by C. J. Sansom
Chapter Thirty-seven
WE WALKED BACK to where Sukey and Genesis stood out- side, cropping the long grass growing against the outer wall. I looked back at the gate where Prior Houghton's arm had been nailed; I almost fancied I could make out a red outline on the wood. 'So much violence these last ten years,' I said quietly. 'Per- haps the wonder is that more people have not become obsessed with killing.' My first sight of poor Lockley's naked, crucified form at the bottom of that hatch came back to mind. I seemed to see Roger's face less and less often now, as though the later horrors had crowded it out.
'Where now?' Barak asked. 'Go home and wait for further instruct tions?'
'No. Let us go and visit Master Piers now. See if he has been stealing. We may be called to Hertfordshire later.' 'What if the old Moor is there?
'Then we make some excuse. And I wish you would stop calling him that.'
'There's no ill meant. I'm sure he's been called worse. Want a hand into the saddle?'
WE RODE OFF. A little group of half a dozen beggars had gathered on the chapel steps. All had something wrong with them, two carried crutches and the others had pale, sickly-looking faces. The balding boy who had held the horses the day we first visited Lockley and Mrs Bunce was there. Perhaps they had been inside, drawn out by the activity round the Charterhouse gate. Now they began walking and limping towards us, crying for alms. 'Out of the way!' Barak called. 'We're on urgent business.'
We rode on. 'Hope Harsnet arranges to question them,' Barak said. 'They may know if someone was asking about the Charterhouse.'
'He will. He is conscientious and thorough.' 'Bit of a plodder, though, isn't he?' 'He doesn't have much imagination, I grant you.' 'Pious hot-gospeller.'
I smiled. 'You've never liked him, have you?'
'Neither did you, at the start. Remember that inquest he fixed?'
'He's better than most of the men who work at the King's court. He's got some principles, some humanity. Maybe he's been a bit slow at times, but he's never faced anything like this.' I looked at Barak seriously. 'None of us have.'
'You're right there. You know what scares me most of all?' Barak asked suddenly.
'What?'
'The way every killing seems to be planned to show us the killer is cleverer than we are. He presents them to us like trophies. Yarington, Mrs Bunce, Lockley. The three killings that have happened since we got involved.'
'I know. He tried to stop me acting, by attacking Tamasin and then me. But when that failed he turned to — as you say, showing he could outwit us.'
'But why?' Barak asked. 'Why?'
'I do not know. Perhaps it is part of his madness.'
'And now he gives us his address,' he said incredulously. 'That's mad.'
'He gave us an address. I am still not persuaded it is Goddard. Surely he would have been known among the sects, at least by description. With that mole on his face they say he has.' I sighed. 'I keep asking myself, is there anyone else it could be?' I laughed, hearing a touch of wildness in my own voice. 'Do you know, I even considered the possibility that Piers might be the killer.'
Barak shook his head. 'What the killer does takes so much time and planning, how could Piers do that while working full time for Guy? And Piers doesn't have anything to do with religious groups, I'd doubt he has any religion at all.'
'I know. It's a crazy idea. I've got to the stage where I'm clutching at straws.'
'Because you don't believe it is Goddard?'
'I'm just not sure.' I winced, another slight pull on the reins making my arm hurt. 'You all right?'
'Yes. Just my arm. And I'm cold.' 'The sun's come out.'
'I know. But I feel cold so much of the time now.'
BARAK AND I left for Guy's house shortly after half past three. The apothecaries were working in their shops at Bucklersbury; through the window next to Guy's a man in a long robe could be seen, pouring powder into a large apothecary's jar. We tied the horses up outside. Barak spoke to me quietly. 'Will you let me take the lead in questioning him?'
'Do you think I will be too soft with him? I promise I will not.'
He looked at me seriously. 'I think a bit of rough questioning from me might throw him, take him off balance.'
I thought a moment, then nodded. 'All right.'
He knocked loudly on the door. We heard footsteps, then Piers opened the door, carrying a candle. He looked at us in surprise. 'Dr Malton has gone out, sir.'
'We know. It's you we've come to see, young cock,' Barak said cheerfully, shouldering his way inside. I followed him in, giving Piers a thin smile. I saw that either Piers or Guy had been experimenting: the table at the end of the room was crowded with flasks and vials of liquid.
'Cut anyone up today?' Barak asked.
'I was upstairs, studying. I do not understand.' Piers voice was quiet, his expression subservient, but there was anger in his eyes as he turned to me. 'Why do you allow your man to talk to me thus, sir?'
'I have some questions. Barak can ask them as one loyal servant to another.'
'I hear Dr Malton has had some money go missing,' Barak said. 'Know anything about it?'
Piers' expression did not change. 'I have heard nothing. Surely if Dr Malton has had money missing he should talk to me himself.'
'Ah, but Master Shardlake here is his attorney.'
Piers' eyes flicked between Barak and me, disoriented by the rapid-fire questions. 'I cannot believe Dr Malton has authorized you to question me like this,' he said.
'But here we are. Stealing is a capital offence.'
The boy's eyes narrowed. 'I have done nothing. I shall tell Dr Malton about this. He will not be pleased with you.'
'It was he who told us about the missing money,' I said.
'Where is your room?' Barak asked.
'Up the stairs. But you have no permission to go in there. I have rights as an apprentice!' His voice rose now, his face reddening.
'Tough.' Barak turned to me. 'Shall I go look in his room?'
'I will go. You stay here and keep an eye on him.' I stared at Piers. He was frightened now.
The boy stepped back, blocking the inner door with his sturdy form. 'No! You have no right!'
Barak drew his sword and used the blade to edge him away from the door. Piers watched with set lips, breathing hard, as I passed through. I mounted the narrow, gloomy staircase. Guy did not trust servants among his equipment; there was no one else in the house. On the upper floor I saw a door was open.
Guy's precious edition of Vesalius lay on a desk, open at a picture of a skeleton dangling from a gibbet, in the posture of a hanged man. Piers had been engaged in drawing a copy of the revolting thing, a quill was lying on the table. It was very well done.
I searched the room. Among volumes on the bookshelf dealing with medicine and herbs I found a copy of the Black Book, the summary of the most lurid cases of sodomy and fornication that Crom- well's agents had found eight years before in their investigation of the monasteries. Many copies had been sold to prurient readers. There was a chest containing clothes, some of surprisingly good quality. I explored the bed, turning over the mattress, and there I found a small leather bag. Inside was a collection of silver coins, totalling over a pound: far more money than an apprentice was likely to have. I took it, left the room and returned down the narrow staircase.
Piers was standing against the table, Barak facing him with his drawn sword. As I entered the room I held up the bag. 'Money,' I said.
'So, my pretty, you are a thief,' Barak said grimly.
A change came over Piers' face. It took on a hard, calculating look. Now, I thought, the mask is gone. 'I could say some things about that old blackamoor if I chose,' he said in a voice that was suddenly sharp as a file. 'Like how he prostrates himself before a big old cross in his bedroom, worshipping idols. How the priest he goes to is known as a secret papist. How he is a pederast, how he makes me commit immoral acts with him.'
'That is a lie!' I shouted angrily.
<
br /> 'Perhaps it is. But part of him would like to. I have seen enough of him to know he would look embarrassed and uneasy at such an accusation. You are a lawyer, imagine how that would look to a jury. Him being an ex-monk. Sodomy is a hanging offence as much as theft. If I lose all I will make sure he loses as well.' He looked at me grimly.
'Nasty little arsehole, isn't he?' Barak said.
Piers' next move was so sudden it took us unawares. He reached behind him to the table, grabbed a flask of liquid and threw the contents in Barak's face. Barak gave a loud yell and stumbled backwards, dropping his sword as he raised his hands to his face. Piers ran to the door, threw it open and fled into the night. I heard his footsteps disappearing into the warren of streets that made up Bucklersbury.
I ran to Barak and gently pulled his hands from his face, dreading what I might find. His eyes were red and weeping, but there were no other marks and I caught the sharp sweet smell of lemons.
'My fucking eyes,' he groaned.
'I'll get some water from the kitchen. I think it's just lemon juice, you'll be all right.' I hurried out, coming back with a pail of water and a cloth. I squeezed water into his eyes. 'Blink, you idiot,' I said roughly.
After a thorough wash the pain in Barak's eyes subsided, although they remained bloodshot. 'What's Guy experimenting with lemons for?' he asked. 'They don't come cheap.'
'Some cure, I suppose.'
'That little rat will be miles from here by now.' 'Yes. I think our best course is to stay here until Guy comes back.' I sighed. I was not looking forward to his return.
HE CAME IN an hour later, his eyes widening with surprise at the sight of us sitting in his shop, Barak still dabbing his eyes with a cloth.
'What has happened?'
I told him, leaving out Piers' threats against Guy. When I had finished he sat down on a stool. He looked bereft. He sat thus for several minutes, then rose slowly to his feet. It seemed to me that he had aged ten years. 'Let me look at your eyes, Barak,' he said wearily. He took the candle and peered into them. 'You have been washing them. Good. It was only something I was working on with lemons, a poultice.' Then he turned to me, and his voice was as I had never heard it, trembling with anger.
'You should have come to me first. You should not have gone behind my back.'
'I thought it best for us to confront Piers.'
'You thought I would obstruct you.'
I had no answer. 'I have just been to see Bealknap,' he said. 'He is better, as I thought, complaining Mistress Elliard's servants do not empty his piss-bowl often enough. I took that ridiculous man on as a patient because you asked me, just as I involved myself in your hunt for this killer. And this is how you repay me. I thought you trusted me, Matthew.'
'I did not feel you could see Piers clearly. And this was urgent. And he is a thief, Guy.' 'And now he has gone.' 'I am sorry. What can I say;'
'Nothing.' He lowered his head, the damp cloth clutched in his hands. There was a silence that lasted only a few moments, but felt like an hour. Then I said, 'There has been another killing.' I told him about Lockley, and the note giving Goddard's address.
He looked at me. 'There is nothing I can do, is there?'
'No.'
'Then I wish you luck in Hertfordshire.' Guy gave me a look that was stony, almost contemptuous. 'I will not have Piers prosecuted if he is caught,' he said. 'I will not see an eighteen-year-old boy hanged for stealing a little money, as the law prescribes.' He picked up the bag of coins from where I had put it on his table, slipping it into his robe. 'There, your evidence is gone. And now I would like you to leave, Matthew. I hope you find Goddard.' His look said that his involvement in the affair was over.
'Guy—'
He raised a hand. 'No. Please go. I have an appointment to go and visit Adam at the Bedlam.' He gave Barak a sudden hard look, and I realized he was wondering if I had told my assistant about his confusion about Piers. 'I have not—' I began.
'Go, Matthew, please.' His cold, angry tone struck me to the heart.
Barak and I left the shop. As we untied the horses Barak asked curiously, 'What is it you haven't told me?' 'Nothing. Private matters of Guy's.'
We rode away in silence. I almost groaned aloud at the thought of the harm I had done to our long friendship.
Chapter Thirty-eight
WE RODE HOME. The streets were thronged. Most of the city constables seemed to be on patrol, together with several guards in Bishop Bonner's livery. Many people gave them hostile or frightened looks. I thought of those who had been arrested, of the danger to Cranmer. I wondered what the godly men were doing, keeping out of sight, probably, waiting till the storm died down. But this latest persecution would only encourage them to see themselves as martyrs. It occurred to me that Harsnet, as a royal official and a radical, might himself be in danger. Or would the protection of Cranmer and Lord Hertford be enough?
I was exhausted; at home I went up to bed and slept for several hours, then had a gloomy dinner on my own, Barak and Tamasin staying in their room. Seymour's men must have reached Hertfordshire by now. I went to bed early. In the morning there was still no word. Barak joined me at breakfast. 'What's happening?' I said.
'Maybe Seymour's men are dealing with Goddard quietly up there,' Barak said seriously.
I shook my head. 'They should tell us,' I said. A thought struck me. 'Where is Tamasin? Is she missing breakfast again?'
'She's still abed.' Barak looked at me seriously. 'She's guessed some- how that there's been another killing, but I didn't tell her where I went yesterday. She's getting mopish, she just lies in bed. She looked so - sad.'
'Why is it you can no longer communicate, do you think?'
'I don't know.' As so often, he changed the subject. 'You're not going to report young Piers, then?'
'No.'
'What is it between him and the old Moor?' Barak looked at me curiously.
'I think the need for someone to care for, and to pass on his knowledge to, is so strong that it has taken him over. But in the end it does not matter. At least now he is rid of that boy. I hope he has escaped, gone somewhere far from London.'
'If he has any sense he will have. He'll know that if he's tried for theft, he'll hang.'
I stood up abruptly. 'I am going to the Bedlam,' I said. 'Guy said he was going to visit Adam there. I will try and talk to him, make him see sense.'
Barak looked dubious. 'He's pretty angry,' he said.
I almost said, attend to your wife, she is angry too, but bit back the words. 'I can't let it rest like this.'
'Do you want me to come?'
'No. No, I'll go alone.'
He gave me a worried look. I could see he was concerned that the strain was becoming too much for me; his own face looked strained enough. I put my hand on his shoulder.
'I'll ride,' I said. 'I'll be safe. Send word if there is any news from Hertfordshire.'
I REACHED Bishopsgate without incident. But as I rode through the gates into the Bedlam yard I heard an unexpected sound: a woman screaming and sobbing in dreadful fear. For an awful moment I feared the killer had misdirected us again and the seventh killing was to be here, now. Then I saw that a woman was hammering and banging on the closed doors of the Bedlam building, screaming to be let in. A little crowd of passers-by had gathered, some laughing at this latest example of the antics of the mad. I wondered why no one came to open the door. Then, as I rode up to the crowd, I saw that the woman was the keeper Ellen. I dismounted and hastily tied Genesis to the rail.
Ellen took no notice of the crowd. She had flattened her whole body against the door as she screamed in what seemed an extraordinary terror. 'Let me in, Master Shawms! Please! Please!' I elbowed my way through the crowd and laid a hand on her shoulder. 'Ellen,' I said quietly.
She did not look round. She went rigid and seemed to press herself even more tightly against the door. 'Who is it;' she whispered.
'It is I, Master Shardlake. What on earth is the matter?'
'For pity's sake, Master Shardlake, make him let me in.' And with that her knees gave way and she slid down the door, still pressing herself against it, sobbing wildly.
I banged on the door. 'Shawms!' I shouted. 'Open this door! What is happening?' I heard voices whispering, just inside. And from further back in the building I heard people shouting, and thought I heard Adam's voice among them.
A key turned and the door opened to reveal Shawms, the big keeper Gebons behind him. Gebons was frowning; Shawms looked angry. As soon as the door opened sufficiently Ellen threw herself inside and flattened herself against the opposite wall. She stood there, breathing heavily. A gaggle of patients stood in the open door of the parlour, their expressions fearful. The old woman Cissy took a couple of shuffling steps forward, hesitantly stretching out an arm. 'Oh, Ellen,' she muttered. 'Poor Ellen.'
I saw that the doors of all the patients' rooms were shut. I heard the man who believed he was the King demanding his subjects behave themselves, while from down the corridor the one-time scholar was banging himself against his door with loud thuds. Between them I heard Adam's voice calling to God to help Ellen, save good Ellen.
Shawms shut the front door in the faces of the curious onlookers. 'What are you doing to these people?' I demanded.
He looked as though he would have liked to strike me, but kept his voice calm. 'Ellen there needed a lesson. Thanks to you she has taken over the welfare of Adam Kite and makes so bold as to tell me how he should be treated. Now she is moving on to the other patients, demanding that drivelling old dolt Cissy be released into the care of her family.' He glared round at the old woman, who shrank back into the doorway. 'As though her family wanted the trouble, any more than Ellen's family want her.' His voice rose. 'Have you not yet grasped what this place is, Master Shardlake? It is a rubbish-heap, where people of wealth leave their mad relatives. We may have our charity cases and sometimes people even get cured, or pretend they are to get out. But mostly it is a rubbish heap, one that generates gold for Warden Metwys as rubbish generates rats.'
