by C. J. Sansom
‘If you file them now the judge might hear you. The plaints office is open.’
‘I have lost them,’ Bealknap said, a sudden frantic blurt. ‘I appeal to you, Shardlake. I was going to bring them today, I thought they were in my bag. I have been ill! Dr Archer has purged me again and all last night my arse was in a bloody sweat—’
Many lawyers would have helped him for the sake of the fellowship of the bar; but I had always set my face against such arrangements at a client’s expense.
‘I am sorry, Bealknap,’ I said quietly. ‘My duty is to my client.’
Bealknap let out a sound between a sigh and a groan. Then he leaned forward, almost hissing. ‘I knew you would not help me, you - you bent-backed toad. I won’t forget this!’
I saw his client, standing a little way off, eyeing Bealknap curiously. Without a word I turned and went back to Barak and Gib Rooke.
‘What was that about?’ Barak asked. ‘He looked ready to fly at you.’
‘He hasn’t filed proof of title. He’s lost the deeds somewhere.’
Barak whistled. ‘Then he’s in the shit.’ I set my lips. Bealknap’s insult only strengthened my determination to stand by Gib Rooke, who for all his bravado was a mere child in the face of the law.
‘What?’ he asked eagerly. ‘What’s happened?’
I explained. ‘If he’d make a clean breast of it, the judge might agree an adjournment if he’s in a good mood. But Bealknap will lie and fudge.’
‘Sir Geoffrey’s done for, then?’
‘He may be.’
Bealknap was crouched on the floor now, looking through his pannier again, frantically, hopelessly. His arms were shaking as he rifled through the bag. Then the usher appeared in the doorway of the courtroom.
‘Let all who have business before His Majesty’s Court of Requests step forward . . .’
Bealknap looked at him in despair. Then he rose and joined the crowd as everyone stepped forward into the old white-painted hall with its high dirty windows, the judge on his bench in his scarlet robes the only splash of colour.
SIR STEPHEN AINSWORTH, Judge of Requests, was fair but sharp-tongued. As soon as he came to our case he said the court record was incomplete. As I had expected, Bealknap rose and said he had filed the deeds but the court clerk must have lost them, asking quickly for an adjournment.
‘Where is your receipt for the deeds?’ Ainsworth asked.
‘I left it with my clerk, but he has the key to the office and has not arrived. I had to leave early to get here, the Westminster stairs being down—’ I had to give Bealknap credit for quick thinking. But Ainsworth turned to the usher.
‘Have the Clerk of Requests brought here,’ he said.
Bealknap looked ready to collapse as the clerk was brought and confirmed the deeds had never been lodged. ‘I suspect you lied to me there, Brother Bealknap,’ Ainsworth said coldly. ‘Be very careful, sir. Your client’s claim against Gilbert Rooke is dismissed for lack of title. Goodman Rooke, you may remain on your land. You have been lucky.’
Gib grinned from ear to ear. Bealknap sat down, his face grey. His client leaned close and began whispering fiercely, his face furious. I caught the gleam of white teeth, brown wood above. Another who had taken to false teeth.
‘Brother Shardlake,’ Ainsworth continued. ‘I am told you have filed an application in the case of a boy sent to the Bedlam by the Privy Council.’
‘Yes, your honour.’
He tapped his quill on his table, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Do I have the jurisdiction to hear this?’
‘The issue, your honour, is that no enquiry has been made into the boy’s state of mental health. That should be done before a person is deprived of their freedom. It is a matter of due process.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I propose to get a doctor to examine him, sir. But in the meantime, if you will consent to hear the matter, there is also the issue of who should pay the fees they charge in the Bedlam, and of the need to report on his progress. The boy’s parents are poor.’
‘Those at least I can deal with. Very well, the court will set an early date for a hearing. But, Master Shardlake - ’ He looked at me seriously. ‘These are deep waters. Politics and madness.’
‘I know, your honour.’
‘Tread carefully, for your client’s sake as well as your own.’
GIB WAS delighted at the result; his arrogance had gone and he was tearful with relief. He promised me undying gratitude and almost danced from the courtroom. The cases continued; it was a good day for me, I won all the cases I had listed. The court rose at four thirty, and as the day’s victors and vanquished walked away, I stood on the steps with Barak.
‘Bealknap looked sick,’ I said.
‘Sicker still after his case was thrown out.’
‘He has always been such a crafty rogue, but today he was pitiable. He will be a greater enemy than ever now.’
We looked across the quadrangle to the Painted Hall, where the Commons of Parliament were sitting. Candles had been lit, yellow flashes of light visible through the high windows. Barak grunted.
‘They say every bill the King has put before them is being passed this session.’ He spat on the ground. ‘Those members not in the King’s pocket already can be bought off with bribes and threats.’
I was silent, for I could not disagree.
‘Adam Kite’s folks will be pleased he has a hearing,’ he said.
‘Yes. Judge Ainsworth was nervous of taking on the Council, but he is an honest man. That reminds me, I did not tell you, I saw Lord Latimer’s funeral passing the day I went to the Bedlam. I saw the Lady Catherine Parr, or at the least I think it was her. She was in a big carriage.’
‘What was she like?’ Barak asked curiously.
‘Not a great beauty. But something arresting about her. I thought she looked frightened.’
‘Afraid to say yes to the King, perhaps, and afraid to say no.’
I nodded sadly, for the woman’s fear had impressed itself on me.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I must catch a boat to Guy’s, learn what he has found. Will you go to Lincoln’s Inn and draw the orders for today’s cases? And write to the Kites, asking them to come and see me tomorrow?’
We walked back to Whitehall Stairs. A row of brightly made up whores had taken places by the gate into New Palace Yard, standing in a row to catch the eye of the MPs walking past when the house rose. As I passed two bent forward to show me ample cleavages.
‘They’re bold,’ I said. ‘They’ll be whipped at the cart’s tail if the authorities catch them.’
‘That won’t happen.’ Barak smiled wickedly. ‘The MPs would object. The chance of a bit of sport in the stewhouses is all that makes those long debates worthwhile for some.’
‘Maybe that is why they are granting all the King wants so quickly.’
IT WAS DARK by the time I arrived at Guy’s. His shop was closed, but he answered my knock. He invited me gravely to sit down. He sat opposite me in the consulting room, clasped his hands together and looked at me seriously. The candlelight emphasized the lines in his dark face.
‘How is poor Mistress Elliard?’ he asked.
‘Distraught. We are no further forward in investigating Roger’s murder. We can find no solicitor by the name of Nantwich, which was the name in the letters Roger was sent. It begins to look as though the killer sent them.’
‘And you? You look strained, Matthew. And recently you have seemed so well. You are still doing your back exercises?’
‘Yes. I cope, Guy. I always cope.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I will try to have the stomach for whatever you have to tell me of your investigation of Roger’s body. But the less detail the better, please.’
‘I visited the place where the body is stored this morning. I took Piers—’
I frowned. The idea of Guy opening Roger, examining his innards, was horrible enough. But a stranger, a mere boy . . .
‘I am training him, Matthew. The licence I have to open b
odies offers a unique chance to study human anatomy. He may be able to use it to help others in the future.’
I still did not like the notion. ‘What did you find?’ I asked.
‘So far as I could see, Master Elliard’s health at the time of his death was good.’
‘It always was. Till someone knocked him out and cut his throat.’
‘I don’t think he was knocked out,’ Guy said in the same grave, even tones. ‘Not as we understand that phrase.’
I looked at him, appalled. ‘You mean he was conscious when he went in there?’
‘Not that either. Have you ever heard of dwale?’
I shook my head.
‘There is no reason you should. It is a liquid compound of opium and certain other elements, such as vinegar and pig’s bile, which induces unconsciousness. Depending on how much is used it can bring relaxation, unconsciousness - or death. It has been used on and off for hundreds of years to render people unconscious before surgery.’
‘Then why have I never heard of it? That would save terrible pain.’
He shook his head. ‘There is a severe problem with it. The correct dose is very hard to determine, very hard indeed. It depends on many factors: the age of the ingredients, the size and age and health of the patient. It is very easy to give the patient too much and then the physician is left with a corpse. For that reason very few use it now. But I think Master Elliard’s killer did.’
‘Why?’
‘Let me show you something.’ He left the room, returning a moment later. I feared what dreadful thing he might return with, but it was only one of Roger’s boots. He laid it across his knee and brought the candle to it, illuminating a large dark stain.
‘This boot was dry, it must have been on the leg that was sticking out of the water. When I saw that stain I smelt it, then put my finger to it and tasted. The taste of dwale is quite distinctive.’ He looked at me. ‘The first stage after it is taken is nearly always a sense of euphoria, then unconsciousness. That explains your poor friend’s peaceful look.’
‘You said it is out of use now. So who would use it?’
‘Very few physicians or surgeons, because of the risks. Some of the unlicensed healers.’ He hesitated. ‘And there was a tradition of its use in certain monasteries.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then I said, ‘You used it, didn’t you?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Only when I thought the shock of severe surgery might kill a patient. And I have a long skill in determining dosages. But though it is not used now, the formula is well known among practitioners. It is no secret.’
‘But needs great skill to administer.’
He nodded. ‘The killer would not have wanted to give Roger a fatal dose. He meant to make that terrible display in the fountain. Drugged him so he would not wake even when his throat was cut.’
‘Did the body tell you anything else?’
‘No. The organs were otherwise all healthy. They might have been those of a younger man.’
‘You make it sound very impersonal, Guy.’
‘I have to be impersonal, Matthew. How else would I cope with the things I see?’
‘I cannot be impersonal. Not with this.’
‘Then perhaps it should be left to others to investigate.’
‘I have given Dorothy a promise. I am committed.’
‘Very well.’ For a moment Guy’s face took on that tired, strained look I had seen when I brought Roger to see him. ‘There was one thing, a lump on the back of his head. I think whoever your friend went to meet that night knocked him out. When he came round he was forced - somehow - to drink dwale. He passed out, and the killer brought him to Lincoln’s Inn.’
‘Across the fields and through the orchard door.’ I told him about the footprints Barak had followed. ‘Roger was a small man, but this brute must still be very strong.’
‘And determined. And vicious.’
I shook my head. ‘And an educated man. From what you say he has knowledge of the medical profession and perhaps the legal world too, if he could fake a letter from a solicitor well enough to take Roger in, which it seems likely he did. But why? Why kill a man who has harmed no one, and leave that terrible spectacle?’
‘He had no enemies?’
‘None.’ I looked at Roger’s boot again, and suddenly it was all too much. My stomach lurched violently.
‘Your privy, Guy—’ I gasped.
‘You know the way.’
I went to the privy at the rear of the house, the usual wooden shack over a cesspit, yet less noisome than most, something scented in the air to minimize the stinks. There I was violently sick. As I walked back to the house I felt weak, my legs shaking.
Low voices came from the consulting room. The door was open and I saw Guy and the boy Piers sitting close together at the table. They had brought the candle over and were looking, rapt, at an open book. I recognized Vesalius’ horribly illustrated anatomy book. Piers brushed a lick of dark hair from his face and pointed to the drawing. ‘See,’ he said eagerly. ‘That illustration is just like Elliard’s heart.’ Piers broke off suddenly, his face reddening, as he saw me. ‘Master Shardlake! I - I did not know you were still here. I brought in the book—’
‘I saw,’ I said curtly. ‘Poor Roger. I wonder what he would have thought if he knew the intimate details of his body would become chatter for apprentices. Well, perhaps he would have been amused, though I cannot say I am.’ I looked with distaste at the picture, a human abdomen torn open, all the organs exposed.
‘ ’Tis only to gain better knowledge, sir,’ Piers mumbled. I gave him a cold look, thinking Guy gave him far too much latitude.
‘No, Piers, it was my fault.’ Guy for once looked discomfited.
‘You will be giving evidence at the inquest tomorrow morning?’ I asked him.
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘And Adam? Do you know when you may be able to visit him? I ought to come too. The court is not sitting on Friday morning, if that would be convenient for you.’
He brought a little leather-bound notebook from his pocket and studied it. ‘Yes, Friday at noon?’
‘Then I will leave you,’ I said, with an angry glance at the book, which still lay open on the desk, and at Piers, who still stood quietly at his master’s side. Guy raised a hand.
‘No, Matthew, stay, please.’ I hesitated. Guy closed the Vesalius book and handed it up to Piers. ‘Take it out, my boy, and bring some wine. Then continue studying the book if you wish.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Guy patted Piers’ shoulder in an affectionate gesture, and he left the room. ‘I am so sorry, Matthew,’ he said. ‘We meant no disrespect to Roger Elliard. It is just - the implications of Vesalius for the practice of medicine are so great - but Matthew, even as I investigated how your friend died, as you asked me to do, I prayed for his departed soul.’
I smiled. I knew Guy too well, knew his goodness, to be angry for long. ‘Is Vesalius so very remarkable, then?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes, yes. It is a change of approach that is much needed, study based on observation, not merely acceptance of blind doctrine. ’
‘It will not be popular among physicians, then.’
‘No. It challenges their monopoly of arcane knowledge. And who knows where it may end?’ He looked at the chart on his wall. ‘The very doctrine of the humours itself could be challenged and tested.’
I followed his gaze to the chart, with its complex equations and symbols. The notion that the human body was composed of four humours, black bile, yellow bile, phlegm and blood, corresponding to the four elements of earth, fire, water and air that made up everything in the world, was so universally accepted I could not imagine it ever being challenged: nor the doctrine that every human ailment was caused by imbalances between the four elements in the individual body. I remembered discussing our respective humours with Roger, on the last evening I saw him.
‘Then I will not be recommended to eat salad when I am l
ow in spirits,’ I said. ‘To moisten the dryness of black bile. That would be a relief.’
Guy smiled sadly. ‘I would rather recommend attending a musical evening, or a long walk over Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’
‘Not Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Guy. It seems that was probably where Roger met his assailant.’
Piers knocked at the door and brought in a large jug of wine and two glasses. When he had gone I said, ‘I have promised Dorothy to find the killer, but I do not know how he can be caught.’
‘You have resolved such matters before, as I know better than anyone. You underestimate yourself. I know that too.’
‘I would be a fool to underestimate the difficulties of this case. And because of Easter and the wretched politics of the coroner’s offices, the inquest will be four days after the murder. Four days with no official investigation. I thought the royal coroner might hurry things up, but he has not. Ten to one the murderer is out of London now; though for all the chance we have of finding him he could still be in the city, laughing at the coroners and the constables and their stupidity.’ I shook my head.
‘If he is an educated man, that must limit the numbers. You know as well as I that both the law and medicine are closed worlds, their practitioners seeking to keep their secrets to themselves.’
‘Perhaps. But many of our class have some knowledge of both. Though the knowledge of dwale is unusual.’
‘And how to administer it. Wait until the inquest tomorrow, see if anything more is revealed.’
I nodded, took a drink of wine from my cup. I saw that Guy had finished his already, which surprised me for he was a believer in moderation in all things.
‘Thank you for taking on Adam Kite,’ I said.
He nodded slowly. ‘Salvation panic. A strange obsession. How prone people are to become fixated on ideas, or religion, or people. And of course fanatic religion is everywhere. Perhaps the surprise is there are not more people like Adam.’ He turned his cup in his hand pensively.