Dark Fire (12 page)

He sat up, slipping the miniature into the pocket of his robe. ‘Michael Gristwood had to use three intermediaries to get to me. They are the only others who know about Greek Fire. Two of
them are lawyers, men of Lincoln’s Inn that you know. The first was Stephen Bealknap—’

‘Not Bealknap. Dear God, he’s the last one any man should trust. And they’d had a falling out.’

‘So I hear. They must have mended it.’

‘I’ve a case on against Bealknap.’

Cromwell nodded. ‘Will you win?’

‘Ay, if there’s any justice.’

He grunted. ‘Talk to him, find if he told anyone else. I doubt he did, for I told Gristwood to order him from me to sew up his mouth.’

‘Bealknap has a care for his safety. But he’s a greedy rogue.’

‘Find out.’ He paused. ‘When Gristwood told Bealknap about Greek Fire, he gave thought as to who might have access to me. He went to Gabriel Marchamount.’

‘Did he? They had some dealings in the past, I know, but Bealknap was too shady for Marchamount’s liking.’

‘Marchamount moves in semi-papist circles. That worries me. Question him too. Threaten him or flatter him or offer him gold, I don’t care so long as you loosen his tongue.’

‘I’ll try, my lord. And the third—’

‘Marchamount took the story to a mutual acquaintance of ours. Lady Bryanston.’

My eyes widened in surprise. ‘I met her only a few days ago. She invited me to dinner.’

‘Yes, I dropped your name at her table last week, when I was thinking of employing you to get the formula from Gristwood. That is good, you must go. Talk to her too.’

I reflected a moment. ‘I shall, my lord. But if I am to get to the root of this matter—’

‘Yes?’

‘I need to know more about Greek Fire. Retrace the steps from its discovery to the demonstrations you held.’

‘If you think fit. But remember, time presses. Barak here can tell you all about the demonstrations, he can take you out to Deptford to see where they took place.’

‘And I could talk to the monastery librarian. Perhaps visit St Bartholomew’s to see where the stuff was found.’

He smiled coldly. ‘You don’t believe in Greek Fire yet, do you? You will. As for Bernard Kytchyn, Brother Bernard the librarian as he used to be, I’ve been trying to trace him
since Lady Honor first came to me. To make sure he kept his mouth shut too. But like half these ex-monks he’s disappeared without trace.’

‘Perhaps I could try the Court of Augmentations; he must have arrangements to collect his pension.’

Cromwell nodded. ‘That’s Richard Rich’s territory. But you could say it was in connection with a case.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘I don’t want Rich getting a
whiff of this. I raised him to the king’s council, but he knows about the plots against me and will change sides in a moment to protect himself. If he went to the king and said I’d lost
Greek Fire—’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘I would like to talk to Goodwife Gristwood again,’ I said. ‘I had a feeling she was keeping something back.’

‘Good, good.’

‘And finally, there is a man of learning I would like to consult. An apothecary.’

He frowned. ‘Not that black monk from Scarnsea?’

‘He is a learned man. I would only like to ask him, if need be, for advice about alchemy. I would not wish to involve him further than necessary.’

‘So long as he is not told of Greek Fire. There were rumours of its rediscovery three hundred years ago and the Lateran Council banned its use. They said it was too dangerous. An ex-monk
might feel himself bound by that. Or might want to give it to France or Spain, where the monkish brethren still flourish.’

‘He would not do that. But I do not wish to place him in danger.’

Cromwell smiled suddenly. ‘I see this matter intrigues you, Matthew.’

‘I will bend my mind to it.’

He nodded. ‘Come to me if you need anything. But time is all. You must move fast. You’ll have Jack to help you. I’m setting him to work with you.’

I stared at Barak. What I felt must have shown in my face, for he smiled sarcastically.

‘I work alone these days,’ I said.

‘You need help with this. Jack will lodge with you. You’ll get used to his rough ways.’

I had already learned Barak did not trust me. It occurred to me that perhaps Cromwell did not either, not wholly, and was setting Barak to keep an eye on me.

I hesitated. ‘My lord,’ I ventured, ‘I must also give some time to Mistress Wentworth’s case.’

He shrugged. ‘Very well. And Jack will help you with that. But this business comes first.’ He fixed me with those hard brown eyes. ‘If you fail, all those associated with me
will be at risk. Your lives could be at stake too.’

He rang a little bell and Grey stepped in from an inner room. He looked worried.

‘Grey’s been told. Keep me informed of progress every day. Any news, anything you want, send it via Grey. No one else.’

I nodded.

‘I can’t trust anyone now,’ he growled. ‘Not the people I raised to the council, not even my own staff, whom Norfolk pays to spy on me. But Grey’s been with me
since I was a nobody, haven’t you, Edwin?’

‘Ay, my lord.’ He hesitated. ‘Is Master Barak to be involved in this too?’

‘He is.’

Grey pursed his lips. Cromwell looked at him.

‘Matthew can do anything that requires diplomacy.’

‘That – er – might be best.’

‘Jack can deal with anything that requires a strong hand, eh?’

I glanced at Barak. He was studying his master’s face. One again I caught that look of concern, and I realized that he feared deeply for Cromwell. And perhaps for his own fate too.

W
HEN WE LEFT THE ROOM
Barak told me he had things to collect. I went outside, fetched Chancery and led him into the front
yard. From a little distance a murmuring was audible, and I heard a shout of ‘Don’t shove there!’ The doles were being distributed.

My mind was in a whirl. Cromwell and reform about to fall? I remembered Godfrey’s distress a few days ago, the mutterings everywhere about the queen. Though my faith had reached a low ebb,
I felt a clutch of dread at the thought of the papists back in charge, the bloodshed and return to superstition that must follow.

I began walking distractedly about the yard. Now I was saddled with this churl Barak. What was he doing? ‘A pox on it all!’ I burst out aloud.

‘Ho there, what’s this?’ I whirled round to see Barak grinning at me. I reddened with embarrassment.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Things affect me like that sometimes. But I’ve a choleric temperament. His lordship said you were a man of melancholy humour, who keeps his
feelings to himself.’

‘Usually I do,’ I said curtly. I saw that Barak carried a big leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He inclined his head to it. ‘The papers from the abbey and some material
my master has gathered about Greek Fire.’

He fetched the black mare and we rode out again. ‘I’m starving hungry,’ he said conversationally. ‘Does your housekeeper keep a good table?’

‘Good plain fare,’ I replied shortly.

‘Will you see the girl’s uncle soon?’

‘I’ll send him a note when I get back.’

‘His lordship has saved her the press,’ he said. ‘It’s a nasty death.’

‘Twelve days. We don’t have long, either for Elizabeth or this other business.’

‘It’s all a fog to me.’ Barak shook his head. ‘You’re right to question Mother Gristwood again.’

‘Mother? She’s childless.’

‘Is she? Not surprised. I wouldn’t want to tup her. Nasty old stoat.’

‘I don’t know why you dislike her so, but that’s no basis for suspicion.’ I spoke shortly. Barak grunted. I turned and looked at him. ‘Your master seems very
concerned Sir Richard Rich should not be involved.’

‘If he learned about Greek Fire and its loss he’d use it against the earl. My master raised Rich up, as he said, but he’s a man who’d betray anyone for his own advantage.
You know his reputation.’

‘Yes. He founded his career by perjuring himself at Thomas More’s trial. Many say that was at your master’s bidding.’

Barak shrugged. We rode on in silence for a while, up towards Ely Place. Then Barak drew his horse in close. ‘Don’t look round,’ he said quietly, ‘but we’re being
followed.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I think so. I’ve taken a quick look back once or twice and the same man’s been there. Odd-looking arsehole. Here, turn in by St Andrew’s Church.’

He led the way through the gate, behind the high wall enclosing the church, and jumped quickly down from his horse. I dismounted more slowly. ‘Hurry now,’ he said impatiently,
leading the mare behind the wall. I joined him where he stood peering round the gateway.

‘See,’ he breathed, ‘here he comes. Don’t stick your head out too far.’

There were plenty of pedestrians around and a few carts, but the only rider was a man on a white colt. He was about Barak’s age, tall and thin, with a thatch of untidy brown hair. His pale
face had a scholarly look, though it was pitted as an old cheese with the scars of smallpox. As we watched the man halted, shading his eyes against the sun as he looked up the road to Holborn Bar.
Barak pulled me back. ‘He’s missed us. He’ll be looking round in a moment. What a face, he looks as if he’s just been dug up.’ I frowned at his presumption in grabbing
at me, but he only smiled back cheerily, pleased to have bested the white-faced man.

‘Come on, we’ll lead the horses round the church and go back by Shoe Lane.’ He took the mare’s reins. I followed him on the path through the churchyard.

‘Who was that?’ I asked as we halted on the far side of the church – somewhat breathlessly, for he had led a brisk pace.

‘Don’t know. He must have been following us since we left his lordship’s house. There’s not many would have the nerve to set watch there.’ He heaved himself deftly
into the saddle, and I lifted myself onto Chancery’s back more slowly; after my day of riding hither and thither my back was sore. Barak looked at me curiously.

‘You all right?’

‘Yes,’ I snapped, settling myself in the saddle.

He shrugged. ‘Well just ask, any time, if you want a hand. It’s nothing to me you’re a hunchback, I’m not superstitious.’ I stared after him, speechless, as he
turned and led the way into Shoe Lane, whistling tunelessly.

As we rode on to Chancery Lane I was too offended by his insolence to speak, but then I thought I should find out what I could about the wretched man. ‘That’s twice I’ve been
watched this last week,’ I said. ‘By that man and before by you.’

‘Ay,’ Barak answered cheerfully. ‘His lordship set me to see what sort of case you were in, whether you might stand up to this job. I told him you had a determined look about
you.’

‘Did you? And have you worked for the earl a long time?’

‘Oh, ay. My father came from Putney, where the earl’s father kept his tavern. When he died I was asked to enter Lord Cromwell’s service. I had my own contacts round London
then, doing this and that’ – he raised an eyebrow and gave that cynical smile again – ‘and he’s found me useful enough.’

‘What did your father do?’

‘He was a gong-screwer, cleaned out people’s cesspits. Silly old arsehole, he fell into one of the pits he was digging out and drowned.’ Despite the lightness of his tone a
brief shadow passed across his face.

‘I am sorry.’

‘I’ve no family now,’ Barak said cheerfully. ‘Free of all ties. What about you?’

‘My father is still alive. He has a farm in Lichfield, in the Midlands.’ My conscience pricked me. He was getting old, but I had not been back to see him in a year.

‘Son of carrot crunchers, eh? Where did you get your education? Do they have schools up there?’

‘They do. I went to Lichfield cathedral school.’

‘I’ve an education too,’ Barak replied. ‘Know some Latin.’

‘Oh?’

‘I went to St Paul’s school, got a scholarship for a clever lad, but I had to fend for myself after my father died.’ Again that brief shadow of sadness, or was it anger? He
tapped his satchel. ‘Those Latin papers my master gave me for you, I can read them. Well, just about.’

As we turned in at my gate Barak studied my house; I could see he was impressed by the mullioned windows and tall chimneys. He turned to me, raising that eyebrow again. ‘Fine
place.’

‘Now we are here,’ I said, ‘we had better have our story clear. I suggest we tell my servants you are the agent of a client and are helping me on a case.’

He nodded. ‘All right. What servants have you?’

‘My housekeeper, Joan Woode, and a boy.’ I gave him a fixed stare. ‘You should also look to how you address me. Given our respective stations, “sir” would be
appropriate; “Master Shardlake” would at least be civil. All the way here it has been “you” as though I were your brother or your dog. That will not do.’

‘Right you are.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘Need a hand down, sir?’

‘I can manage.’

As we dismounted, the boy Simon appeared from behind the house. He stared at Barak’s mare in admiration.

‘That’s Sukey,’ Barak told him. ‘Look after her well and there’ll be something for you.’ He winked. ‘She likes a carrot now and then.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Simon bowed and led the horses away. Barak watched him go.

‘Shouldn’t he have shoes? He’ll be cutting his feet on ruts and stones this dry weather.’

‘He won’t wear them. Joan and I have tried.’

Barak nodded. ‘Ay, shoes are uncomfortable at first. They rub on your calluses.’

Joan appeared in the doorway. She gave Barak a look of surprise. ‘Good afternoon, sir. May I ask how it went at the court?’

‘We’ve got twelve days’ grace for Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘Joan, this is Master Jack. He will be staying with us a short while, to help me with a new matter on behalf
of his master. Could you make a room ready for him?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Barak bowed and gave her a smile, as charming as his earlier ones had been mocking. ‘Master Shardlake did not tell me his housekeeper was so attractive.’

Joan’s plump face reddened and she pushed some greying hairs under her cap. ‘Oh, please, sir—’

I stared, surprised my sensible housekeeper should fall for such nonsense, but she was still red-faced as she led Barak in. I supposed women would find him good-looking if they were susceptible
to rough charm. She led him upstairs. ‘The room hasn’t been slept in for a while, sir,’ she said, ‘but it’s clean.’