Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (18 page)

It was a brave question for a mere apprentice. ‘Elias . . .’ Okedene said warningly.

‘I only want to find the truth of what happened, Elias, and bring Master Greening’s killers to justice. I would like to ask you some questions.’ The boy still looked at me suspiciously. I spoke encouragingly. ‘I understand you were at home on the night of the murder.’

‘With my mother and sisters. And a neighbour called in. I told them so at the inquest.’

‘Yes. I understand you thwarted an earlier attack on Master Greening’s premises.’

‘I told them about that, too. I came to work early one morning – there was much to do – and two men were standing outside the shed, trying to pick the lock. They were very quiet, I think they knew Master Greening was within.’

‘Not the same two who attacked him later?’

‘No. Old Huffkyn described the men who killed my poor master as big and tall. These two were quite different. One was short and fat. The other was slim, with fair hair, and had half an ear missing. Looked like a slash from a sword, not the great hole you get from having your ear nailed to the pillory.’

‘Were they carrying weapons?’

‘They had daggers at their waists, but so do most men.’

‘What were they wearing?’

‘Old wadmol smocks.’

‘Cheap garments, then?’

‘Ay.’ Elias relaxed a little, realizing I was just going over old ground. ‘But those are all most folk can afford these days, with the rich land-grabbers and idle rout of nobles taking everything.’

Nicholas said, ‘Do not be insolent to my master, churl.’

I raised a hand. I could put up with boyish insolence if it would get me information. And it seemed this boy held radical social views. ‘When was this first attack?’ I asked. ‘I was told it was some days before the murder.’

‘Just over a week. Monday, the fifth.’

I frowned, realizing that was the day before the
Lamentation
was stolen from the Queen. That made no sense. ‘Are you sure of the date?’

Elias looked back at me directly. ‘’Tis my mother’s birthday.’

‘What did you do when you saw the men?’

‘What any good apprentice would do. Shouted “Clubs!” to let the other lads in the street know there was trouble. A few came out, though they weren’t quick – it was early, they were probably hardly awake. They will confirm the date if you doubt me. The two men were already gone, they went over the garden wall behind Master Greening’s shed, the same way as the other two. Some fellows went in pursuit, but they lost them.’ So these men, too, had probably surveyed Greening’s place before attacking it, to find the best escape route. ‘I stayed to knock up my master.’

‘How did Master Greening react when you told him?’

‘He was alarmed, what do you think?’ Elias replied curtly. Nicholas gave him a warning look, but he ignored it.

‘Did your master have any idea who the men could have been?’

‘Casual thieves, he thought. But they must be connected to the men who came later, and killed him. Mustn’t they?’

I caught a slight tremor in his voice; under his bravado Elias was seriously afraid. I thought, if Greening had his premises attacked a week before his murder, why did he let the two killers in when they knocked? Had he perhaps been reassured by a request to enter from two men with cultivated accents; one with a silk shirt under his jerkin? I looked at Elias again. I thought, did he know about the book? If he did, he was in danger. Yet he had not gone to ground, as it seemed Greening’s three friends had, and he had taken a job at the works next door. I asked, ‘What do you know of your master’s friends? I have the names McKendrick, Vandersteyn and Curdy.’

‘I have met them.’ The apprentice’s eyes narrowed. ‘Good, honest men.’

‘They were all able to give account of their movements on that night,’ I said with a reassuring smile. ‘Though they have not been seen for some days.’

‘I haven’t seen them since the murder.’

‘McKendrick is a Scotch name,’ Nicholas said bluntly. ‘Until just recently we were at war with them.’

Elias glared at him. ‘The papists threw Master McKendrick out of Scotland for calling the soul of the Pope a stinking menstruous rag. As it is.’

Okedene snapped, ‘Elias, I will not have such language in my shop!’

I raised a pacifying hand. ‘Was there any woman Master Greening was close to? Your master was still a young man.’

‘No. Since his poor wife died he devoted himself to his work and the service of God.’

I was considering how to broach the question of Elias’s involvement in the religious discussions between his master and his friends, when Nicholas asked him suddenly, ‘What about this Jurony Bertano that I heard my master mention as I came upstairs? Did your master know him?’

An expression of utter fear came over Elias’s face, his ill-mannered surliness vanishing. He took a step back.

‘How do you know that name?’ he asked. He looked at Okedene. ‘Master, these men are agents of Bishop Gardiner!’ Before Okedene could reply, Elias shouted at me, his face red with fear and anger, ‘You crawling crouchback papist!’ And with that he punched me hard in the face, making me stagger. He threw himself on me, and with his size could have done me damage had not Nicholas put an arm around his throat and dragged him off. The boy twisted, grasped Nicholas, and the two fell grappling to the floor. Nicholas reached for his sword, but Elias threw him off and ran through the open door of the print-shop, his footsteps crashing down the stairs. I heard Okedene’s wife call out, ‘Elias!’ The front door slammed.

Nicholas was on his feet in a second, running downstairs after him. Okedene and I looked from the window to see my pupil standing in the crowded street, looking up and down, but Elias had already disappeared. The boy would know these streets and alleys like the back of his hand.

Okedene stared at me in amazed horror. ‘Why did that name cause him such terror? I never saw Elias react like that before.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said quietly as I wiped blood from my cheek.

Nicholas came back upstairs. ‘He’s gone,’ he said. ‘Are you hurt, master?’

‘No.’

Okedene’s face darkened with anger. ‘Elias was terrified. I doubt he will return.’ He glared at Nicholas. ‘Now I will have to find a new apprentice in the middle of a print run. All because you blurted out that name. Master Shardlake, I have done enough. I wish to have no more to do with this matter. I have a business, and am responsible for my wife and children.’

‘Master Okedene, I am sorry.’

‘So am I. Sorry, and sore afraid.’ He looked out of the window again, breathing hard. ‘And now, please go. And I beg you, involve me no more in this.’

‘I will try to ensure you are not troubled again. But if Elias returns, can you send word to me at Lincoln’s Inn?’

Okedene did not look round, but nodded wearily.

‘Thank you,’ I said again. ‘I am sorry.’ I turned to Nicholas. ‘Come, you,’ I snapped.

I
BEGAN WALKING
fast down Paternoster Row. My cheek stung where Elias had struck it. I would have a nice bruise soon. ‘We should go to the constable,’ Nicholas said. ‘For an apprentice to run away from his master is an offence.’

‘We don’t know that he’s run away yet,’ I answered. I was not going to involve the authorities in this without first consulting Lord Parr. I stopped and turned to Nicholas, ‘What did you think you were doing, mentioning that name?’

‘I heard you and Master Okedene discussing it as I came to the door. It seemed important. I thought it might be a good thing to scare that insolent boy into answering.’

‘Could not you see that beneath his surliness was fear?’

‘I saw only that he spoke to you as a lumpish apprentice should not to one of your rank.’

‘Yes, Nicholas, you are full of your rank and class, and Elias annoyed you, so you thought to put him in his place. I was trying to soothe him, in order to gain his confidence. Do you not know the saying, never prick the stirring horse more than he needs? You have just lost us our most important witness.’

He looked crestfallen. ‘You said I could ask questions.’

‘Only after careful consideration. You didn’t consider, you just reacted. The worst thing a lawyer can do.’ I jabbed a finger on his doublet. ‘Do not ever play the lusty-gallant gentleman again in my service.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said stiffly.

‘So am I. So is poor Master Okedene.’

‘It seems this murder touches the most delicate matters of religion,’ he said quietly.

‘All the more reason to be delicate ourselves,’ I snapped back. ‘Now, return to Lincoln’s Inn and ask Barak what needs doing there. And do not say one word about where we have been. I think even you will realize the importance of confidentiality here. And now I will leave you. I have business elsewhere.’

I turned my back on him and walked away, down to the river, to get a boat to Whitehall.

Chapter Ten

W
HEN
I
REACHED
the Thames Street stairs there were plenty of boatmen waiting along the riverside, calling, ‘Eastward Ho!’ or ‘Westward Ho!’ to indicate whether they were going up- or downriver. I called to a man who was going upriver, and he pulled into the steps.

We rowed past Whitehall Palace; I had asked the boatman to take me to Westminster Stairs, just beyond. At the Whitehall Common Stairs servants were unloading great armfuls of firewood from a boat, presumably destined for the palace kitchens. I thought again of yesterday’s burning, and shuddered. The boatman gave me an odd look. I lowered my eyes, watching him pull the oars in and out. He was a young man but his hands were already hard and knotted; I knew that older boatmen often got painful arthritis, the joints in their hands frozen into grasping claws. And all to take rich folk like me where they wanted to go.

We passed the King’s Stairs: a wide covered gallery painted in green and white, jutting out fifty feet into the water, and ending in a broad, covered landing stage where the King’s barge would pull up. Beyond, the long line of the palace facade was beautiful, the red brickwork mellow in the late afternoon sun, interspersed with projecting, richly glazed bastions, with tall glass windows, and at the south end the Lady Mary’s new lodgings, covered in scaffolding. I paid the boatman and walked back up the Whitehall Road, beside the west wall of the palace, to the Gatehouse. I was hot in my robe, dusty, tired and troubled.

This time there was no one to meet me, but my name was on the list and the guard at the gate allowed me in. I walked underneath the Gatehouse, across the courtyard, then up the stairs and into the King’s Guard Chamber; my name checked at every door.

I went up to the King’s Presence Chamber. A brown-robed servant carrying a silver ewer of water hurried past as I entered, almost colliding with me. I looked around. It was strange; already the effect of all the fantastic magnificence had worn off a little, though I was conscious of the Gentlemen Pensioners around the wall; their dress magnificently decorative. But they were big men, and carrying heavy poleaxes. Here I saw fewer young men come to fish for a name of fame standing around. My eye was drawn again to the picture of the royal family, the square solid frame of the King a total contrast to the grotesque, sad figure I had seen earlier that day.

Two of the would-be courtiers sat gambling with silver dice. One suddenly stood and shouted, ‘You cheat! That is the third time you have thrown a five!’

The other stood up, moving his short Spanish cloak aside to free his arm. ‘Dirt in your teeth! You insult me – ’

Two of the Gentlemen Pensioners instantly moved forward, each grasping one of the popinjays by an arm. ‘You forget where you are, churls!’ one of them shouted. ‘Do you dare think you can make a bray in this place, as though it were a common tavern? Get out! The King’s Chamberlain will hear of this!’ The two gamblers were marched to the door, now watched by everyone in the room.

I drew in my breath sharply at the sight of two men in black robes and gold chains, who had entered from the stairs and stood staring at the brawlers. I had seen both of them at the burning. One was Chief Secretary William Paget, his square face frowning above the bushy brown beard that framed his odd, downturned slash of a mouth. The other, his spare frame contrasting with Paget’s solid build, and with a sardonic smile on his thin face, was Sir Richard Rich. They had not seen me; I moved quickly to the door leading to the Queen’s Presence Chamber and whispered my name to the guard. He opened the door and I slipped through. On the other side another guard in the Queen’s livery looked at me interrogatively. ‘Serjeant Shardlake,’ I said breathlessly. ‘Here to see Lord Parr.’

The Queen’s uncle was already waiting for me in the chamber; someone below must have told him I had arrived. Among all the magnificent decoration, and the sumptuous clothes of a pair of courtiers, Lord Parr made a sober figure in his black robe, the only colour the Queen’s badge on his chest and the heavy gold chain around his neck. I bowed low. He said, ‘Come to my private office, Master Shardlake.’

I followed him through another door. He led me on down a corridor, our footsteps making no sound on the thick rush matting that covered the floors from wall to wall. Through an open door I glimpsed the Queen’s Presence Chamber, and caught sight of the Queen herself sitting sewing at a window, dressed in red, with some of the ladies who had been also present earlier. Gardiner, the Duchess of Suffolk’s spaniel, sat on the floor, playing with a bone.