Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (17 page)

‘Do you think they killed him before they heard you trying to enter?’

He shook his head. ‘When I first put my shoulder to the door Greening was still shouting. But then the noise stopped, save for a horrible crash – I think one of them clubbed him then, and he went down.’

‘And they grabbed the book from his hands,’ I mused, ‘but left behind part of the title page. Probably failed to notice it in their hurry to get out; they set the fire and ran.’

‘I think that might be how it was.’ Okedene shook his head sadly. ‘I wonder whether, had I not broken in just then, they might not have panicked and killed him.’

‘I think they would have killed him in any case, in order to wrest that book from him.’ He nodded sadly. ‘How well did you know Armistead Greening?’ I asked.

‘He came to Paternoster Row five years ago. He said he had come from the Chilterns – he spoke with the accent of those parts – and wanted to set up as a printer. He had been married, he told me, but his wife died in childbirth and the baby, too, so he came to London to seek his fortune. Poor young man, he often had a sad cast of face. He leased that piece of land his shed stands on from the Court of Augmentations – it belonged to a little monastic house whose remains stand on the land behind the shed.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘Ironic, given his religious views. He built the shed himself with a couple of friends. I remember thinking I was glad he had found some friends in London. I did not know him well, he kept to himself, but – I heard and saw things, especially recently.’ He hesitated.

‘Nothing you tell me about him can harm him now. Goodman Huffkyn dropped some hints.’

‘It might harm Elias. If it reached the ears of Gardiner and his wolves.’

‘I report to no one but Lord Parr and the Queen.’

His eyes widened. ‘The Queen herself?’

‘Yes. I knew her when she was Lady Latimer,’ I added, a note of pride in my voice.

‘I think Greening was very radical.’ Okedene looked at me seriously. ‘A known man.’

I drew a sharp breath. The code for the old Lollards and, now, the Anabaptists. Okedene continued, ‘Can you guarantee that nothing I tell you about Elias will get him into trouble?’ He spoke quietly, intently, reminding me again how dangerous it was to discuss radical religion.

I hesitated. I knew Lord Parr, at least, would be quite ruthless if he thought it necessary to protect the Queen. And any mention of Anabaptism would be to shake a stick in a wasps’ nest. ‘Anything that might harm the apprentice I will speak of only to the Queen,’ I answered. ‘Her mercy and loyalty are well known.’

Okedene stood. He looked from the window at Greening’s shed. ‘The walls of that rickety place are thin. Armistead Greening had friends and visitors with whom he would have loud religious discussions. This summer especially, with everyone’s windows open in the hot weather, I would sometimes hear them talking – arguing, rather – sometimes a little too loudly for safety. Mostly it was just a hubbub of voices I heard, the occasional phrase, though the phrases were enough to set my ears pricking. They were an odd mixture of people. Six or seven sometimes, but there were three constant regulars – a Scotsman, a Dutchman and an Englishman, all known as local radicals.’

‘McKendrick, Vandersteyn and Curdy.’

Okedene nodded. ‘I think Master Curdy is quite a wealthy man. Master Greening told me he sent one of his assistants to help build that shed. The Scotsman helped as well; I remember seeing him. A big, strong fellow.’

‘So Greening knew them almost from the time he came to London? Were you acquainted with them?’

‘Only to nod to in the street. They kept themselves to themselves. I only really knew Armistead Greening as a neighbour and fellow printer. Sometimes we would discuss the state of business; once or twice we lent each other paper if we had a job in, and our stocks were running low.’

‘What did you hear Master Greening and his friends arguing over?’ I asked. ‘The sacrament?’

He hesitated again. ‘That, and whether we are predestined to heaven or hell. It is just as well, Master Shardlake, that I am no Catholic and John Huffkyn takes care to mind his own business.’

‘They were careless.’

‘They seemed much agitated this summer.’ He set his lips. ‘One evening I heard them arguing over whether people should only be baptized when they were adults, and whether all baptized Christians had the right to equality, to take the goods of the rich and hold them in common.’

‘So Armistead Greening might have been an Anabaptist?’

Okedene shook his head, began walking to and fro. ‘From the way he and his friends argued I think they had differing views. You know how the radicals disagree among themselves as much as with their opponents.’

‘I do.’ The last decade had been a time of shifting faiths, men moving from Catholicism to Lutheranism to radicalism and back again. But it was obvious that Greening and his friends were at least exploring the radical fringes. I wondered where those other three men were now: McKendrick, Vandersteyn and Curdy. Had they gone to ground?

Okedene said, ‘I often used to wonder how Armistead made ends meet. I know some of the books he printed did not sell well, and sometimes he seemed to have no work at all. At other times he was busy. I wondered if he was involved in the trade in illegal books and pamphlets. I know a few years ago a large pile of books was delivered to him.’

‘Books already printed?’

‘Yes. Brought in from the Continent, illegally perhaps, for distribution. I saw them in his shed, in boxes, when I visited him to ask if he wanted to buy some surplus type I had. One box was open and he closed it quickly.’

‘I wonder what those books were.’

‘Who knows; works by Luther, perhaps, or this Calvin, who they say is making a new stir in Europe; or John Bale.’ He bit his lip. ‘He asked me not to tell anyone about these books, and I swore I would not. But he is dead now, it cannot hurt him.’

I said quietly, ‘Thank you for trusting me, Master Okedene.’

He looked at me seriously. ‘If I had reported what I heard to the wrong people, Armistead Greening and his friends could have ended up burning with Anne Askew yesterday.’ His mouth twisted with sudden revulsion. ‘That was a wicked, disgusting thing.’

‘It was. I was made to go and watch, to represent my Inn. It was a horrible, evil act.’

‘It is hard for me, Master Shardlake. My sympathies are with the reformers. I am no sacramentarian, still less an Anabaptist, but I would not throw my neighbours into Gardiner’s fires.’

‘Was Elias part of this radical group?’ I asked quietly.

‘Yes, I think he was. I heard his voice from Master Greening’s shed this summer, more than once.’

‘I must question him, but I will be careful.’

‘Loutish as he is, he was devoted to his master. He wants the killers caught.’

‘And he has one important piece of information for us. I understand he interrupted an earlier attack on the shop a few days before.’

‘Yes. He is the only one who saw it, but he certainly raised the alarm and brought other apprentices running.’ He paused. ‘One strange thing I will tell you, for I doubt Elias will. A few days before the first attack, Master Greening and his friends – Elias, too – were holding one of their evening meetings. They were having a particularly loud argument. His windows were open and so were mine, a passing watchman could have heard them from the street – though even the watchmen are reformers round here.’

I knew that in many of London’s parishes the people were increasingly grouping together into reformist and traditionalist districts. ‘Is everyone in this street of a reformist cast of mind? I know most printers are.’

‘Yes. But the sort of talk I heard that evening would be dangerous in any district. I was angry with them, for if they found themselves arrested I would be questioned too, and I have a wife and three children to think about.’ His voice trembled a little, and I realized how much the thoughtless talk of his neighbours, to say nothing of finding himself at Whitehall facing Lord Parr, had frightened him. ‘I went outside, intending to knock at the door and tell them they should have regard for their safety and mine. But as I reached the door I heard the Dutchman – he has a distinctive accent – saying a man was coming to England who was an agent of the Antichrist himself, who could bring down and destroy the realm, turn true religion to ashes. They mentioned a name, a foreign name. I’m not sure I heard it aright.’

‘What was it?’

‘It sounded like “Jurony Bertano”.’

‘That sounds Spanish, or Italian.’

‘That was all I heard. I banged on the door, called to them to speak more quietly and shut their windows, lest they find themselves in the Tower. They did not answer, but thank God they pulled the window shut and lowered their voices.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘I tell you this only because of the danger to the Queen.’

‘I am truly grateful.’

‘But there is one thing that has puzzled me all along,’ Okedene said. ‘Why would radicals have stolen Queen Catherine’s book and put her in danger?’

‘That is something I wonder about, too.’

‘Certainly I never overheard any mention of the Queen’s name. But as I say, apart from that particular night when I heard that name Jurony Bertano, it was mostly just the occasional phrase I heard.’ He sighed. ‘But nowhere is safe in these days.’

Footsteps sounded outside. Someone had come up the stairs, quietly, and we had not heard. Okedene and I looked at each other in alarm. The door opened. Nicholas came in, looking pleased with himself. ‘Could you not knock?’ I said angrily. ‘Master Okedene, this is my pupil, Nicholas Overton. I apologize for his manners.’

Nicholas looked hurt. He bowed to Okedene, then turned quickly back to me. ‘I am sorry, sir, but I found something in the garden.’

I wished he had not blurted that out in front of Okedene. It was best for his safety that he knew as little as possible. But Nicholas went on. ‘I climbed over the wall. The garden on the other side is very overgrown, with high grass and brambles. There was only a family of beggars there, taking shelter in the ruins of what looks like an abandoned monastic building.’

Okedene said, ‘It was, boy, a little Franciscan friary. After the Dissolution, many of the stones were taken for building, and no one has bought the site yet. There is still a glut of land in London.’

Nicholas rattled on. ‘I looked to see if there was still a trail through the long grass. There has been no rain, and I am a good tracker. I learned well when hunting at home. And there was a trail of flattened grass, as though people had run through it. And on a bramble bush, I found this.’ He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, fine white silk embroidered with tiny loops and whorls of blackwork. I saw it was from a shirt cuff such as only a gentleman could have afforded. It looked quite new. Nicholas said proudly, ‘My guess is that when the killers ran away one caught his shirt on the bramble thorns.’

Okedene looked at the scrap of cuff. ‘A fine piece of work, best silk by the look of it. But you have it wrong, boy, my assistant saw the assailants clearly and they wore rough wadmol smocks. Someone else must have passed through the garden and torn his shirt.’

I turned the fabric over in my hand. ‘But who would go wandering about an abandoned garden full of brambles wearing such finery?’

Nicholas said, ‘Perhaps men who were not poor at all, but put rough clothes over their shirts so that people in the street would not notice them.’

‘By Mary, Nicholas,’ I said, ‘you could have the right of it.’ And whoever stole the
Lamentation
had access to the highest reaches of the court. ‘Nicholas, did you speak to this beggar family?’

‘Yes, sir. A cottager and his wife from Norfolk. Their piece of land was enclosed for sheep and they came to London. They are camping out in the one room that still has a roof. They were frightened of me; they thought someone had bought the land and sent a lawyer to throw them out.’ He spoke of them scornfully; Okedene frowned disapprovingly. ‘I asked if they had seen anything on the night of the murder. They said they were woken by the sound of men running through the garden. They saw two men with clubs, big young fellows; one was almost bald, they said. They escaped by climbing over the far wall.’

‘So John Huffkyn saw aright.’ Okedene looked at the piece of silk cuff. ‘This worries me, sir. The killing could have been carried out by men of status.’

‘Yes, it could. You have done well, Nicholas. Please, Master Okedene, keep this secret.’

He laughed bitterly. ‘I can swear that, right readily.’

I put the scrap of lace in my pocket and took a deep breath. ‘And now I must question young Elias.’

T
HE APPRENTICE
looked up from inking a tray of type. ‘Master,’ he said to Okedene as we entered, ‘we will be falling behind – ’

‘We have a large order on hand,’ Okedene explained. ‘But Elias, these gentlemen are investigating Master Greening’s killing, for his parents. We must help them.’

I put out a hand. ‘I am Matthew Shardlake, of Lincoln’s Inn.’

‘Elias Rooke.’ The boy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Master Greening told me his parents were poor folk. How can they can afford a lawyer?’