by C. J. Sansom
'He is an easy horse.' He hesitated. 'Do you know, sir, what became of Master Yarington's horse?'
'I am afraid not. Someone will buy him.' Timothy looked crestfallen. 'I do not need another horse,' I said. 'Now come, saddle Genesis for me.'
I rode out, thinking how sad it was that the child's only friend had been Yarington's horse. But I drew the line at buying it for him. The stable was not large enough, apart from anything. I pulled aside hastily to avoid a grey-bearded pedlar pushing a cartload of clothes. Waifs and strays, I thought. And beggars and pedlars. Everywhere. The hospital — when this was over I must set to work on the hospital.
THE RIDE TO Westminster Stairs took longer than usual, for the streets were waterlogged and one or two were flooded. I heard people saying the Tyburn had overflowed in its upper reaches, flooding the fields. I noticed a printer's shop, closed and shuttered, and wondered if the owner had been taken away by Bonner's men.
When I arrived in Cranmer's office at Lambeth Palace the atmosphere was tense. All the men of power who had involved themselves in this grim quest were gathered. Harsnet stood near the door, looking downcast. Lord Hertford stood opposite, stroking his long beard, anger in his prominent eyes. His brother, Sir Thomas, stood next to him, arms folded, looking grim. As usual he was dressed in bright, expensive clothes: a doublet in a bold green, the arms slashed to show a vermilion silk lining. Cranmer sat behind his desk in his white robe and stole, his face severe.
'I hope I am not late, my lord.'
'I cannot stay long,' he said. 'There are matters I must attend to.' He looked drawn and anxious. 'Among them trying to persuade the Privy Council to allow me to have Dean Benson in for questioning without saying why.' He laughed bitterly. 'When most of them would rather have me arrested than him.'
Hertford looked at me. 'We have been asking Coroner Harsnet how it is he cannot find this Goddard despite all the resources we have given him.'
'It is easy to disappear in London,' I said. Harsnet gave me a brief, grateful nod.
'But this man must have antecedents.' Hertford slapped a hand violently on to his desk, an unexpected gesture that made us all start. 'He must have come from somewhere before he joined the abbey, or did he spring from the earth like some demon from Hell;'
'I do not believe his family are from within London,' Harsnet said. 'I think they may have come from the nearer parts of Middlesex, or Surrey or Kent. It must be near enough for him to ride into London. I am still making enquiries with the officials of all those counties, but it takes time.'
'Time is what we do not have,' Cranmer said. 'There are still three more vials to be poured out, three more murders to come, and with each it gets harder to conceal what is happening.' Cranmer looked at me sternly. 'Master Harsnet says you think there may be another suspect. Some young man who visited Yarington's whore. The whore who escaped,' he added, with a sidelong look at Harsnet. They were blaming him for everything: the lack of progress, the escape of the whore and Lockley's vanishing.
'The fact he knew Yarington kept a girl in his house makes this visitor a suspect,' I said carefully. 'But there is nothing to link him to the other murders. Yet all the evidence against Goddard, too, is circumstantial.' I glanced at Harsnet again, then back at the Archbishop. 'My lord, the man we seek is very clever. He seems to have made killing his life's mission.'
'More like a man possessed by the devil than a madman,' Lord Hertford observed. Was he, too, of Harsnet's way of thinking, I wondered.
'We do not know what he is,' I answered.
'Something new,' Sir Thomas said. 'Well, the world is full of new things.' He gave a quick, cynical half-smile. I thought, this is like an interesting puzzle to him. 'Maybe we should leave this man to fulfil his prophecy,' he said. 'Concentrate on covering up the murders. When he has completed the seven he will stop, surely. Perhaps he thinks the world will come to an end then. When it does not, perhaps it will be too much for him. Perhaps he will kill himself.'
'I do not think someone so devoted to killing could stop,' I said quietly.
'I agree,' Cranmer said. 'And how can we allow these outrages to continue?' He turned again to Harsnet. 'How many men do you have at your disposal, Gregory?'
'Four.'
And you are circulating the names Cantrell supplied amongst the radical brethren?' 'Yes.'
'And now we need to find Lockley as well as that girl Abigail.' Cranmer considered. 'You need more men. People who are competent to make these enquiries. I dare not take men from my household, there are spies there now.'
'I need to be careful too,' Lord Hertford agreed.
'Perhaps I can help,' Sir Thomas said. 'I have a household full of clever young men, and a good steward. I can lend you a dozen if you like.'
His brother and Cranmer exchanged glances. I could see that they were wondering how far he could be trusted. I wondered why he had made the offer. Perhaps for him this was an adventure now, the Turkish war on a small scale. Hertford hesitated, then nodded.
'Very well, Thomas,' Cranmer said. 'If you could make some men quietly available that would help us greatly. But they must come under the direct supervision of Coroner Harsnet.'
Seymour looked at the coroner. 'My men are to be placed under the orders of a clerk:'
'If you want to be involved, yes,' Lord Hertford told him bluntly.
Sir Thomas met his gaze for a moment, then shrugged.
'I will use them well,' Harsnet said. 'I can send them to the constables of all the villages round London — from Barnet and Enfield to Bromley and Surbiton - to find whether the name Goddard is known.'
The Archbishop looked at Harsnet. 'Perhaps I should have set this in train before, given you more resources.'
I looked at him with respect; it was unheard of for anyone in power to admit a mistake. Harsnet nodded in gratitude.
And you, Matthew,' Cranmer added, 'keep thinking, keep puzzling it over. That is your role. And keep yourself and your household safe.' He put his hand to his mouth, kneading his lower lip between his finger and thumb. 'What will he do, do you think, when he has poured out the seven vials:'
'Find a new theme for murder,' I answered. 'There are plenty in Revelation.'
CRANMER CLOSED the meeting shortly after, asking the Seymour brothers to stay behind. Harsnet and I walked together along the dim passageways of the Archbishop's palace.
'These new men will be a great help,' he said.
'Yes,' I agreed. 'Cranmer understands how hard you are working,' I added.
'He is always most loyal to those who serve him. Yet I feel I let him down, letting the whore escape then losing Lockley. I let the steward go, by the way. He knew nothing more.'
'We all make mistakes, Gregory.'
He shook his head. 'I should have served him better. Particularly with all the strain he is under now. You saw how troubled and afraid he is.'
'No evidence of heresy has been found among his associates who were arrested;'
'No. There would be none to find. The Archbishop is too cautious to hire men whom the papists would call heretics.'
'Then perhaps he will be safe. His enemies cannot go to the King without evidence.'
'They will not give up easily. And things are going badly in Parliament. The Act to prevent women and common folk from reading the Bible is progressing fast. But Christ and his saints will nevertheless win the final victory, for so we are told.' His tone became intense. 'The persecuted church is the true church.' He gave me a piercing look, suddenly the hot-gospeller.
'What news on Catherine Parr;' I asked to change the subject.
'Still she will not agree to marry the King. They say she thinks on the fate of Catherine Howard. Better to think on God's will, the chance she has been given to influence the King.'
'How can we ever be sure what God's will is;'
He smiled, his severe mood gone as quickly as it had come. 'Oh, but one can, Matthew. If one prays. As one day you will understand, I am sure of it.'
I RODE BACK along the riverbank to London Bridge. I passed the spot where we had found Dr Gurney's body. In the distance I could see the squatters' cottages where Tupholme had been mutilated and left to die. That day the river sparkled in the spring sunshine, the beds of reeds behind the path soughing gently in a light breeze. I wondered if I would ever be able to appreciate the beauty of the vista again.
I crossed the river at London Bridge and rode into town through the crowded streets. Though feeling much safer on horseback, I still looked around warily as I rode along. On the corner between Thames Street and New Fish Street a pair of beggars sat underneath the new clock tower they were building there, no more than steps and scaffolding as yet. Two sturdy-looking young men in ragged clothes and battered caps, they sat staring out at the crowd. A woman sat between them, also dressed in rags, her head cast down. As I passed, she looked up, and I saw that she was beautiful, a young maid no more than sixteen. She met my eyes with a desolate look. I thought of the tooth-drawers, who would pay to destroy her face.
The taller of the two young men saw my eyes meet hers. He stood up and took a couple of steps towards me.
'Don't you eye up my sister!' he shouted in a country accent. 'Think you're fucking wonderful in your fine robe, don't you, fucking hunchback! Give us some money, we're starving!'
I moved the horse along, as fast as I could through the crowds. My heart thumped as I heard the beggar try to follow me through the crowd, a shower of insults and demands for money at my back. People turned and stared back at him. 'It costs money to look at normal people, bent-back!' I looked over my shoulder. The beggar's friend had taken his arm and was pulling him back to the clock tower, afraid of attracting the constable. I moved on, glad the encounter had not taken place at night.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING I rode down to Guy's shop. I tied Genesis up outside and knocked at his door. Holding the reins had made my stitches pull again; I would be glad to have them out.
Guy himself opened the door. To my surprise he was wearing a pair of wood-framed spectacles. He smiled at my astonishment. 'I need these for reading now. I am getting old. I used to take them off when visitors called, but I have decided that is the sin of vanity.'
I followed him inside. Seeing his magnified eyes behind the glasses reminded me of Cantrell; I wondered how he was faring, stumbling about his miserable hovel.
Guy had been sitting at his table. The big anatomical volume lay open there, revealing more gruesome illustrations. A quill and ink pot stood next to it; Guy had been making notes on a piece of paper. He invited me to sit. I took a stool at the table. Guy sat opposite me. He gestured to the book, which I had avoided looking at.
'The more I study this text the more I realize it changes everything.' There was excitement in Guy's voice. 'All the old medical books we have been reading for hundreds of years, Galen and Hippocrates and the other Greeks and Romans, they have so much wrong. And if they are wrong on anatomy, may not everything else they say be called into question?'
'Beware the College of Physicians if you claim such things. To them those books are Holy Writ.'
'But they are not Holy Writ. They are the works of men, no more. And they have become binds and fetters, no one may question them. At least in your sphere of study there are developments, changes. The law progresses.'
'Mostly at the pace of an old tired snail. But yes, it does.'
'I begin to see these old medical texts as no more than an infinite chaos of obscurities.'
'You could say that about the law, too. But yes, we take so much ancient knowledge for granted,' I said. 'Like the Book of Revelation. Yet people need certainties, more than ever in these disturbed and disoriented times.'
He frowned. 'Even if those certainties bring hurt to them and others. Do you know, I heard a tale the other day at the Physicians' Hall of one of those end-timers, who thinks Armageddon is almost upon us, who broke his leg and refused to have it treated, though the bone was sticking through the skin and it would become infected. He said he was certain the Second Coming would take place before he died. He thought his broken leg a test from God. It is a paradox. Revelation,' he said. 'How it has dominated Christian imagery. I believe that many people thought the year iooo was the end of Time, and stood on hills waiting for the end of the world. What an evil book it is, for it says that humanity is nothing, is worth nothing.' He sighed, shook his head, then managed a sad smile. 'How is your arm?'
'The stitches pull. I would like to have them out.'
'It has only been five days,' he said doubtfully. 'But let me look.'
He smiled warmly when I removed my robe and doublet, and showed him my arm. It looked almost mended.
'Piers did a good job there. And it has healed well, you're a fast healer, Matthew. Yes, I think those may come out. Piers!' he called out. Evidently the boy was going to cut them out as well as put them in.
'He is doing so well.' Guy's face brightened. 'He learns so fast.'
There was much I could have asked but I held my tongue. Instead I told Guy about Bealknap. 'He went to Dr Archer complaining of weakness and nausea, and he has been purging and bleeding him so that there is little of him left. I feel he may die.'
Guy looked thoughtful. 'I am afraid he would not be the first patient Archer killed with his treatment. He is the most traditional of traditionalists. Yet I ought not to take another doctor's patient.'
'Bealknap wants a second opinion. He begins to realize Archer is doing him harm. He started with fainting and a bad stomach; I think he is quite ill now.'
'Bealknap. I remember that name. He has done you harm in the past, has he not;'
'Yes. He is the greatest rogue in Lincoln's Inn. In fact, I will pay your fee, otherwise you will have to battle for it. I imagine he is making Archer wait for his money.'
'You would help an enemy;'
I smiled. 'Then he will owe me a moral debt. I would like to see how he deals with that. Do not think my motives are of unalloyed purity.'
'Whose are;' He looked sad, then smiled at me. 'I think also you do not like to see suffering.' 'Perhaps.'
The smile faded from my face as the door opened and Piers entered, neat in his blue apprentice's robe, the usual bland respectful expression on his handsome face. Guy stood and touched his arm.
'Piers. Your patient is here. Take him through to the other room, would you?'
Piers bowed. 'Good morning, Master Shardlake.'
I rose reluctantly and followed him out. I had hoped Guy might come to supervise, but he stayed with his book. In the treatment room, with its shelves lined with more apothecary's jars, its long table and its racks of fearsome-looking instruments, Piers smiled and gestured to a stool beside the table. 'Would you bare your arm, sir, then sit there?'
I rolled up my shirtsleeve again. Piers turned and looked over Guy's instruments. I stared at his broad, blue-robed back. When Guy had praised him just now I had seen a haunted look in his eyes, almost as though he were trying to console himself with the boy's skill. But what was he hiding?
Piers selected a small pair of scissors, opened and closed them experimentally, then turned to me with a deferential smile, though I thought I saw cold amusement in his eyes. I watched apprehensively as he bent and snipped the black stitches. He did it gently, though, then took a pair of tweezers and slowly pulled out the broken threads. I sighed with relief when it was over, the constant pulling sensation of the last few days gone. Piers looked at my arm.
'There. All is healed. It is wonderful how Dr Malton's poultices prevent wounds from becoming infected.'
'Yes, it is.'
'There will be a scar of course, it was a nasty gash.' 'You are learning a lot from Dr Malton?'
'Far more than from my old master.' Piers smiled. 'He was one of those apothecaries who believed in exotic herbs prepared in consultation with astrological charts.'
'A traditionalist?'
'If I might dare to say it, sir, I think he was not quite honest. He had the dried-up body of some
strange, large lizard with a long tail in his shop. He would cut bits off, powder them up and get people to take the powder. Because the lizard was so strange, patients thought it had some great power.' He gave a cynical smile that made him look older than his years. 'People always believe in the power of the strange and unfamiliar. It is good to be working with Dr Malton now. An honest man, a man of reason.'
'Your old master died, I believe.'
'Yes.' Piers fetched down one of the jars. He opened it, and I caught the sickly smell of the ointment Guy had used before. Piers put some on the end of a spatula and touched it to my arm, spreading it gently. 'It was the smallpox killed him. The strange thing was, he did not dose himself with any of his own remedies. I think he did not believe in them himself. He simply took to his bed and waited to see if the pox would kill him. Which it did. There, that is done, sir.'
I found Piers' even, unemotional tone in talking of his master's death distasteful.
'Had he family?'
'No. There was just him and me. Dr Malton came and did what he could for him, but the smallpox takes its own path, does it not? Sometimes it kills, sometimes it disfigures. My parents died of it when I was small.'
'I am sorry.'
'Dr Malton has been father and mother to me to since I came here.'
'He said he is going to help you train to become a physician.'
Piers looked up sharply, perhaps wondering why I was asking taking such an interest. He knew I did not like him.
'Yes.' He hesitated, then said, 'I do appreciate all the kindness he has shown me.'
'Yes, his kindness is of a rare sort.' I stood up. 'Thank you for seeing to my arm.'
