitable man, I remember going to feasts and celebrations there when I was younger. But he could not control his drinking. His wife handled him badly too, she was a shrew.’
‘Do you remember young Goddard?’ I asked him.
He nodded. ‘A surly, sulky young man. Clever but something - I don’t know - effete about him. He had a great air of superiority for someone whose father drank himself into debt. I’m not surprised he went for a monk after Neville Goddard died, rather than stay with that termagant of a mother. All their lands were gone by then, to creditors. When the old woman died and Lancelot Goddard appeared again we hoped he might do something with the house, which she had left to fall to rack and ruin. But he comes and goes, talking to nobody.’
‘And he arrived when yesterday?’
‘I’m not sure, but there was smoke coming from a chimney when Master Russell and I went to look last night.’
‘He never comes to the village? What about church services?’
‘No. We are mostly reformers here, perhaps he does not find our ceremonies papist enough. There’s a lot of gossip about him, as you may imagine, but people here are nervous of him.’
‘The man we are after has a religion all his own,’ I said grimly.
‘You are sure he is still there now?’ Harsnet asked.
‘Oh, yes. The man I have watching sent a message half an hour ago saying there were lights at a window.’
Russell stood up. ‘I hear horses. Somebody is coming.’
We all turned to the door as it opened, and Sir Thomas entered with four more armed servants. Dean Benson was with him as well, wrapped up against the cold in a heavy dark coat, looking miserable and afraid. Like Russell’s men, Sir Thomas’ new servants were soberly dressed, but Sir Thomas himself wore a cap with a red feather, a doublet sewn with little pearls and silk gloves.
He smiled at the company. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘We are all here now. The dean here took some persuading, but he came.’ He made a mock bow to Benson. ‘Perhaps we can promise you some excitement.’ The dean did not reply, but gave him an angry look. Sir Thomas laughed. He strode towards the map, studying it with professional interest. The steward explained the layout of Goddard’s house. Sir Thomas thought a moment then turned to the company. ‘We shall go in as soon as it is light. We have sixteen men now, a goodly number.’ He looked round the room. ‘Are you ready to storm this villain’s citadel?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Sir Thomas!’ The reply came in a chorus. Harsnet and I exchanged glances. These men did not realize what they might be facing.
The magistrate called the innkeeper and asked him to prepare some breakfast. It was only bread and cheese but it was welcome after the long journey. As we breakfasted a man came with a message that smoke was still coming from Goddard’s chimney.
‘All night?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That’s strange,’ Russell said.
‘He’s waiting for us,’ I said quietly.
AFTER We Had eaten there was nothing to do but wait for dawn. We all fell silent. Dean Benson sat by himself, pretending to read a book that trembled in his plump hands. Some of Sir Thomas’ men closed their eyes to catch a little rest while they could; Barak too. I was too tense; I sat instead and looked out of the window. At length the light began to change, the sky outlined in dark grey instead of black. I heard the birdsong begin, a few cheeps at first then growing louder. Russell looked enquiringly at Sir Thomas. He nodded, and stood. Men who were awake nudged their dozing comrades. I could feel the tension rising around the room.
‘Time to go in,’ Sir Thomas said. ‘Come, all of you, look at this plan.’
When we were all gathered round the table, Sir Thomas pointed with a gloved hand at the rough-drawn map. ‘I’ll post eight men around the house, in the woods. The rest go into the house, with me. And you, young Barak.’ He turned to where I stood, the first notice he had taken of me. ‘Also you, master crookback, I want you to go in too. Goddard has shown great interest in you.’
‘Very well,’ I said quietly. My heart raced.
‘Coroner Harsnet, come with us, but I do not want you to go into the house. Magistrate Goodridge, I would like you to lead us there. You know the way. Dean Benson, you can keep your fat little rump on this chair here.’
The dean’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Outside, a couple of pails had been set in the yard. They were full of mud. At Russell’s request we all blackened our faces with the stuff, that we might not be seen while we were watching the house. As we went outside I heard the steward suggest to Sir Thomas that perhaps he should cover his fine clothes with a cloak. He acquiesced with a sigh, putting on a cloak fetched from the innkeeper. As I blackened my face I saw him look at the rough material with disgust. I thought, how many men of high estate are protected from their foolishness by their servants. Sir Thomas scowled as he caught me watching him. I thought, why does he dislike me so? Perhaps I offended his ideals of what a man shoul
d be and should look like, as once I had offended the King.
We SET OFF along the country lanes as the sun rose over the fields, revealing trees dusted with the light green of new leaves. A woman passed through a cattle meadow with pails hanging from a shoulder harness, milking the fat kine that gave the village its name. Woodsmoke rose from some of the poor houses dotted along the lanes, but no one was out ploughing or sowing yet. The woman stared in astonishment at the troop of armed men.
‘There’ll be gossip in the village soon,’ Barak said.
We arrived at length at a stretch of woodland. The house was set in a little hollow in the middle; we caught a glimpse of it before descending into the trees. In the early light I saw an old manor house of white stone. A plume of smoke rose from one of the tall brick chimneys. Russell whispered to his men to move through the wood as quietly as possible.
We moved slowly forward to the edge of the trees, and found ourselves looking across a stretch of long, unkempt grass that had once been a lawn, to the house. All the windows were shuttered. But for that thin plume of smoke from a chimney the place looked abandoned; ivy and streaks of green mould half covered the walls. Russell disposed his men among the trees with whispers and gestures. Around us the birds were singing loudly. Russell’s air of military efficiency and the numbers we commanded made me dare to hope that perhaps we might prevail.
‘What is Goddard doing in there?’ Harsnet, next to me, whispered.
‘Whatever it is, we have him trapped now, surely,’ Barak said.
‘We shall see before this day is out,’ Harsnet answered grimly.
‘If we catch him, Cranmer wants him killed, doesn’t he?’ I asked. ‘That was what he meant when he said the matter must be closed tonight.’
‘Do you think he is wrong?’
‘It goes against the things I believe.’
‘I do not like it either; I am a man of the law too.’ He looked at me. ‘But how could we bring him to trial, let out the fact that the Archbishop and the Seymours have been conducting a private hunt? And he is an unclean creature, such as should be quietly destroyed in the dark.’
