Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (87 page)

‘She would have been. Coming after all these months of Gardiner and his minions trying to turn me against her.’ His voice rose angrily, but I was – for the moment – no longer the object of his fury. ‘Gardiner told me she was a heretic that denied the Mass; they would have broken my heart again!’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But I knew their ways, I knew my Kate was faithful and true, the only one since Jane. So I told them I would do nothing without strict proof. And they brought none, none!’ His face was red now, sweating. ‘Those rogues, that would have had me turn against Kate, and take me back to Rome! I have seen through them, they will pay—’

The diatribe ended in a bout of painful coughing which turned the King’s face puce. The
Lamentation
, which he had been holding on his lap, began to slide to the floor. I leaned forward instinctively, but Paget, with a quick frown at me, returned it to the King before taking his goblet, hastily refilling it, and handing it back to him. Henry drank deeply, then sat back in his chair, gasping. Paget murmured, ‘Your majesty, perhaps too much should not be said in front of this man—’

‘No,’ the King said. ‘This he should know.’ He looked at me. ‘When the manuscript was brought to me, I feared what it might hold. But I have studied it.’ Then, quite unexpectedly, he gave a prim little smile. ‘Its sentiments are a little thoughtless, but – ’ he waved a hand dismissively – ‘the Queen is but a woman, and emotional. Nothing is said here against the Mass. The book is not heretical.’ His tone now was pompous, judgemental, as befitted one authorized by God Himself to decide such matters, as Henry truly believed he was. ‘Kate fears too much,’ he concluded. I thought, how fast his emotions change, and how he wears them on his sleeve. At least when he chooses to. For the last few months had shown, too, how coldly secretive he could be. Yet his last words gave me hope for the Queen.

‘May now be the time to tell her you have it?’ Paget asked him, hesitantly.

‘No,’ the King answered sharply, the edge back in his voice. ‘In these days the more things I keep safe in my own hands the better.’ I realized he had kept the manuscript to himself because, until Bertano’s mission failed, there remained at least the possibility that he might still decide against the reformist faction. Then a Protestant Queen would be a liability, and the
Lamentation
could still be a weapon. He loved the Queen, yes, but ultimately, like everyone in the realm, she was only a pawn on his chessboard. He would have killed her if he thought he had to, little as he wished it. And it would, of course, all have been someone else’s fault.

He studied me again. ‘So, it was you that inclined the Queen to keep its loss a secret?’ A query in his voice now. I remembered Lord Parr telling me how suggestible the King was, how he believed what he wanted to believe, and also that to him disloyalty was the greatest of sins. Now, I was sure, he wanted to believe Queen Catherine had not taken the initiative in hiding the theft of the
Lamentation
from him. He would rather the blame fell on me, whom he despised and who, politically, counted for nothing at all. Perhaps he had already chosen me as a scapegoat, perhaps that was why he had told me so much. But after what had happened tonight, I no longer cared. ‘Yes, your majesty,’ I answered, perhaps signing my death warrant a second time.

He considered a moment, then he said petulantly, ‘But Kate still deceived me – ’

I took a deep breath. Somehow I was fluent again, fluent as at the climax of a court hearing. ‘No, your majesty. It was I who hunted for the
Lamentation
behind your back.’

With a struggle, the King managed to sit more upright in his chair. He was silent a moment, trying to decide just what the role of his wife had been in all this. Then he seemed to reach a conclusion. He leaned forward, eyes and mouth set mercilessly now. ‘You are an insolent, base-born, bent-backed common churl.’ He spoke the words quietly, but I could feel his rage. ‘Men like you are the curse of this land, daring to say they answer only to themselves on religion and the safety of the realm, when their loyalties are to
me
!’ His voice rose again. ‘Me, their King! I call it treason, treason!’ He looked at me in such a vengeful way that, involuntarily, I took half a step back.

‘Do not dare move unless I give you liberty!’ he snapped.

‘I am sorry, your majesty.’

Seeing my abject fear seemed to change his mood again. He turned to Paget and spoke scornfully. ‘How could I ever think such a poor reed of a creature could be any sort of threat to me, hey?’

‘I do not think he is,’ the Secretary answered quietly.

The King considered a moment. ‘You say one of the two men working for Shardlake is dead.’

‘By now, yes.’ Paget’s tone was completely indifferent.

‘And the other, that was brought here with him?’

‘Little more than a boy.’ Paget ventured a smile. ‘A tall young fellow, with red hair, as your majesty was in his youth, though I believe this churl is nothing like so well-looking.’

The King smiled at the flattery. And I realized that Paget was trying to soften the King’s anger, and I wondered why. There was a moment of silence as the King considered further, but then shook his head. ‘This man suborned the Queen to keep secrets from me. That is treason.’ He looked at me again, those little blue eyes buried in their wrinkles still hard and merciless. ‘And I would be rid of him, he is a pestilential nuisance.’

I bowed my head. I felt cold, my racing heart had slowed. Treason, I thought. I would be dragged to Tyburn at the tail of a horse, hanged until almost dead, cut down, and then the executioner would cut out my innards. And naked, I thought strangely, quite naked. Then finally I would be beheaded. I thought, can I face that, can I act with courage as some have? I doubted it. And when I was dead, would I go then to hell? Would I burn for lack of faith, as Philip Coleswyn would believe? I stood there, in the King’s study, quite still. The image of Barak, thrown on that rubbish heap, came to me again.

Beside me, Paget drew a deep breath. He spoke slowly. ‘Your majesty, a trial for treason before a jury would make the recent problems concerning the Queen public. And also the deaths of those Anabaptists. We do not want that getting out. Not at this time.’

‘He can be condemned by Parliament, through an Act of Attainder.’

‘That would make it all the more public.’

Henry waved a hand, as though this were a trifle, but I could see from his expression that he realized it was not. Paget took another deep breath, before pressing home his point. ‘Even if Shardlake were put quietly out of the way, it would become known, and some might see it as a move against the Protestant side. The new political balance is still very delicate. We do not want to upset it unnecessarily.’

He fell silent; Henry was glowering at him now. It was a scene I imagined Henry playing out with anxious chief advisers repeatedly over these last thirty-seven years; the King angry, demanding ferocious measures, his councillors trying to warn him of the possible damaging consequences.

The King sat, considering. At length he grunted, a strange sound like a pig’s squeal, full of frustration. He gave me a savage look. ‘But surely we could do him quietly to death.’

‘I have no affection for this man, your majesty, believe me. But still I do not think that a wise move. The Parrs, in particular, would be concerned if he disappeared.’

The King sighed. ‘You give me straight advice, Paget, you always have. Even though I may dislike to hear it.’

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

Henry gave him a sharp look. ‘And you know on which side your bread is buttered, eh? Always you act to further my will, never go down your own road, like Wolsey and Cromwell?’

Paget bowed deeply. ‘I serve only to implement your majesty’s chosen policies.’

‘Yet I would be rid of this man,’ the King repeated. He gave me a long stare, unblinking as a snake’s. I knew my life, and Nicholas’s, hung in the balance. An eternity seemed to pass before he spoke again. ‘Paget is right. You are a serjeant and it is known that you have been working for the Queen. Your disappearance would make a stir.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I will let you go, Master Shardlake, you and your boy. For policy reasons alone. But take note of this.’ He leaned forward, his voice rising again. ‘You will never, ever, again come anywhere near the Queen, or any royal palace, or do anything that might, even possibly, bring you to my notice. Do you understand? I do not wish to hear of you, still less see you, ever again. And if I do see you, it will not be your bent back I see, but only – your – head!’ The last words were accompanied by the King banging on the arms of his chair. He leaned back, breathing hard. ‘Now, Paget, get him out of here. And send in Will Somers, I need distraction.’

Master Secretary bowed and then, beckoning me, walked backwards to the door; it was forbidden to turn one’s back on the King. I followed, dreading to hear the King summon me again. Paget knocked on the door, it was opened from outside by a guard, and we backed through safely. Will Somers, the monkey still perched on his shoulder, stood outside with the guards. Paget inclined his head sharply to the door. Somers and the guard who had been with the King slipped back in. The sound of the door closing brought me an overwhelming rush of relief.

Paget led me back up the corridor. Then I felt the floor sway and slide under me again and had to lean against the wall, breathing hard. Paget looked at me, his face expressionless. ‘A narrow escape, I think,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘You were lucky, Master Shardlake.’

I felt steadier now. ‘Will he – could he – call me back?’

‘No. He has made up his mind now. You spoke very well, all things considered,’ he added reluctantly. He inclined his head. ‘Was it truly you that persuaded the Queen to let you search for the book?’

I did not answer. Paget gave a little smile. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘It does not matter now.’

I looked at him gratefully, despite myself. Given all that had happened, it was a strange paradox that it was Paget who had saved me at the end, for without his intervention I knew I would already be on my way to the Tower, Nicholas as well: he would not be the first innocent caught in the King’s net. I took a deep breath. ‘Did the King come all the way from Hampton Court for this?’

Paget gave a quiet, mocking laugh. ‘You flatter yourself, lawyer. No, he and Admiral d’Annebault are going hunting in St James’s Park tomorrow. He came here unofficially to spend the evening in peace. He is tired, he had to do much standing today, he wanted a little time away from them all.’ Paget looked out of the window, down at King Street, deserted at this hour. ‘His study is always kept ready for him. Here he can rest, work, watch the doings of his realm from the window.’ He added quietly, ‘It is not easy, being a King.’

I dared not answer, and Paget continued in a strangely dispassionate tone. ‘I think, you know, your search for the
Lamentation
these last few weeks may have saved the Queen.’

I stared at him. ‘Do you?’

He stroked his long forked beard. ‘Yes. When I first brought him that book, Bertano had not yet arrived. The King indeed found no evidence of heresy in the
Lamentation –
it sails close to the wind in places, but as he said, it does not deny the Mass. But the Queen had hidden its existence from him and that rankled seriously.’

‘Disloyalty,’ I murmured.

‘Quite so. The Queen could have been in trouble there and then. For several days he considered arresting her. But then your hunt for the book, and Rich’s for Anne Askew’s writings, caught his attention and he ordered me to let the matter play itself out, although of course those Anabaptists had to die.’

‘Curdy was your spy.’

‘Yes. And when the allegations from that Slanning woman came before me, I decided you should be brought before the Privy Council, so I could see for myself whether there might indeed be a chance you were a heretic.’

‘So we were all moved like puppets,’ I said bitterly.

‘Be grateful that you were. That allowed time for Bertano’s mission to fail, and the King’s mind to turn finally and decisively against the conservatives.’

I looked at his slab of a face and thought, you enjoy all this; you would side with radicals or conservatives alike to keep your position. Another of those great men in the middle, bending with the wind.

Paget spoke again, his voice stern now. ‘Of course, you will forget everything that was said in there, not least what the King let slip about authorizing strong measures against Anne Askew.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Of course, Master Secretary.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘And you heard what the King said. Make sure he has no more trouble from you. Do not cross me again, either. And now, fetch your boy; then get out of here. And, as the King said, never, ever, return.’

Chapter Fifty-three

P
AGET BECKONED A GUARD
, then without further word led the way back through the King’s Gallery, then to the Presence Chamber. He crossed the room to speak briefly with one of the guards standing there. I looked again at the Holbein mural, the King in his prime; the swagger, the square hard face, the ferocious little eyes and mouth. The candlelight caught Jane Seymour’s face, too: demure, placid. Paget returned with the guard. ‘Take him to the boy, then get them both out of the palace. Quickly.’ And then Master Secretary turned and walked away, without so much as a nod or a backward glance, his long black robe swishing round his legs. He was done with me. The mind of the King’s Master of Practices had probably already returned to its coils of conspiracy.

Nicholas was crouched in the corner of a small, bare receiving room, his long arms folded round his bent knees. When he stood I saw spots of blood on his doublet. Barak’s blood. ‘Come, Nicholas,’ I said quietly. ‘We are free, but we must go quickly.’

The guard led us along the dark corridors to the Guard Chamber, then down the stairs again, across the cobbled court, and through the gates. As soon as we were out in the street Nicholas said, ‘I thought we were undone.’