Sovereign (14 page)

‘And he will be magnificent again, with the Yorkers. He has been clever, forcing the gentry to take personal oaths to him. He forgives their trespasses and at the same time makes it clear
that if those oaths are broken they can expect no mercy. Carrot and stick, that is how one deals with donkeys like these. So,’ he added, ‘your journey to York is concerned with more
than Broderick.’

‘The Archbishop offered me the legal position first. I was only given this second mission once I had agreed.’

Radwinter laughed softly. ‘Yes, he can be a fox. But it will pay well.’

‘Well enough,’ I said stiffly.

‘Enough to buy a new robe, I hope, especially if you are to see the King. The one you wear is torn. I only mention it in case you had not seen.’

‘I have another. This one was torn this morning. On a glazier’s cart.’

‘Really? A strange mishap.’

‘Yes.’ I told him the story of finding Oldroyd’s body, though only the parts that were public knowledge. The gaoler smiled again. ‘It seems a lawyer’s work is never
done,’ he said. He put down his goblet. ‘Well, I expect you would like to see Sir Edward.’

‘Please.’

Once again I followed as he ascended with his quick, light steps. I thought about what he had said about Lambert’s trial and burning, and remembered Cranmer’s description of
Radwinter as a man of true and honest faith. That meant following the orthodoxy that the last word on religious matters belonged to the King, as Supreme Head. Such a man might well approve of
burning a heretic, but his light and jesting tone had repelled me. Were his professions of faith merely a cover for enjoyment of cruelty? I stared at his back as he turned the key in the door to
Broderick’s cell.

Sir Edward was lying on his dirty pallet. Fresh rushes had been laid on the floor as I had ordered, though, and the cell stank less. I saw his shirt was open, a poultice strapped to his chest.
He was emaciated, all his ribs visible under dead white skin. He stared at me coldly again.

‘Well, Sir Edward,’ I asked, ‘how are you today?’

‘They’ve poulticed my burn. It stings.’

‘That can be a sign it is having effect.’ I turned to the gaoler. ‘He is very thin, Master Radwinter. What does he have to eat?’

‘Pottage from the castle kitchens, the same the guards get. Not too much, certainly. A weakened man is less likely to make trouble. You saw yesterday how he can spring at one.’

‘And how well he is chained. And he has been ill; a sick man may waste away without food.’

Radwinter’s eye glinted. ‘Would you like me to order thrushes in a pie from the King’s kitchen, then, perhaps a plate of marchpanes?’

‘No,’ I answered, ‘but I would like him put on the same rations as the guards.’ Radwinter set his lips. ‘See to it, please,’ I said quietly.

Broderick laughed hoarsely. ‘Does it not occur to you, sir, I would
rather
be weak when I get to London? So weak the torturers’ first attentions kill me.’

‘They would take care not to do that, Master Broderick,’ Radwinter said softly. ‘When you are brought to them they will study you carefully. They know how to bring each man to
a degree of pain that will make him talk, yet keep him conscious and alive. But certainly a weaker man is likely to be able to endure less, to talk more quickly.’ He smiled at me. ‘So
you see, the better you treat him, the more pain he will endure.’

‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘He is to be fed properly.’

‘And I will eat, for I am hungry. Even though I know what awaits me.’ Broderick gave me a look full of pain as well as anger. ‘How we hold on to life, eh, lawyer? We struggle
to survive, even when there is no sense in it.’ He looked towards the window. ‘I came to see poor Robert every day while he hung out there, so he might see a friendly face. Each day I
hoped to find him dead, yet each day he moved still, trying to ease his pains as he dangled, making weak groans. Yes, how we hold on to life.’

‘Only the innocent deserve a quick death,’ Radwinter said. ‘Well, Master Shardlake, I will arrange for the extra rations for Sir Edward. Is there anything else?’

I looked at Broderick; he was staring at the ceiling again. There was a moment’s silence, the only sound the patter of rain at the window. ‘Not for now. I will come again, tomorrow
probably.’

Once again Radwinter led me outside, locking the heavy door. I could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was angry, yet I was surprised by the ferocity of his look when he turned to me. His
face was red, he almost scowled. Now I saw he nourished fire under that ice. In a way it was a relief.

‘You undermine me before that treacherous, filthy rogue, sir.’ His voice was thick with anger. ‘If you wanted to change his rations, could you not have waited till we were
outside to tell me?’

I looked at him steadily. ‘I want him to see that I am in charge of his welfare.’

‘I told you before, you do not know what manner of man you are dealing with. You may regret this softness.’

‘I will obey my orders.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I think your judgement is clouded, sir. Not by zeal as the Archbishop told me, but by delight in cruelty.’ The look he
gave me was chilling, but anger drove me on. ‘But you will not indulge yourself at the expense of the Archbishop’s orders. He will hear what manner of man you are.’

To my surprise Radwinter laughed in my face, a mocking laugh that echoed round the dank corridor.

‘You think the Archbishop does not know me? He knows me well, sir, and knows that England needs such as me to keep it safe from heretics!’ He stepped closer to me. ‘And we all
serve a just and angry God. You should not forget it.’

W
E HEADED BACK TO
the Minster, walking quickly for we were very late for Master Wrenne.

‘Perhaps I should take a message to Maleverer at St Mary’s now,’ Barak suggested. ‘About the boy looking at the spot on the wall.’

I hesitated. ‘No, I need you to help with the petitions, the summaries must be ready for tomorrow morning. We will leave as soon as we can, go straight back to St Mary’s. Besides,
they’ve probably scared whatever he knows out of that unfortunate boy.’

Arriving at the Minster, I showed my papers again at the gate and we passed inside once more.

Just then a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds that were gathering, shining on the huge windows of the great church and making a riot of colour.

‘Why is York Minster allowed to keep its stained glass,’ Barak asked, ‘while the monasteries have it all torn out as idolatrous?’

‘There are reformers who would pull the coloured glass from all churches, have only plain windows. But the King’s limited himself to the monasteries. For now.’

‘It makes no sense.’

‘It’s part of the compromise with the traditional party. You can’t expect politics to make sense.’

‘You’re right there.’

The old housekeeper answered Wrenne’s door, her look as cheerless as ever. The old man sat reading in the candlelit hall, where a good fire blazed in the central hearth. I saw an effort at
cleaning had been made since the day before, for the books had been tidied and the green and yellow floor-tiles shone. The peregrine falcon still stood on its perch by the fire; the bell on its leg
tinkled as it turned to stare at us. A fine cloth with a design of white roses had been put on the table, where three large stacks of paper stood. Master Wrenne rose slowly to his feet, laying down
his book.

‘Brother Shardlake. And young Barak, good.’

‘I am sorry we are late,’ I said. ‘You had my note?’

‘Yes. Some urgent business, you said?’

Again I told the story of the glazier falling into his cart, leaving out the subsequent events. Wrenne frowned thoughtfully.

‘Peter Oldroyd. Yes, I knew him; I have done legal work for the glaziers’ guild, he was chairman one year. A quiet, respectable fellow; lost his family in the plague in ’38. It
is sad.’ Wrenne was silent for a long moment, then said, ‘You catch me at my books. Sir Thomas More, his history of Richard III. A man of rare invective, was he not?’

‘Yes, he was not the gentle saint some people paint him.’

‘But he had a good turn of phrase. I have been reading what he said about the Wars between the Roses last century. “These matters be Kings’ games, as it were stage plays, and
for the most part played upon scaffolds.” ’

‘So they were. Upon bloody fields of battle too.’

‘Indeed. But sit; take some wine before we begin. You look as though it has been a hard morning.’

‘Thank you.’ As I took a cup my eye strayed to the piles of books. ‘You have a most rare collection, sir.’

‘Yes, I have many old monkish books. They are not theological works, that would have me under surveillance from the Council of the North, but I have saved some valuable works of history
and philosophy. For their interest, and their beauty too. I am something of an antiquarian, you see. It has been an interest all my life.’

‘That is a worthy task, sir. There was much wrong with the monasteries, but so much learning and beauty has gone to the fire. I have seen pages written with care hundreds of years ago used
to wipe down horses.’

Wrenne nodded. ‘I thought we would be of like mind, brother. I can tell a scholar. There has been a great cull of monastic libraries in York these last three years. St Clement’s,
Holy Trinity, above all St Mary’s.’ He smiled. ‘The antiquarian John Leland was here in the spring. He was most interested in the library I have collected upstairs. Even a little
jealous, I think.’

‘Perhaps I may see it some time.’

‘Indeed.’ Wrenne nodded his leonine head. ‘But I fear we must study some lesser documents today. The petitions to the King.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Where do you
practise, Brother Shardlake?’

‘Lincoln’s Inn. I am lucky, I have a house hard by in Chancery Lane.’

‘I studied at Gray’s Inn. Many years ago.’ Wrenne smiled. ‘It was 1486 when I came to London. The King’s father had not been on the throne a year.’

I did a quick calculation in my head: fifty-five years ago, he must be well over seventy. ‘But you returned to practise in York?’ I asked.

‘Ay, I was never at ease in the south.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I have a nephew at Gray’s Inn, the son of my late wife’s sister. He went down there and stayed.
Perhaps you may have heard of him.’ He looked at me keenly. ‘Martin Dakin. He would be near your age now, a little older. Just past forty.’

‘No, I do not know him. But there are hundreds of barristers in London.’

Wrenne looked uncomfortable. ‘There was a bad fratch, a family quarrel, and we lost touch.’ He sighed. ‘I would like to see him again before I die. He is my only family now,
you see. His parents died in the plague three years ago.’

‘Many seem to have died then.’

He shook his head. ‘York has had a terrible time these last five years. The rebellion in 1536, then in 1538 the plague. It returned in 1539 and again last year, though mercifully this year
we have been spared.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Otherwise the King would not have come. His harbingers have been around the hospitals all summer, making sure there have been no cases. Instead
this year we have had the new conspiracy. Troubled times.’

‘Well, let us hope for a better future now. And I would gladly take a message to your nephew in London, sir. If you wished.’

‘Thank you.’ Wrenne nodded slowly. ‘I will think on that. I had a son, who I dreamed would follow me in the law, but he died when he was five, poor nobbin.’ Wrenne looked
into the fire, then shrugged and smiled. ‘Forgive an old man’s gloomy talk. I am the last of my line and some days it weighs on me.’

I felt a catch at my throat, for his words made me think of my father; I too was the last of my line.

‘We have noticed, sir,’ Barak said, ‘that security in the city seems very great. We saw some Scotch turned away at Bootham Bar.’

‘Yes, and all the stout vagabonds are being cleared from the city. The beggars will be gone from the Minster tomorrow. Poor caitiffs. Security is tight.’ Wrenne hesitated, then
added, ‘You must know, sir, the King is not popular up here. Not among the gentry, though now they bow and scrape, and even less among the common people.’

I remembered Cranmer’s scathing words about northern papists. ‘Because of the religious changes, that caused the rebellion?’

‘Ay.’ Wrenne clasped his hands round his goblet. ‘I remember the rebellion. The King’s agents were closing the small monasteries and assessing church property. Then
suddenly the commons erupted all over Yorkshire. It was like a wildfire.’ He waved a large, square hand where a fine emerald ring glinted. ‘They elected Robert Aske leader and within a
week he had marched into York at the head of five thousand men. The City Council and the Minster authorities were terrified. This was an explosive crowd of rough peasants who had turned themselves
into an army. So they agreed to obey Aske; the church authorities held a celebratory Mass for him in the Minster.’ He nodded at the window. ‘I watched the rebels processing into the
Mass from there; thousands of them, all with swords and pikes.’

I nodded reflectively. ‘And they thought they could make the King agree to reverse the religious changes.’

‘Robert Aske was a naïve man for a lawyer. But if the King had not tricked them into disbanding his army I believe they could have taken the whole country.’ He looked at me
seriously. ‘The discontent in the north goes back a very long way. To the Striving between the Two Roses last century. The north was loyal to King Richard III and the Tudors have never been
popular. The rebellion was about more than religion, too. The Dalesmen sent round tracts by a “Captain Poverty” full of complaints about high rents and tithes. When the religious
changes came –’ he spread his big hands – ‘it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.’

‘King Richard?’ Barak asked. ‘Yet he seized the throne, and murdered the rightful heirs. The Princes in the Tower.’

‘There are those who say it was the King’s father that killed them.’ He paused. ‘I was a boy when King Richard processed through York after his coronation. You should
have seen the city then. People hung their best carpets from the windows all along the way, petals were showered on him as he rode by. It is different today. The common folk are reluctant even to
lay gravel before their doors to smooth King Henry’s way, for all the council have ordered it.’