Lamentation

by C. J. Sansom

  10th July

  Greening murdered by two men, different from those involved in the first attack, and the Lamentation (and perhaps Anne Askew’s writings) stolen.

  11th/12th July

  McKendrick, Curdy and Vandersteyn disappear.

  16th July

  Anne Askew burned.

  17th July

  I question Elias, who flees at mention of the name Bertano (which according to Okedene was mentioned by the group in connection with the Antichrist).

  18th July

  Elias murdered.

  19th July

  Having got wind of my enquiries, the guard Leeman flees.

  21st July

  I encounter the two men who killed Greening (not the same as the men who tried to break into his house earlier). They know who I am and they mention Bertano.

  They studied the chronology. I said, ‘This timetable allows that there could be two different sets of people involved. One that was after Anne Askew’s writings, and another that wanted the Lamentation.’

  Cecil shook his head. ‘But there can only have been one informer, surely. Is it not more likely the informer told Gardiner – or Norfolk, or Rich, or Wriothesley, or whoever – about Anne Askew’s Examinations first, after Myldmore took them to Greening on the twenty-ninth of June, and agents were then sent to take it, but were interrupted by Elias? Then, on the sixth or seventh of July the Lamentation comes into Greening’s hands, and two different men, also under the authority of whoever is behind this, are sent to kill him and seize both books – succeeding, apart from the torn page Greening held on to?’

  ‘Possibly. But surely it would have been more sensible to send the original two men on the second visit?’ I mused.

  Lord Parr burst out, in sudden anger, ‘When will we get any certainty?’

  ‘Not yet, my Lord. And there is another possibility.’ I took a deep breath before continuing. ‘What if, after the first attempted attack, the group held divided opinions about what to do next? Perhaps some wanted to send the books abroad for publication, while others, more sensible, realized publication of the Lamentation could only damage the Queen? Remember that in terms of their understanding of politics, these people are very naive. What if the majority of the group decided not to publish the Lamentation, and those who attacked Greening that night were working for someone within the group who did want it published?’

  Cranmer said, ‘We know the extreme sects are ever prone to splitting and quarrelling with each other.’

  ‘To the extent of murdering one another too?’ Cecil asked.

  ‘If enough were at stake,’ Cranmer replied sadly. ‘We should at least consider it as a possibility.’

  The others were silent. Then the Queen nodded wearily. ‘At least I know who the traitor within my own household was: the guard Leeman.’ She gave me a sad little smile. ‘You were wrong, Matthew, to suspect Jane Fool and the Lady Mary.’

  ‘I know, your majesty. But it was my duty to interview all the possible suspects.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ Cranmer asked.

  I turned to Cecil. ‘First, as I said, we cannot discount the possibility that one of the missing three men took the books, as part of a quarrel over strategy. If so, they may try to smuggle them out of the country. What sort of watch have you been able to put at the docks?’

  ‘I have arranged discreetly at the customs house for outgoing cargoes to be searched thoroughly. Of course, the customs officials’ main effort goes into searching goods coming into the country, particularly for forbidden literature. Books hidden in bales of cloth, tied in oilskin inside casks of wine—’

  ‘And if they find them?’ I cut in.

  ‘They are to be delivered to me.’ Cecil touched one of the moles on his face. ‘Lord Parr has graciously allowed me much gold to grease those wheels.’

  The Queen said, ‘But what if the books go from Bristol, or Ipswich, or even on a small boat launched secretly from a creek?’

  ‘Then there is nothing we can do,’ Lord Parr answered flatly. He turned to me. ‘I can see a radical group sending Anne Askew’s writings abroad for Bale or someone like him to print and smuggle back to England. But the Lamentation? Surely it is obvious, with even a little thought, that printing and distributing it would do nothing but harm the Queen.’

  ‘I have dealt with the outer fringes of fanaticism before,’ I said. ‘These people may have actively sought to recruit people in places where secret information could be had, precisely so it could be publicized. They may even realize that harm could come to her majesty, but not care if they had it in their heads that their actions could stir people to revolt.’

  Again there was a silence in the room. I continued quietly, ‘We still have two leads which have not been followed to the end, both crucial. Two people. Who is Stice, the man with the torn ear, and who is he working for? And who in God’s name is Gurone Bertano?’

  ‘Bertano’s name is quite unknown,’ Cranmer replied. ‘Though, as you know, there is something, some initiative, going on involving only the religious traditionalists close to the King. Whether this man could be involved I have no idea. But it could be that Greening’s group somehow got hold of a third secret, this man’s name and purpose. But from whom?’

  ‘The name certainly terrified Elias.’

  ‘We dare not question too openly, my Lord Archbishop,’ Lord Parr said. ‘If this Bertano is involved in some secret machinations of the conservatives, and I come out with the name, they will demand to know where we heard it.’

  Cecil said, ‘The other man, the one with the torn ear. We know from the page that he works for someone at court, someone who was seeking information against the Queen, and who was involved in the first attempt on Greening.’

  ‘If only he could be found, he might be the key to the whole conspiracy,’ I said.

  Lord Parr began pacing up and down, his body tensed with frustration. ‘All the great men of the realm have large households, and spies.’

  Cecil said, ‘I still find it odd that Myldmore was not arrested directly after it was discovered he had spoken of Anne Askew’s torture.’

  The Queen spoke up, her voice strained. ‘From what you told my uncle, Matthew, I understand Sir Anthony Knevet was unhappy about the illegality of that poor woman’s torture, and said he would report it to the King?’

  ‘Yes, your majesty.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I remember dining with the King one evening, about three weeks ago. We were interrupted by a messenger telling him Sir Anthony begged to see him urgently, on a confidential matter. The King was angry, said he wanted to dine in peace, but the messenger insisted it was important. I left the room and Sir Anthony was shown in – the King was not fit to walk at all that night.’ She took another calming breath. ‘They were together some time and then he left and his majesty called me back. He said nothing about the meeting but he seemed – disturbed, a little upset.’

  Lord Parr said, ‘The dates certainly tally. And what else could Knevet have wished to discuss so urgently?’

  The Queen continued, ‘I can tell you this. If Rich and Wriothesley tortured Anne Askew on their own initiative, or on the orders of someone higher – Gardiner or Norfolk – if they had done such a brutal and illegal thing against a woman, the King’s sense of honour would have been outraged. They would have smarted for it. Indeed, it was shortly after this that the King came up with his plan of false charges against me being brought by Wriothesley, so that he could humiliate him.’

  She held herself stiffly, as though struggling to contain remembered fear. I had long known she looked on Henry with a loving, indulgent eye, though to me he was a monster of cruelty. Nonetheless, it was also known the King placed great store by traditional, chivalric values; such a mind could be shocked by a gentlewoman’s torture, while seeing nothing amiss in burning her alive. ‘That could explain why nothing has been done to Myldmore,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘And I remember Rich h
ad a worried, preoccupied look at the burning.’ I smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps it was not only Wriothesley who felt the King’s wrath.’

  Lord Parr nodded agreement. ‘Yes, my nephew’s reports of Rich and Wriothesley being subdued at council meetings date from then. Though, as I say, they seem brighter now.’

  Cecil asked, ‘But would either of them then dare go on to murder the printer and steal those books?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘If they had an informer in an Anabaptist sect and were told about the books. Recovering the Lamentation and presenting it to the King would then help enormously in restoring their position.’

  They considered this theory. Then we all jumped at a sudden knock. We looked at each other nervously – perhaps it was not wise for us all to be seen together with the Queen. Lord Parr went to the door and opened it. One of the Queen’s guards was outside. He bowed low to the Queen, then said, ‘Master Secretary Paget is outside, my Lord. He would speak with you and her majesty.’

  ‘Very well,’ Lord Parr said. ‘Give us a moment, then show him in.’

  As the man closed the door Cranmer spoke quietly. ‘It may be politic for me to leave. Perhaps go down to the Queen’s Gallery.’

  ‘Very well, my Lord Archbishop,’ Lord Parr agreed.

  The Archbishop opened the door and left swiftly. But immediately we heard a deep voice in the corridor. ‘My Lord Archbishop. Visiting her majesty?’

  ‘Indeed, Master Secretary.’

  ‘Perhaps you could stay a moment. I have called to discuss arrangements for the French admiral’s reception.’

  Cranmer returned to the room, frowning a little. Then Secretary Paget entered, alone. He bowed to the Queen, then looked around at us with the confident stare of a man in charge of his surroundings. I remembered that square, hard face from the burning, the mouth a downturned slit between his long moustache and unruly forked beard. He wore a grey robe and cap today, no ostentation apart from his heavy gold chain of office, and carried a sheaf of papers under his arm. ‘Meeting with men of the Queen’s Learned Council, eh, my Lord?’ he asked Lord Parr cheerfully. ‘How would our lands ever be administered without lawyers dipping their quills in the ink, hey? Well, I, too, was a lawyer once. I hope you do not trouble her majesty too much?’ he added maliciously, regarding Lord Parr with a flat, unblinking stare.

  I glanced at the Queen; she had managed in an instant to compose her features. She now radiated quiet regality: a lift of the chin and shoulders, a slight stiffening of the body. ‘My councillors simplify matters for my weak woman’s wit,’ she said cheerfully.

  Paget bowed again. ‘I fear I, too, must ask to indulge your well-known patience, but on a more congenial subject, I am sure. The King has given orders for new clothes for your ladies who will accompany you at the festivities for the French admiral. He wishes you to be very well attended.’

  ‘His majesty is gracious as ever.’

  ‘I know the festivities are a month away, but there is a great deal to organize. May we discuss the arrangements? Afterwards, my Lord Archbishop, perhaps we could talk about your role, which will also be important.’

  Behind Paget’s back, Lord Parr looked at Cecil and me, then curtly inclined his head to the door. Fortunately, we were too lowly to be introduced to Master Secretary. We bowed to the Queen and sidled out. Paget was saying, ‘The finest cloth has been ordered, to be made up at Baynard’s Castle . . .’

  Cecil and I walked away up the corridor, saying nothing until we reached the discreetly positioned window overlooking the courtyard, where I had seen the King that first day. The courtyard was empty this afternoon apart from a couple of young courtiers lounging lazily against a wall. The afternoon shadows were lengthening.

  I spoke quietly. ‘Secretary Paget. I saw him at the burning.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He is a traditionalist, is he not?’

  ‘He was first brought to court under Bishop Gardiner’s patronage, but he is not linked to him any more.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘He is the King’s man now and nobody else’s. With the King so physically weak, he puts more and more of the work in Paget’s hands, but Paget never oversteps himself.’

  ‘Yes, I heard he learned that lesson from Wolsey and Cromwell.’

  Cecil nodded. ‘Whichever way the wind blows, Paget will follow only the King’s wishes. If he has any principles of his own they are well hidden away.’

  ‘Bend with the wind rather than break.’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘But – are we sure? If Paget is a traditionalist in religion, and on good terms with Rich and Wriothesley? It seems those two may have taken the initiative to torture Anne Askew without consulting the King; perhaps Paget, too, is capable of using his initiative. With the King so ill. And is the Secretary not responsible for all official spies and informers?’

  ‘Official ones, certainly,’ Cecil replied slowly. ‘But as Lord Parr said earlier, all the great men run unofficial ones. As for the King’s health, his body is breaking down, but, from all I hear, his mind and will are as sharp as ever.’

  I looked at young Cecil: clever, always coolly in control, with more than a touch of unscrupulousness, I suspected. But nonetheless he had nailed his flag unhesitatingly to the Queen’s mast. He gave a heavy sigh and I realized that he, too, must be feeling the strain of all this. I wondered whether he also felt afraid now when he smelled smoke. ‘What happens next?’ I asked him gently.

  ‘It is in Lord Parr’s hands, and mine, for now, I think. Watching the docks, trying to find this man with half an ear, and solving the mystery of Bertano.’

  He touched my arm, an unexpected gesture. ‘We are grateful to you, Master Shardlake. That talk clarified much – ’ He broke off. ‘Ah, see. Down there.’

  I looked into the courtyard. Two men had entered and were walking across it, talking amiably. The two young layabouts who were already there stopped leaning on the wall and bowed deeply to them. One was the Queen’s brother, William Parr, Earl of Essex, tall and thin with his gaunt face and trim auburn beard. The other was the man I had heard the Queen’s ladies speaking of as being back in England, a man whom the Queen had once loved and whom I despised: Sir Thomas Seymour. He wore a short green robe, with white silk hose showing off his shapely legs, and a wide flat cap with a swan feather on his coppery head. With one hand he was stroking his dark auburn beard, which was long like Paget’s, but combed to silky smoothness.

  ‘The Parr–Seymour alliance in action,’ Cecil whispered, with the keen interest of a connoisseur of politics. ‘The two main reformist families meet.’

  ‘Is not Sir Thomas too headstrong for a senior position?’

  ‘Yes indeed. But for now his brother Lord Hertford is abroad, and Sir Thomas keeps the flag flying. Lord Hertford returns very soon, though. I have contacts in his household.’ Cecil looked at me with a quick, vain little smile, then bowed. ‘I will leave you now, sir. You will be summoned when there is further news. Thank you again.’

  I watched him walk away down the corridor, with his quick, confident steps. That smile made me think: Cecil, too, would one day make a politician; already he had his foot on the first rung of the ladder. I wondered about the alliance between the Parrs and the Seymours. For now, they were united against the religious conservatives. But when the King died both families would have separate claims to govern the realm in the name of the boy Edward: the Parrs as the family of his stepmother, the Seymours as that of his dead true mother. And how long, then, would the alliance last?

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  AS I WALKED BACK ALONG the corridor towards the gilded public chambers, I heard a strange sound. A creaking, clanking noise from behind the wall, and what sounded like the rattle of chains. I looked around, and saw a door in the corridor I had not noticed previously. Unlike the others it did not have a magnificently decorated surround but was set flush to the wall, with the same linenfold panelling as the walls on either side. There was
a small keyhole, but no handle. Overcome with curiosity, I pushed at it gently and to my surprise it opened easily on oiled hinges.

  Within was a wide, square platform, lit with torches bracketed to the walls. The platform surrounded a staircase leading down to the ground floor. To my astonishment, in one corner of the platform, four men in the dark uniform of the King’s Gentlemen Pensioners were straining to turn the handles of a large winch, hauling something up the stairwell from the ground floor. I heard a wheezy shout from beneath, ‘Careful, you dolts, keep me steady!’ Then, as the men pulled harder on the ropes, an immense figure rose into view, seated on a heavy wheeled chair, secured by a leather belt round his immense waist. I glimpsed a near-bald head, an immense, red, round face, folds of thin-bearded flesh wobbling above the collar of a caftan. The King’s huge cheeks twitched in pain.

  Another guard saw me and rushed over; a big, bearded fellow. He clapped a hand over my mouth and pushed me through the door, back into the corridor. He shut the door quietly, then grabbed the lapels of my robe. ‘Who are you?’ he spat with quiet fierceness. ‘How did you get in there?’

  ‘I – I heard strange noises behind the door. I pushed it and it opened easily – ’

  ‘God’s death, it should always be locked from inside – I’ll have Hardy’s balls for this.’ His expression suddenly changed, from anger to contempt. ‘Who are you, crookback?’ He glanced at my robe. ‘I see you wear the Queen’s badge.’

  ‘I am new appointed to her majesty’s Learned Council.’

  He released me. ‘Then learn, and quickly, that in Whitehall you go only – where – you – are – allowed.’ He punctuated the last words with painful jabs to my chest with his finger, then glanced nervously over his shoulder. A heavy clunk from behind the door indicated the chair had been pulled in. He spoke hurriedly, ‘Now go, and thank your stars he did not see you. You think his majesty likes to be watched like this, being winched upstairs? Be gone, now!’ He turned and went back through the door. I scurried away as fast as possible. I knew the King could scarcely walk, but it had never occurred to me to wonder how he got to the Royal Apartments on the first floor. His immobility alone must be humiliating enough for that once famous athlete, but to be seen like that – I shuddered at my narrow escape. If he had glanced up momentarily and recognized me . . .