Dark Fire (38 page)

‘Oh.’

‘You need a horse, we can’t go everywhere by water. I asked for a younger horse, better able to keep up with Sukey.’

‘Oh,’ I said again. I was suddenly filled with anger. Did Barak think Chancery’s loss could be repaired so casually? Yet from a practical point of view he was right. I went
outside. Simon had brought both horses round. Barak’s sleek mare was accompanied by a big brown gelding. I patted it. It seemed placid enough. Yet it felt almost a betrayal to see this animal
in Chancery’s place.

‘What’s his name?’ I asked Simon.

‘Genesis, sir. Though as he’s a gelding he won’t be able to generate a foal, will he?’ Simon smiled shyly, pleased at his own cleverness.

I looked at the pattens on his feet. ‘How are you managing with those?’

‘Very well, thank you, sir. They are easy on the feet after a while.’

‘The effort was worth it, you see.’ I gave him two notes. ‘Take this to Master Wentworth’s lodging house, please, and the other to the stall of a Master Leman, at
Cheapside.’

I heaved myself into the saddle. Barak had come to the door, that speculative look still on his face. I gave him a brief wave and rode off.

I decided to go to Lady Honor’s house by the quieter route, via Smithfield and entering the City through the Cripplegate. It would give Genesis a chance to get used to me. I rode on
steadily, half an eye always open for danger. I had brought the Greek Fire papers with me and they bumped against my side in the knapsack I had used yesterday to hit Wright. I shuddered again at
the thought of his axe.

My thoughts turned to the Wentworths. What in God’s name was going on in that family? I could not see any of the family engaged in what now seemed likely to be more than one murder. The
old woman was harsh and ruthless, but her interest was only in her family and her blindness prevented her taking an active role in any devilry. The two girls too surely had no horizons beyond their
family and a good marriage; if Sabine was engaged in some girlish fancy for the steward that was surely not so unusual. Both were classic Little Lady Favours, well-brought-up, well-mannered girls
as content with their lot as cows in a field.

I turned my thoughts to Sir Edwin. He was a man consumed by fury and sorrow and it was hard to guess what he was like in normal circumstances. From all I had heard he seemed to be a typical rich
merchant, concerned above all to build up his and his family’s status. Needler, the steward, was a nasty piece of work but his main interest seemed to be keeping well in with the family. All
normal, really. In fact the only members of the Wentworth household whose behaviour was abnormal were Elizabeth, whom I believed innocent, and Ralph himself.

We had reached Smithfield. I looked around the open space, St Bartholomew’s Friary and the hospital still empty and guarded. By the market I saw men in City livery stacking temporary seats
in tiers. Others were hammering bolts with chains attached into a long wooden pole. I remembered Vervey telling me there was another burning planned for the next week, a pair of Anabaptists who
denied the sacraments and would hold all goods in common. I shuddered, praying they might repent and be spared this horror, and turned the horse towards the priory and Long Lane, where my route
lay.

I noticed a little group of retainers in the red and gold Howard livery standing quietly holding their horses by the gatehouse. Then I saw the Duke of Norfolk himself was by the doorway, his
scarlet robe a bright slash of colour against the grey stone. He was talking to another man, who stood in the gatehouse doorway with arms folded in a proprietorial gesture. To my surprise I
recognized Sir Richard Rich.

They had already seen me and were staring across at me. The duke raised an arm. ‘Hey, master lawyer! Over here!’

Hell, I thought, what now? I turned Genesis’s head towards the group, praying the horse would continue to behave. I noticed there was a new doorman on the gate, and wondered what had
happened to the fat fellow Barak had kicked out of the library. As I pulled up, Rich gave me a cold, angry look, though Norfolk for once looked amiable enough. I guessed Rich had been in the act of
welcoming Norfolk to the priory when I turned up and I had a feeling they were not pleased at having been seen together. So febrile was the atmosphere lately that whenever two councillors were seen
talking together away from Whitehall, rumours of plots were sparked. And indeed they were an unusual pair to be meeting out here, Cromwell’s protégé and his greatest enemy. I
dismounted and bowed to them.

‘Master Shardlake.’ Norfolk’s lined face cracked into a thin smile. ‘Lord Rich, this is a clever lawyer I met at a banquet of Lady Honor’s the other night. Not one
of your Augmentations brood, I think.’

‘No, he’s a Lincoln’s Inn deviller, isn’t that so, Brother Shardlake? Though he devils in some strange places – I found him wandering about in my garden a few days
ago. You haven’t come to steal my washing, have you?’

I laughed uneasily at the jest. ‘I was passing only, on my way to Bishopsgate. I have a new horse, I wanted to avoid taking him through the City crowds.’

Norfolk turned to Rich. ‘A colleague of Master Shardlake’s was impertinent to me at Lincoln’s Inn a few days ago, read me a lesson on the new religion.’ His cold eyes
glittered at me. ‘But you tell me you’re not a Bible puncher, don’t you?’

‘I follow the rules our king has laid down, your grace.’

Norfolk grunted. He turned to Genesis, looking the horse over with a professional eye. ‘That’s an ordinary-looking nag. But you can’t take a horse of spirit to the City. And I
suppose you might have difficulty with a hard ride,’ he added brutally, with a glance at my back. He stretched his arms. ‘God’s wounds, Richard, I’ll be glad when parliament
rises and I can return to the country. Though you’re another City urchin, aren’t you?’

‘I am a Londoner, your grace,’ Rich said stiffly. He turned to me. ‘The duke has come to discuss the transfer of some monastic lands.’ There was no need to tell me
anything at all; he was providing me with an explanation for the meeting in case I spread rumours of conspiracy. What he said might be true: it was well known that Norfolk, for all his religious
conservatism, had taken his full share of the monastic spoils.

‘Ay,’ Norfolk said. ‘And you’ve transferred Barty’s to yourself in all but name, eh Richard?’ He laughed. ‘Sir Richard has granted houses round
Bartholomew Close to so many of his officials you might as well call this the Smithfield office of the Court of Augmentations. And poor Prior Fuller not yet dead. It’s not true you’re
poisoning him, is it, Richard?’

Rich smiled thinly. ‘The prior has a wasting sickness, your grace.’

I guessed the duke’s mockery was intended as further evidence for me that they were not friends. Rich turned aside as a servant appeared at the gate, holding a heavy sack, and murmured
something to him. ‘Put them in my study,’ Rich said sharply, ‘I’ll go through them later.’

Norfolk looked curiously at the sack as the servant went back inside. ‘What’s in there?’

‘We are digging up the monks’ graveyard in the cloister, to make a garden. It seems there is an old custom here that when a man died some personal possession was buried with him. We
have found some interesting items.’

I remembered the boys scrabbling in the coffins when I came here to see Kytchyn, the little golden trinket the watchman had appropriated.

‘Valuable, eh?’

‘Some, yes. Things of antiquarian interest too. Old rings, plague charms, even dried herbs buried with an infirmarian. I have an interest in such things, your grace. My mind does not run
on profit all the time,’ he added sharply and I realized that for all his ruthlessness and brutality Rich did not enjoy his reputation for venality.

‘A strange custom.’

‘Yes. I don’t know where it came from. But everyone buried here, whether monk or hospital patient, had something personal buried with him, something that was most characteristic of
his life, I believe. We’ll be finished with the monks in a couple of days, then we’ll start on the hospital graveyard. I might have some houses built there.’

I drew a sharp breath as I realized what might have been buried with the old soldier St John. Someone was going to great lengths to conceal all signs of Greek Fire, but what if some was still
here at Barty’s, buried under the ground?

I became aware Rich was looking at me. ‘Something piqued your interest, Shardlake?’

‘Just that I too have antiquarian interests, my lord. I found some old stones at the Ludgate, from an ancient synagogue—’

‘We had best get to business, my lord,’ Norfolk interrupted rudely. ‘It’s too hot to be out in the sun all day.’

‘Yes, your grace. Well, good morning, Brother Shardlake.’ He looked at me, the grey eyes narrowing. ‘Don’t devil too far into others’ business; remember, you might
get your fingers burned.’ And with that they turned and walked away to the gatehouse. The duke’s retainers looked at me curiously as I turned Genesis round and rode away. I found I was
sweating, and not just from the heat. What had Norfolk and Rich met to discuss? Sales of monastic property, or plots against Cromwell? Or Greek Fire? Rich’s warning, mentioning fire, sounded
like a reference to that. But was it?

It was with relief that I turned into Long Lane and rode away to Lady Honor’s, my mind running now on opened graves.

T
HE
H
OUSE OF
G
LASS
lay quiet and still in the morning heat. A servant in
the Vaughan livery answered the door. I asked if I might see Lady Honor on an urgent matter of business and he admitted me, asking me to wait in the hall. Looking through a window into the inner
courtyard, I saw the banqueting hall was shuttered against the heat. One of the panes had a family motto under the coat of arms. I bent to look closer.
Esse quam videri.
To be rather than to
seem. To be a truly powerful noble family at the heart of the king’s court, as the Howards were and the Vaughans had once been – I wondered what price would Lady Honor pay to achieve
that end. In a few hours I would see Cromwell; I had to find out.

The servant reappeared and said Lady Honor would see me. He led me up to a first-floor parlour. Like the rest of the house it was richly decorated, with tapestries on the walls and an abundance
of big embroidered cushions on the floors. There was a fine portrait on one wall, an elderly man in Mercers’ Company livery. The face above the short white beard had a kindly look despite the
formal pose.

Lady Honor sat in a cushioned armchair, dressed in a light blue dress with a square bodice and a square hood, for once free of attendants. She was reading a book that I saw was Tyndale’s
Obedience of a Christian Man
: the book Anne Boleyn had used to help persuade the king to assume the headship of the Church.

Lady Honor stood. ‘Ah, Master Shardlake. You will have read Master Tyndale, no doubt.’

I bowed deeply. ‘Indeed, my lady. In the days when he was frowned upon.’

Although her tone was friendly, Lady Honor’s forehead was drawn in a slight frown even as she smiled. I wondered if she was embarrassed by that sudden kiss two nights before, and afraid I
might remind her of it. I felt suddenly conscious of my bent back.

‘How do you like Master Tyndale?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘He makes his case well. His interpretation of the biblical passages has some force. Have you read the exchanges between Tyndale and Thomas More? Two great book writers
descending to vulgar abuse in refuting each other’s views of God.’ She shook her head.

‘Yes. More would have had Tyndale burned had he not been safe abroad.’

‘The Germans burned him in the end. And Tyndale would have burned More if he could. I wonder what God thinks of them all, if he thinks anything.’ An angry weariness entered her tone
as she placed the book on the table. ‘But of course God watches us all, does he not?’

Her slight undertone of sarcasm made me wonder for a moment if Lady Honor might be one of those whose heresy was the most dangerous of all, one that people scarcely dared speak of: those who
doubted God’s very existence. It was a thought that clawed at the minds of many confronted with the violent religious conflicts of these days; once or twice it had clawed at mine, leaving me
feeling as though suspended over a dark chasm.

‘Will you sit down?’ Lady Honor asked, gesturing to some cushions on the floor. I lowered myself to them gratefully. ‘Some wine?’

‘Thank you, no, it is rather early.’

She watched as I unhitched my satchel. ‘Well,’ she said softly, ‘what have you brought for me today?’

I hesitated. ‘The papers about Greek Fire, my lady. I know nobody else who has seen them, you see. I would welcome your opinion on one or two matters—’

Anger flashed in her eyes, though her tone remained even. ‘So you would find out how much I read, how much I understood. I told you two nights ago, enough to make me wish I had kept my
curiosity under control and no more.’

‘Enough to make you think Greek Fire might be real?’

‘Enough to make me fear it might be, given what it could do. Master Shardlake, I have nothing to add. I told you the simple truth.’

I studied her carefully. Two nights ago she had tried to charm me into believing her, today she was hostile and angry at my questions. Was that because she had truly told me all?

‘Lady Honor,’ I said, choosing my words carefully, ‘I have to make a report to Lord Cromwell this afternoon. I have not got as far as I would like in my enquiries, not least
because the founder who aided the Gristwoods in their work has disappeared and has probably been killed. Attempts have also been made on my life.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Then all who were involved in the matter are in danger?’

‘Those who helped the Gristwoods in their work.’

‘Am I in danger?’ She tried to keep her composure, but a nerve flickered under her eye.

‘I do not believe so. So long as you have truly told nobody but me that you looked in those papers.’