by C. J. Sansom
‘That would be welcome.’
‘Tell me, sir, would you care to see Lord Cromwell’s leopard? He likes it to be shown to visitors. It’s in a cage at the back.’
‘I heard he had recently acquired such a beast. Thank you.’
Blitheman led me through the busy house to a yard at the back. I had never seen a leopard, though I had heard of those fabulous spotted creatures, which could run faster than the wind. He led me out, smiling proprietorially. My nostrils were assailed with a great stink, and I found myself looking through the bars of a metal cage perhaps twenty feet square. The stone floor was dotted with gobbets of meat, and a great cat prowled up and down. Its fur was golden with black spots, and everything in its lean, muscled frame spoke of savage power. As we entered the yard it turned and snarled, showing huge yellow fangs.
‘A fearsome beast,’ I said.
‘Fifteen pounds it cost my lord.’
The leopard sat down and stared at us, occasionally lifting its lips in a snarl.
‘What is its name?’ I asked.
‘Oh, it has no name, it would not be godly to give a Christian’s name to such a monster.’
‘Poor creature, it must be cold.’
A boy in livery appeared at the door and muttered to Blitheman.
‘Lord Cromwell is returned,’ Blitheman said. ‘Come, he is in his study.’ With a last glance at the snarling leopard, I followed him inside. I reflected that my master, too, had a savage reputation and wondered whether he was sending a deliberate message by possessing such a creature.
LORD CROMWELL’S study was a smaller version of his Westminster office, packed with paper-strewn tables. Normally it was gloomy, but today the sunlight reflected from the snow in the garden sent a penetrating white light across the heavy creases and folds of his face as he sat behind his desk. His look at me when I was shown in was hostile, his mouth set tight and his chin projecting angrily. He did not bid me sit.
‘I had expected to hear from you sooner,’ he said coldly. ‘Nine days. And the business isn’t settled yet, I can tell by your look.’ He noticed my sword. ‘God’s blood, do you wear a weapon in my presence?’
‘No, my lord,’ I said, hastily unbuckling it. ‘It is a piece of evidence, I had to bring it.’ I laid it on a table where an illustrated copy of the English Bible lay open at a picture of Sodom and Gomorrah consumed by flames. I told him all that had happened: the deaths of Simon and Gabriel and the discovery of Orphan Stonegarden’s body, the abbot’s offer of surrender, my suspicions about the land sales, and finally Jerome’s letter, which I passed to him. Except when he was reading it he glared at me throughout with that unblinking gaze of his. When I had finished he let out a snort.
‘God’s holy wounds, it’s a chaos worse than Bedlam. I hope when you get back that boy of yours is still alive,’ he added brutally. ‘I’ve spent time cozening Rich into taking him back; it’d better not be wasted.’
‘I thought I should report to you, my lord. Especially when I found that letter.’
He grunted. ‘They should have reminded me that the Carthusian was there, Grey will hear about that. Brother Jerome will be dealt with. But I’m not concerned with letters to Edward Seymour. All the Seymour family look to my favour now the queen’s dead.’ He leaned forward. ‘But these deaths unsolved do worry me. They must not come out now, I don’t want my other negotiations upset. Lewes Priory is about to surrender.’
‘They are giving in?’
‘I had word yesterday; the surrender will be signed this week. That’s what I was seeing Norfolk about, we’re going to divide their lands between us. The king’s agreed in principle.’
‘It must be a goodly parcel.’
‘It is. Their Sussex estates will go to me and those in Norfolk to the duke. The prospect of lands soon brings old enemies to the negotiating table.’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I’m going to set my son Gregory up in the abbot’s fine house, make a landowner of him.’ He paused and the steely look returned. ‘You seek to distract me, Matthew, put me in a better mood.’
‘No, sir. I know this has gone slowly but it is the hardest and most dangerous puzzle I have known—’
‘What’s the importance of that sword?’
I told him of its discovery and my talk with Oldknoll earlier. He furrowed his brows. ‘Mark Smeaton. I didn’t think he was one to cause trouble from beyond the grave.’ Lord Cromwell came round his desk and picked up the sword. ‘It’s a fine weapon all right, I wish I’d had it when I was soldiering in Italy in my youth.’
‘There must be a connection between the killings and Smeaton.’
‘I can see one,’ he said. ‘A connection to Singleton’s death, anyway. Revenge.’
He thought a moment, then turned and gave me a hard look. ‘This is not to be repeated to anyone.’
‘On my honour.’
He put down the sword and began pacing up and down, hands folded behind him. His black robe billowed around his knees.
‘When the king turned against Anne Boleyn last year, I had to act quickly. I’d been associated with her from the beginning, and the papist faction would have worked my fall with hers; the king was starting to listen to them. So it had to be me that rid the king of her. Do you see?’
‘Yes. Yes, I see.’
‘I persuaded him she was adulterous and that meant she could be executed for treason, without her religion coming into it. But there would have to be evidence and a public trial.’
I stood looking at him silently.
‘I took some of my most trusted men and assigned to each a friend of hers whom I had chosen – Norris, Weston, Brereton, her brother Rochford – and Smeaton. Their task was to get either a confession, or something that could be made to look like evidence that they had lain with her. Singleton was the man I assigned to deal with Mark Smeaton.’
‘He made up a case against him?’
‘Smeaton looked to be the easiest one to force into a confession; he was just a boy. So it proved, he confessed to adultery after a session on the Tower rack. The same one I used on that Carthusian, who must indeed have met him because all he reported Smeaton saying was true.’ His tone as he went on was reflective, matter of fact.
‘And one of the visitors the Carthusian saw coming to the cell that night would have been Singleton himself. I sent him to make sure that in his speech from the scaffold – there’s a tradition that should be done away with – the boy did not retract his confession. He was reminded that, if he said anything amiss, his father would suffer.’
I stared at my lord. ‘So what people said was true? Queen Anne and those accused with her were innocent?’
He turned to me. The harsh light caught his face and seemed to leach his eyes of expression as he frowned at me.
‘Of course they were innocent. No one may say so, but the whole world knows it, the juries at the trial knew. Even the king half-knew though he couldn’t admit it to himself and irk his fine conscience. God’s death, Matthew, you’re innocent for a lawyer. You’ve the innocence of a reformist believer without the fire. Better to have the fire without the innocence, like me.’
‘I believed the charges were true. So many times I have said so.’
‘Best to do what most people did on that subject and keep a closed mouth.’
‘Perhaps I did know, deep down,’ I said quietly. ‘In some part of me God has not reached.’
Cromwell looked at me impatiently, irritation in his face.
‘So Singleton was killed for revenge,’ I said at length. ‘Someone killed him in the same manner Anne Boleyn was executed. But who?’ A thought came to me. ‘Who was Smeaton’s second visitor? Jerome mentioned the priest come to shrive him and two others.’
‘I’ll have Singleton’s case papers looked out, see what they say about Smeaton’s family. I’ll have them at your house within two hours. Meanwhile go to old Smeaton’s place, that’s a good notion. You return to Scarnsea tomorrow?’
‘Yes, the boat l
eaves before dawn.’
‘If you find anything before you go, send the information to me. And Matthew—’
‘Yes, my lord.’
He had moved out of the sunlight, the fierce anger and power were back in his eyes. ‘Make sure you find the murderer. I have kept this from the king too long. When I tell him I must have the killer’s name to give him. And get the abbot’s seal on that surrender. I suppose at least there you’ve achieved something.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ I hesitated. ‘When the house surrenders, what will happen to it?’
He smiled grimly. ‘Same as with them all. The abbot and the monks will get their pensions. The servants will have to shift for themselves and serve them right, greedy lubbers. As for the buildings, I’ll tell you what I have planned for Lewes. I’m sending a demolition engineer down there; I’m going to have him raze the church and claustral buildings to the ground. And when all the monastery lands are in the king’s hands and we rent them out, I’m going to put a clause in every lease saying the tenant must take down any monastic buildings. Even if they just take the lead off the roofs and let the locals take the stone for building, it’ll be the same result. No trace left of their centuries of mummery, just a few bare ruins to remind people of the king’s power.’
‘There are some fine buildings.’
‘A gentleman can’t live in a church,’ Cromwell said impatiently. His eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not turning papist on me are you, Matthew Shardlake?’
‘Never,’ I said.
‘Then go. And don’t fail me this time. Remember, I have it in my power to build up a lawyer’s business, but I can also ruin it.’ He gave me his bull-like glare again.
‘I will not fail, my lord.’
I picked up the sword and left.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I LEFT WESTMINSTER with my mind in a whirl. I went over the names of everyone at the monastery, trying to find a possible link with the Smeaton family. Could John Smeaton have met Brother Guy in Spain thirty years ago? If he were an apprentice, then he and the sacrist would have been of an age.
All the time I was turning these matters over, in my heart there was a dull, leaden feeling. I had believed Thomas Cromwell incapable of the unchristian acts attributed to him over Anne Boleyn’s fall. And now he had casually admitted they were true. And it was not Cromwell who had gulled me into false belief; I had done that for myself.
The horse had been picking its way slowly over the icy ruts in the road, but halfway down Fleet Street it stopped and tossed its head anxiously. A little way ahead a crowd had gathered, blocking the road. Looking over their heads I saw two of the constable’s men struggling with a young apprentice. He was resisting fiercely, shouting out at his captors.
‘You are the forces of Babylon, you seize God’s chosen children! The righteous will prevail, the mighty shall be pulled down!’
The guards pinioned his arms behind his back and hauled him away, still kicking. Some of the crowd yelled catcalls after him, others shouted support.
‘Be steadfast, brother! The Lord’s chosen will triumph!’
I heard another rider at my elbow, and turned to see the sardonic features of Pepper, the fellow lawyer I had encountered the day I undertook the mission to Scarnsea.
‘Ho, Shardlake!’ he called amiably. ‘So they’ve taken another hot gospeller. An Anabaptist by the sound of him. They’d have all our property, you know!’
‘Is there a round-up of unlicensed preachers? I’ve been out of London again.’
‘There’s talk of Anabaptists in London, the king’s ordered all suspects to be taken. He’ll burn a few and just as well. They’re more dangerous than the papists.’
‘There is safety nowhere these days.’
‘Cromwell’s taken the opportunity to have a general round-up. Cutpurses, fraudsters, unlicensed preachers, they’ve all been lurking in their dog-holes in this fearsome weather and he’s rooting them out. Not before time. D’you remember that old woman with the talking bird we saw?’
‘Aye. It seems an age ago.’
‘It turned out you were right; the bird just repeats words it’s taught. They’ve brought in a couple of boatloads of the creatures and they’re the talk of the City, everyone with a town house wants one. The old woman’s been charged with fraud, she’ll probably be whipped at the cart’s tail. But where have you been, keeping by your fire in this cold?’
‘No, Pepper, I have been out in the country, Lord Cromwell’s business again.’
‘I hear he’s looking for a new bride for the king already,’ he said, fishing for gossip. ‘There’s talk of a marriage among the German princes, Hesse or Cleves. That’d tie us to the Lutherans.’
‘I have heard nothing. As I say, I have been away on Lord Cromwell’s business.’
He looked at me enviously. ‘He keeps you busy. D’you think he might have work to spare for me?’
I smiled wryly. ‘Yes, Pepper, probably he would.’
AT HOME I LOOKED over the correspondence I had been too weary to do more than glance at the night before. There were letters about cases I was handling; people were becoming anxious for replies on several matters. There was also a letter from my father. The harvest had been poor that year, the farm would show little profit and he was thinking of running more land for sheep. He hoped my business was prospering and that Mark was doing well at Augmentations – I had said nothing of his disgrace. He added that it was said in the country more monasteries would come down. Mark’s father said that would be good, it would mean more work for Mark.
I put the letter down and sat staring gloomily into the fire. I thought of Mark Smeaton on the rack under torture, guilty of no crime. And Jerome on the same rack. No wonder he hated the office I embodied. So all he had said was true. He must have known of the link between Singleton and Mark Smeaton, or why tell me the story? Yet he had sworn no one in the monastery had killed Singleton. I tried to remember his exact words, but I was too tired. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Joan came in.
‘A letter has just come, sir. From Lord Cromwell.’
‘Thank you, Joan.’ I took the thick letter from her and turned it over in my hands. It was marked ‘Most secret’.
‘Sir,’ she said hesitantly. ‘May I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’ I smiled at her; her plump face was anxious.
‘I have wondered, sir, is all well with you? You appear troubled. And Master Mark, is he safe down there on the coast?’
‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I do not know about his future, though, he does not want to return to Augmentations.’
She nodded. ‘That does not surprise me.’
‘Doesn’t it, Joan? It did me.’
‘I could see he was unhappy there. I have heard it is a wicked place full of greedy men, if you will forgive me.’
‘Perhaps it is. But there are so many such places. If we were to avoid them all and just sit by our fires, we should all be beggars, should we not?’
She shook her head. ‘Master Mark is different, sir.’
‘Why different? Come, Joan, he has beguiled you as he does all women.’
‘No, sir,’ she said, stung. ‘He has not. Perhaps I see him more clearly than you. He has as gentle a nature as I have ever seen under that amiable surface, injustice pains him. I have wondered whether in a way he sought his disgrace with that girl, to get away from Westminster. He has strong ideals, sir, sometimes I think he has too many to survive in this harsh world.’
I smiled sadly. ‘And I thought I was the one with high ideals. “And the veil was lifted from mine eyes.” ’
‘Pardon, sir?’
‘Nothing, Joan. Do not worry. I must read this.’
‘Of course, I beg pardon.’
‘No need. And, Joan – I thank you for your care.’
I TURNED TO the letter with a sigh. It contained notes made by Singleton and letters to Cromwell about his progress with Mark Smeaton. They made it clear a cold
ly calculated plan had been set to trap the young musician with perjured evidence and kill him. Alleging the queen had bedded with someone of such humble origins would be particularly shocking to the public, Singleton said, so it was important to have him in the net. He referred to Smeaton mockingly as a silly creature, a lamb to be led to the slaughter. At Cromwell’s house they had smashed his lute against the wall before his eyes and left him naked in a cellar all night, but it had taken torture to make him swear a false confession. I prayed he was safe in heaven.
There was a memorandum from Singleton about the boy’s family. His mother was dead and there was only his father; no other male relatives at all. John Smeaton had an older sister out in the country somewhere, but there had been a quarrel and he had not seen her for years. Singleton told Cromwell the lack of relatives with connections would make it easier to deal with the boy as they liked, without questions raised.
I put the letter carefully back in its envelope. I recalled Singleton’s funeral, the sight of the coffin lid shutting on his face, and I confess now I was glad. I called for the horse to be brought round; it was time to set out for Whitechapel. I was glad to get into my coat and step out of doors again, with a goal to follow. It released me from the whirling chaos in my mind.
Chapter Twenty-nine
IT WAS A LONG RIDE out to Whitechapel, well beyond London Wall; a fast-growing area, filled with the wattle-and-daub hovels of the poor. Thin smoke from a hundred fires rose into the still air. Here the bitter weather was more than just a serious inconvenience; looking at the pinched, hungry faces I reflected that for some here this would be one hardship too many. Such wells as they had must have frozen, for I saw many women carrying pails of water up from the river. I had changed into my clothes of cheapest cloth, for gentlemen were not always safe out here.
The street where Smeaton had had his forge was one of the better ones, housing several workshops. Singleton’s papers said he had lived in a two-storey building next to a smithy and I found it readily enough. It was no longer a carpenter’s; the shutter covering the shopfront had been nailed down and painted over. I tied the nag to a post and rapped on the flimsy wooden door.