Revelation (26 page)

'He's an ex
-
monk, isn't he?' Hertford asked sharply.

'Yes, but if Matthew says he will keep his confidence—' Cranmer gav
e me a long considering look – ‘I
will accept that. You may tell him, Matthew.'

Hertford gave me a dubious look, and Harsnet another. But Cran
-
mer nodded.

There was silence for a moment, as we considered the horrors that might lie before us. Then Sir Thomas laughed. 'By Jesu, this killer would need devilish powers indeed to bring about an earthquake.'

'I am sick of your mockery, Thomas!' Cranmer turned on him with sudden fierceness. "We all know, or should know, that the devil may indeed be moving in this, with all his powers. But we must investigate this matter with reason.'

'You forget your presence here is only allowed because you are my brother,' Lord Hertford said. 'And the connection to Catherine Parr, about whose welfare you were so chivalrously anxious, seems to be gone. You are not needed. It was a mistake for me to involve you in the first place.' He shook his head. 'Foolish.'

For a moment fury flared in Thomas Seymour's face; then he stomped to the window like a sulky child. Cranmer turned back to us. 'Each of you knows what to do,' he said. 'Do it, with despatch.' He nodded in dismissal.

O
utside in
the corridor, Lord Hertford and his brother strode confidently away in opposite directions, but Harsnet lingered beside me. Barak was waiting, sitting on a bench a little way up the corridor. He came over and stood silently beside me.

'It seems we are to work together,' Harsnet said. 'You did well to find the link to that cottar, sir, and to the Book of Revelation. Though I pray you may be wrong about that.'

'It is indeed a fearful thought.'

'I am sorry if I spoke roughly in that meeting. You were right, we need reason to solve these dreadful crimes. But the idea that anyone who had studied the Bible could do such acts—' He broke off, shaking his head.

'The whole thing is monstrous. I have never heard of anything like

it.'

'Nor I.' He looked at me seriously. 'Though I think we should have spent more time considering what sort of man this is.'

'You mean he may be possessed by a devil, who makes him do these things; Well, sir, I see it more likely that he is sick in his mind, and the sickness has driven him to a fanaticism the like of which has never been seen.' I spoke placatingly, but firmly. I thought of Adam Kite, gibbering on his knees in the Bedlam. And as Guy had said, madness may take many forms.

And you think he may be killing people who have abandoned a biblical understanding of religion?' Harsnet looked agitated.

'I think it may be possible. I think he may be a man of radical religion, gone mad.'

'But have you ever heard of a man who was mad, yet could plan and execute such an ambitious scheme? Though the devil could. And if you are right, this is a blasphemy.'

'I confess I do not know what we are dealing with, sir, but I see no point in speculating now.'

Harsnet inclined his head; I could see he did not want to get drawn into argument, he wanted to keep good relations with me. I changed the subject.

'There seemed to be difficulties between Thomas Seymour and his brother.'

He nodded. 'Lord Hertford is a clever man, a great man. In the right circumstances he could be a great reformer, in religion and in righting social injustices too. His devotion to his family is his only weakness. Restraining his brother is hard.'

'Yes.' I thought, a truly strong man would surely not indulge his affections so far.

'Will you let me know what happens at Augmentations?' Harsnet asked. 'A note marked for my urgent and personal attention will reach me.'

'I will.'

'If I send a messenger, should he go to your chambers?'

'Yes, or to my home if I am not there. I live hard by Lincoln's Inn, in Chancery Lane.'

'Then we will speak again soon.' Harsnet nodded to Barak, bowed and left us. I looked at my assistant. His face was pale. 'He's right,' he said. 'This is — monstrous.'

The full horror of it all hit me. Tupholme's terrible death, Roger and Dr Gurney, all three killed with such planning and precision. 'There have been mad prophets before,' I said uncertainly.

'Reading Revelation scared me,' Barak said. 'It is so . . .' He struggled for the right word. 'Relentless. Like this killer.'

'You don't think he's possessed, as Harsnet does?'

'I don't know what he is.'

'Well, all I know is that I will find the killer of my friend. Now come, we are going to Westminster, to the Court of Augmentations.' I clapped Barak on his broad back, and led the way outside, striding with a confidence I did not feel, for whatever else he was, the man we hunted was surely a monster in human form.

Chapter Fifteen

A
day later
, I rode down to Guy's. It was Sunday, the first of April. It was another mild, sunny day; birds flew by with twigs and grass in their beaks, heading for the trees where the first dusting of pale green was spreading.

It was All Fools' Day, when people will play tricks on each other, but mercifully, although the streets were busy, nobody shouted out that my horse's tail was on fire or suchlike. People looked preoccupied; I had heard that two courtiers suspected of heretical leanings had gone to the Tower.

Barak and I had spent the previous day at the Court of Augmentations office, trying to find the records of infirmarians at the London Benedictine houses. Some senior clerk had ordered that all the records of the monks receiving pensions be reorganized, and the result was chaos. It was evening before we emerged, a good deal dustier, with three names, although the addresses were now held in a separate file and it would be Monday morning before that office opened.

As I neared Guy's I saw the bulk of the Old Barge over the rooftops, and felt a stab of guilt. I had not really tackled Barak over how he was treating Tamasin. He was expert at brushing off unwanted enquiries, and I feared, too, that if I tried to exert authority where his private life was concerned, I would only anger him again. I shook my head, for I did not see how I was to proceed.

When I turned into Guy's street I had the uneasy feeling that had come over me once or twice on the journey. As though I were being followed. I turned quickly in the saddle, but could see no one in the narrow street. I told myself that the hunt for Roger's killer was making me over
-
anxious. I reminded myself that I was due to go to dinner with Dorothy that evening, a prospect that filled me equally with pleasure and sadness.

I tied Genesis up outside Guy's shop, and knocked on his door.

He let me in, and I saw he already had another visitor, a tall, stout, rubicund man with a long grey beard. Like Guy he wore a physician's robe, but his was of the best cut. He had a long wooden wand in his hand, which he was pointing at the apothecary's jars that lined Guy's shelves. Young Piers had taken down a couple of the jars and was carefully measuring out quantities in a balance.

The stranger looked at me down a long beak of a nose. 'Perhaps you will allow me to complete my business before you advise your patient,' he said haughtily to Guy, who gestured me to take a seat, with an apologetic look.

I sat and watched as the fat physician pointed to another jar. 'A peck of the wormwood, and I'll take an ounce of antimony. Have you any ground cockerel's blood, sir?'

'I do not keep it.'

'A pity. It is a wondrous cure for headache.'

'Such wisdom,' Piers murmured. The physician stared at him, suspecting insolence, but the boy's smooth face was impassive. I could see, though, that Guy was repressing a smile as he wrote down the man's wants on a slate. Evidently his fellow
physician had consulted him in his other capacity, as an apothecary. The big man seemed one of those doctors whose strategy is to awe people with the arrogant confidence that often covers ignorance. I wondered why Guy tolerated him.

'That is all, sir,' his customer said. 'I will have it fetched tomorrow. How much?' 'A shilling.'

'You come cheap.' He brought out a fat purse and handed over the silver coin. Then he deigned to look at me. 'You are a lawyer, sir?' he asked. 'At which Inn?'

'Lincoln's Inn,' I replied curtly.

'I have a patient there. Master Bealknap, perhaps you know him.'

'I do. He seems ill and faint these days,' I added pointedly.

'Oh, I will have him well soon.' The physician seemed blind to the implied criticism. 'He needs more bleeding, that will soon restore him. I am Dr Archer, by the way. I have much experience in treating lawyers' ills.' He smiled condescendingly, then with a cursory bow to Guy, he restored his purse to his belt and left the shop.

'Who was that creature;' I asked.

Guy smiled wryly. Archer is a senior man in the College of Physicians. My status there is tenuous, I must put up with him. He is a great traditionalist, believes there has been nothing new in medicine since Galen, save for his own quack remedies. I let him come to get the ingredients for them. He is a man of influence, he likes to patronize me, and I am careful to undercharge him.' His voice was suddenly weary. He waved a hand. 'Let us forget Archer. Sit down.' He took a seat at his consulting table. 'How can I help you, Matthew; I see by your face this is no social call.'

I paused a moment before answering. Close to, I saw he looked tired, drained, and I felt reluctant to draw him again into the terrible affair of the murders; yet I needed his counsel. I fingered the pilgrim badge in my pocket.

Guy turned to Piers. 'Fetch us some wine, will you, my boy; You should not have mocked Dr Archer,' he added indulgently. 'Foolish as he is, he was suspicious.'

'I am sorry, master, but it was hard to resist.'

'Yes,' Guy answered. 'I know.'

'What shall I say if those men call again, selling oil from the giant fish caught in the Thames;' Piers asked. 'I know many of the apothecaries are buying it.'

'And claiming all sorts of magical properties for it, no doubt. Tell them to be on their way. And keep them outside, that stuff stinks.'

'That must have been them earlier,' Guy said after Piers had gone.

'I thought it was the local children knocking at my door and running away. They think it a good jest for All Fools' Day.'

'You are too soft with that boy, you know. Surely it is a dangerous thing to mock a man like Dr Archer.'

'Ah, but he is a droll lad.' Guy smiled again, then his face resumed its serious expression. 'What has happened, Matthew? Is it to do with Master Elliard?'

'Yes.' I hesitated again. What right had I to involve him in this? Then I thought, because he may help us. I met his gaze. 'It turns out that Roger was the third person to be murdered recently in a terrible, elaborate and apparently pointless way. But I think I know the reason, if you can call it a reason.' I told him about Tupholme and Dr Gurney, the link to the Book of Revelation, the possibility that the killer was seeking out apostates from radical religion. Guy's dark features seemed almost to lengthen and sag as I told him.

'I knew Paul Gurney,' he said when I had ended my narrative and sworn him to secrecy. 'Not well, but we met at a few functions. He seemed a quiet, scholarly man. No swagger to him, unlike Archer.' He shook his head. 'I can imagine him starting as a reformer, but disliking these ill
-
educated, self righteous radicals now.'

There was a knock at the door, and Piers entered with a tray of wine. His handsome face was again impassive, but there was some
-
thing intent in the expression in those large blue eyes that made me wonder if he had been listening at the door. I watched him as he laid down the tray and left the room, and let him see that I was watching.

'We found this at the site of Tupholme's murder,' I said when Piers had gone. I produced the badge. Guy turned it over in his long fingers, then gave me a keen look. 'You still think the killer is a Benedictine infirmarian? Because of this, and the dwale?'

'I think it possible.'

He studied the badge, then handed it back. He sighed deeply. 'You could be right. We do not know what has made this man what he is.'

'Barak and I spent yesterday at the Court of Augmentations, tracing Benedictine infirmarians in London at the time of the Dissc lution. The infirmarian who attended the nuns at St Helens is dead, and the St Saviours man went to his family in Northumberland and collects his pension there. But the Westminster infirmarian and both his assistants are still in London. They collect their pensions at Westminster. We won't have the addresses until Monday, but we have names. The infirmarian is called Goddard, Lancelot Goddard. He had two assistants, Charles Cantrell, a monk, and Francis Lockley, a lay brother not in orders. Guy, have you ever heard those names?'