Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (64 page)

I said, ‘We know now that the Anabaptists had the book. And Leeman was right, one of them was a spy; nobody else knew about the
Lamentation
. It must have been either Curdy, who is dead, or McKendrick who escaped. Or both. And whoever it was, they were working for someone at court, they must have been.’

‘One of the big men,’ Barak agreed. ‘But there’s still the question of
who
– and why have they not yet shown their hand?’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘Do you still rule out Rich?’

‘I’d never rule out Rich. But whoever it is, it’s dangerous for them to wait. As soon as that book came into anyone’s possession it was their duty to take it to the King. And if whoever stole it wants to anger Henry, and thus help the negotiations with Bertano to succeed, the best plan would have been to give it to him as soon as possible.’

‘If Bertano exists,’ Barak said. ‘We’re not even certain of that. And if he does, I’m still convinced the King would never surrender the Royal Supremacy.’

‘Lord Parr thinks the arrival of someone such as this Bertano fits with the comportment of certain councillors recently. And we know there is a house reserved for diplomats at Charing Cross, which apparently is being guarded by the King’s men.’

‘In that case,’ said Nicholas, ‘the best moment to reveal the book has surely passed, as you say. And I hear the Queen is to feature prominently at the ceremonies to welcome the French admiral. That must be a sign she is back in favour.’

Barak grunted. ‘Thomas Cromwell was at the height of his power when he fell. He was made Earl of Essex, then a few weeks later suddenly hauled off to the Tower and executed.’

Nicholas shook his head. ‘What sort of mind does the King have?’ He asked the question in a low voice, despite the safety of my office.

‘A good question,’ I answered. ‘Lord Parr and I have spoken on it. He is impressionable, suspicious, and if he turns against someone, ruthless and relentless. A man who thinks he is always right, and who believes what he wants to believe. He would see the Queen’s hiding the book and concealing its theft from him as a betrayal, almost certainly. And yet – he still loves her, has never wanted to lose her. He made Gardiner’s people pay when they called her a heretic without the evidence for it.’

‘None of this helps us with the question of who has the book, though,’ Barak said.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘What about my idea of a double agent?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Someone who told his masters about the book but then, before it could be taken, got it for himself, killing Greening in the process?’

‘To what end?’ Barak asked.

‘Perhaps to smuggle it safely abroad.’

I said, ‘If so, the only one who could have it now is McKendrick. Wherever he is.’

A sudden knock at the door made us all jump. The relief in the room was palpable when, in answer to my call to enter, Tamasin came in.

We all stood. After the business of bows and curtsies Tamasin smiled at us. ‘So this is how you fathom out the secrets of the law.’ Barak and I laughed, though Nicholas frowned a little at the latitude she allowed herself. But she and I were old friends, and Tamasin had never been a shrinking violet.

Barak said mock severely, ‘We allow ourselves a little relaxation at the end of a hard day; a fine thing when women squirrel their way in to chide us for it.’

‘Perhaps it is needed. Seriously, Jack, if you are finished I wondered if you would come with me to Eastcheap Market, to see if there are any apples in.’

‘’Tis late. And you know there are none ripe yet; only the dregs of last year’s poor harvest, expensive for all they are shrunk and wrinkled.’

‘I have such a craving for them.’ She gave Nicholas an embarrassed glance. ‘There may be some from France, now we are trading again.’

‘God help my purse,’ Barak said. But he put down his mug.

‘I should leave too,’ I said. ‘There are some papers in my office I should take home. Wait while I get them, then I can lock up.’

‘Thank you,’ Tamasin said. She turned to my pupil. ‘And how are you, Master Nicholas?’

‘Well enough, Mistress Barak.’

‘Jack tells me you do not lose papers and knock things over the way you used to,’ she said mischievously.

‘I never did,’ Nicholas answered a little stiffly. ‘Not much, at least.’

In the office I sorted out the papers I wanted. When I opened the door to the outer office again Nicholas had left, and Tamasin had seated herself on Barak’s desk. He was gently winding a strand of blonde hair that had escaped from the side of her coif round his finger, saying quietly, ‘We shall scour the market. But the craving will cease gnawing soon; it did last time.’

I coughed. We all went out. As I watched them set off into the late summer afternoon, bickering amiably as usual, that moment of intimacy between them, caught thus unexpectedly, clutched somehow at my heart. I felt sadly aware of the lack of anything like it in my own life. Except casting a fantasy at the Queen of England, like the most callow boy courtier at Whitehall.

I
HAD A QUIET DINNER
on my own, good food cooked by Agnes and Josephine and served by Martin with his usual quiet efficiency. I looked at his neat profile. What had he been doing that day Josephine saw him going through my desk? The uncomfortable thought came to me that Josephine was heavy-footed, and it would not be difficult for Martin to ensure she was not near before doing something illicit again. But I thought, more likely he had simply yielded to a momentary temptation, to see if he could find some money for his son. Temptation which, in any case, he had resisted, for I had carefully gone over my accounts and no money had ever gone missing.

Afterwards, it still being light, I took the papers I had brought home out to my little pavilion in the garden. They concerned a Court of Requests case for the autumn, a dispute between a cottager and his landowner over the cottager’s right to take fruit from certain trees. As with all these cases the landlord was rich, the cottager penniless, the Court of Requests his only recourse. I looked up to see Martin approaching across the lawn, his footsteps soundless on the grass, a paper in his hand.

He bowed. ‘This has just come for you, sir. Brought by a boy.’

He handed me a scrap of paper, folded but unsealed. ‘Thank you, Martin,’ I said. My name was drawn in capitals. I remembered uneasily the note telling me of Nicholas’s kidnap.

‘Can I fetch you some beer, sir?’

‘Not now,’ I answered shortly. I waited till he had turned his back before opening the paper. I was surprised but relieved to see that it was written in Guy’s small spiky hand.

Matthew,

I write in haste from St Bartholomew’s Hospital, where I do voluntary work. A man, a Scotchman, was brought in two days ago suffering from bad knife wounds, and is like to die. He is delirious, and has spoken all manner of strange things. Among them he has mentioned your name. Could you come, as soon as you get this note?

Guy

This had to be McKendrick, the only one of the Anabaptist group to escape the fight at the wharf. He must have been attacked after his flight, and very recently by the sound of it. I stood up at once, then as I walked to the stable, realized that Guy had simply signed his name, not prefixed it with the customary farewell of good fellowship,
Your loving friend
.

I
FETCHED
G
ENESIS
and rode up to Smithfield. I had not been there since Anne Askew’s burning over three weeks before. I remembered noticing then how what was left of the old monastic precinct of St Bartholomew’s was hidden by the new houses built by Rich.

It had been market day at Smithfield, and the cattle-pens were being taken away, boys with brooms clearing cow dung from the open space. Farmers and traders stood in the doorways of the taverns, enjoying the evening breeze. Ragged children milled around; they always gathered at the market to try and earn a penny here or there. The awful scene I had witnessed last month had taken place right here. One might have thought some echo would remain, a glimpse of flame in the air, the ghost of an agonized scream. But there was, of course, nothing.

I had never been to the hospital, which gave directly onto the open ground of Smithfield. I tied Genesis at the rail outside, paying one of the barefoot urchins a penny to watch him, and went inside. The large old building was in a dilapidated state, paint and plaster flaking – it was seven years now since the dissolution of the monastic hospital. I asked a fellow who had lost half a leg and was practising walking on crutches where Dr Malton might be. He directed me to the main ward, a large chamber with perhaps twenty beds in two long rows, all occupied by patients. I walked to the far end, where Guy in his physician’s robe was attending to a patient. Beside him was his assistant, plump old Francis Sybrant.

They looked up as I approached. The patient in the bed was a girl in her teens, who whimpered as Guy wound a bandage round her calf, her leg held up carefully by Francis. Two wooden splints had already been bound to the leg.

‘Thank you for coming, Matthew,’ Guy said quietly. ‘I will be with you in a moment.’ I watched as he completed winding the bandage. Francis lowered the girl’s leg slowly down onto the bed, and Guy said to her quietly, ‘There, you must not move it now.’

‘It pains me, sir.’

‘I know, Susan, but for the bone to knit you must keep it still. I will call again tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, sir. May I have my rosary, to pass the time – ?’ She broke off, looking at me anxiously.

‘Master Francis will give it to you,’ Guy replied. He turned to his assistant. ‘Give her some more of the drink I prescribed later. It will ease her pains.’

‘I will, Dr Malton.’

Guy stepped away. ‘I have put the man I wrote of in a private room.’

I followed him down the ward. ‘What happened to the girl?’

‘She assists at the cattle market for a few pennies. A frightened cow pressed her against the side of an enclosure. It broke her leg.’

‘Will it mend?’

‘It may, if she is careful. The bone did not come through the skin, so the leg will not go bad. I would be grateful if you would forget that she asked for a rosary. There are those who think this hospital still stinks of the old religion. Francis was once a monk here, by the way. He helps here still, through Christian charity.’

I looked at Guy in surprise. But there was no reason why his assistant should not be an ex-monk; there were thousands in England now. I replied, frowning, ‘You know I would never do such a thing as mention that child’s rosary to anyone.’

‘It does no harm to put you in remembrance that it is not just radicals who have to be careful these days in what they do, and what they say.’

‘I do
not
forget it.’

He gave me a hard look. ‘And for myself, I take no note of words spoken by patients who sound impiously radical. As you will shortly see.’ I took a deep breath. There was no give in my old friend nowadays.

H
E LED ME INTO A SIDE WARD
. Like the main chamber it was but poorly equipped, a little room with a small window containing only a truckle bed with an old thin blanket and a stool. The window was open to let in air; the sound of voices drifted faintly in from Smithfield.