Sovereign (71 page)

T
HEY CAME BACK
for me two hours later. ‘Time to see Sir Jacob,’ the fat one said. ‘Now,
you’re
not going to be any
trouble, are you?’ he coaxed ominously. ‘It’s just questions this time.’

I let them lead me out to the central area where the desk was. Beyond, I could see the barred door that led up to the White Tower. A soldier was waiting there. The young turnkey nodded to him.
‘This one for the deputy warden,’ he said. The soldier took my arm as the turnkey opened the door to the staircase. The soldier indicated I should walk ahead. I stumbled and clanked my
way up the narrow staircase.

I heard a murmur of male voices ahead and felt shame and horror at the prospect of being marched past the soldiers in the Great Hall again, limping, in chains, unwashed. But the soldier led me
past the entrance to the hall, up a further flight to another floor with large unbarred windows and fresh rushes on the floor. He stopped before a door and knocked. Sir Jacob’s voice called,
‘Come in.’

It was a light chamber, the walls painted yellow. Tables were covered with papers organized in neat piles. Maleverer’s offices, I remembered, had always looked chaotic.

A window streaked with rain showed Tower Green, where people walked to and fro. Sir Jacob, wearing a black doublet and white shirt, sat behind a desk. He looked at me seriously.

‘This is your one chance to answer my questions truthfully.’ He spoke quietly. ‘If you fail to satisfy me, what is being done to Radwinter now will be done to you. Do you
understand?’

‘Yes, Sir Jacob.’ My heart was beating fast and again I suppressed the urge to blurt out everything I knew about the Queen. But I would not betray Barak and Tamasin, not while there
was still a chance Barak could get to Cranmer, get me out of here.

‘The Queen was placed under confinement yesterday,’ Sir Jacob said, ‘following information received by Archbishop Cranmer that before her marriage she had dalliance with
Francis Dereham, whom she appointed her secretary in York. There may be a precontract of marriage between them, and as a lawyer you know what difficulties that may cause in her marriage to the
King.’

I was silent for a moment, shocked. Then I said, ‘I know nothing of this, sir. I scarce know Dereham. Sir, I believe I may know how this has come about.’

He nodded. I spoke rapidly, telling him of Rich’s animus against me over the Bealknap case, how he had seen me leave the Queen’s tent and, later, seen Dereham speak to me. I repeated
the lie I had told Rich when he saw Dereham talking to me in Hull, that Dereham had seen me at Fulford and used our meeting in the street to make further mock of me. I hesitated before saying that
and from a quick intense flicker of Sir Jacob’s eyes I saw he had noticed. He was an experienced interrogator. He consulted a paper on his desk, then rapped, ‘What was your business
with the Queen at Howlme?’

It was as well I worked in a profession where you needed to think on your feet. ‘It concerned one of her servants, Tamasin Reedbourne. She has a – a relationship with my assistant,
Master Barak. She was in some trouble with Lady Rochford over it.’

He frowned, then laughed, again the schoolmaster who has caught out an errant pupil. ‘The Queen was concerned with the morals of one of her servants?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Sir Jacob,’ I said quickly, ‘those are the only things Sir Richard Rich could have knowledge of. I cannot believe I have been brought here solely on those grounds.’

‘This matter could not be more serious. I have a report from Sir William Maleverer that a senior official’s servant overheard you in the refectory, telling Francis Dereham that if he
could get into the Queen’s drawers it would serve the King right for the way he treated you at Fulford.’

‘That is a complete lie.’ I almost shouted my denial. ‘And I would guess the official who employs the servant is Sir Richard Rich.’

That knowing smile again. ‘It is not. He is a clerk for Master Simon Craike of the Harbingers’ Office.’

‘Craike is in Rich’s pay. Question the servant, sir. I beg you. Archbishop Cranmer has been fed false information by Rich.’

‘I told you, the report was from Sir William Maleverer.’

‘I believe he is in league with Rich. Please sir,’ I begged. ‘Please question this servant of Craike’s.’ How Craike had betrayed me. Rich must have put the pressure
on.

Sir Jacob referred quickly to another paper. ‘Master Barak and Mistress Reedbourne. They brought you food and clothes yesterday. The turnkey reports you and Barak spoke quietly, as though
you did not wish to be overheard.’

‘Would not you, sir, in my position?’

‘I am hardly likely to be.’

‘Sir, could you not enquire of the servant? It would take just a little time. I have already been here two days. Another day . . .’

Sir Jacob sat and thought, tapping a fingernail against his thin lips. I felt hope rising in my breast. Then he shook his head.

‘No. I am not satisfied. You are keeping things back, I feel it.’

‘Sir Jacob —’

‘No!’ He spoke sharply, waved an angry hand at me. ‘You have had your chance. You will go back to your cell. There you will see what has happened to Radwinter, and perhaps
tomorrow when you are taken to where he has been you will have the sense to speak the truth before they really start work.’

My jaw dropped in horror. ‘Sir Jacob, please, a day —’

‘No. When it comes to making a recalcitrant man spill the truth, there is no better means than the torture.’

I
WAS MARCHED DOWN
the stairs again, past the hall where the soldiers talked and laughed and light spilled into the dark stairway, down again to the
darkness and damp; through the barred door again and back into the hands of the young turnkey. The fat turnkey was there too. He smiled and shook his head.

‘Down to the chamber tomorrow, is it? I see it in your face. My advice is to spill all you know as soon as you get in. Your pal Radwinter didn’t, and he’s in a sorry
state.’

‘See his mouth, Ted?’ the young man said cheerily.

‘Ay. They must have used the vice on his teeth. He won’t be doing any chewing for a while.’ The fat turnkey shook his head again. ‘Come on, matey, back in the cell you
go.’ He grasped my arm.

‘Has – has there been any word for me?’ I asked. ‘From my friend?’

‘No, nothing.’ He began leading me away. ‘There’s no point hoping,’ he said as we approached the cell. ‘Best just resolve to make a clean breast before they
get properly started tomorrow.’ He turned the key in the lock. ‘Take my word for it, I’ve seen – oh fuck!’ He yelled suddenly, letting go my arm.

I stared past him into the cell. At first I could make no sense of what I saw, it seemed that a gigantic pendulum had been brought to the cell and set swinging under the window. Then I saw it
was Radwinter. He had taken the two beds and set them one on top of the other. He had removed his shirt and, like Broderick, had twisted it into a noose, tied one end to the window and the other
round his neck. Then he had jumped from the bed. He had broken his neck, his head was bent at an unnatural angle. His face was hideous, his mouth open and smeared with blood, half his teeth gone. I
fell back against the doorjamb, my legs gave way and I slid to the floor.

The fat turnkey had run across to the window. Now he ran back to the door. ‘Billy!’ he yelled. ‘Billy!’ Running feet, and a moment later the other turnkey joined him in
the doorway.

‘Oh, Hell!’ he cried. ‘We’ll be in the shit for this.’ He went over and looked at Radwinter, then turned back to the fat man. ‘You know the beds should be
fixed to the floor where there’s a high window!’

‘I’ve been trying to get the workmen in for months! How the fuck did he get the beds across with his hands in that state?’ I saw Radwinter’s hands, dangling at his side,
were torn and bloody, his fingernails gone. I shuddered and looked away.

‘They should have given him the rack,’ young Billy said, ‘instead of pissing about with his teeth. He couldn’t have done it then. Fuck! He’s still swinging, he can
only just have jumped!’ He grabbed one of Radwinter’s legs, bringing the body to a halt.

‘Why did he do it?’ the fat man said in a tone of outrage.

‘They were taking him back for another go tomorrow.’

‘He did it for shame,’ I said quietly. ‘For him this would have been the ultimate shame. So much for torture bringing the truth.’

T
HE DEPUTY WARDEN CAME,
watched Radwinter cut down and his body taken away. ‘And we got nothing out of him,’ he muttered angrily. But then he
had had nothing to give, I thought. He had not killed Broderick. Broderick, Jennet Marlin, Oldroyd, now Radwinter. What a harvest of lives that box of documents had reaped. And how many would
Catherine Howard’s dalliance cost?

I sat alone in the cell, through another day, another night. Outside the rain slashed down, hissing, dripping. When it grew dark I found myself looking nervously into corners, as though
Radwinter’s tormented spirit might appear there. But there was nothing, no sense of him. As the hours passed my hopes ebbed and flowed with the tide on the river outside, I thought, Barak
will come, or there will be some message to give me hope. Surely he could have got to Hampton Court and back by now, on the river? If he did not come, what would they do to me tomorrow? My head
swam as I thought of all the abominable things I had heard they used in the Tower: the rack, the vice, hot irons. I had been a fool to think for a moment I could lie to Sir Jacob. I thought of
Radwinter’s bloodied mouth. In a bleak moment at the darkest hour of the night I wondered wildly whether Barak and Tamasin might have fled to avoid questioning about the Queen. I cursed
myself for such stupidity, Barak would not let me down. Then the dawn came again, light at the window from which a piece of Radwinter’s shirt still hung.

T
HE TURKEYS CAME
for me early in the afternoon. They watched me carefully lest I might struggle, but I knew there was no point and let them lead me away
without resistance. I felt light-headed, as though my spirit might fly from my body.

They took me down a flight of stairs, then along a dark passage. They halted before a wide, solid door. The fat turnkey knocked. I looked at the dark old wood. My heart was thumping hard now,
making me feel more faint than ever. The door was opened and they led me inside. The turnkeys released my arms and quickly stepped outside again.

It was a big, windowless room with smoke-blackened walls. A large brazier in an alcove put me momentarily in mind of a blacksmith’s forge, as did the big bull of a man in a leather apron
standing looking at me, hands on hips. A heavyset boy in his late teens was tending the brazier’s coals. Then I saw the rack with its straps and wooden wheels in the corner, the row of
instruments – pincers, pokers, knives – hanging on hooks, and I felt my head spin. Beside me was a big metal bin and on top, among the ashes of old coals, small white objects gleaming.
I realized these were Radwin-ter’s teeth, and my legs gave way.

The big man grabbed me as I fell, and sat me in a wooden chair. He sighed, as I might at the sight of a badly copied document. ‘Take deep breaths,’ he said. ‘Just sit there and
breathe slowly.’